Leaving the Abode of Peace
Retelling Magellan’s Southeast Asia
501 years ago, survivors of Magellan’s voyage had dealings with a Southeast Asian sea empire as they sought the Spice Islands that would make them rich. After a month of peaceful trade, relations broke down, decisions had results or consequences, and the fleet made readjustments. The following narrative is fiction based on real accounts and other historical data of the era.
This is part 24 of Retelling Magellan
The late morning light shimmered off the waves and played against the thick cloth sails hanging loosely above Putri. It was almost a peaceful moment. Aisyah grabbed Putri’s hand tightly. The latter squeezed back reassuringly and looked over at Indah.
“Are you alright?” Putri asked Indah. The bissu had been sitting quietly and staring at nothing. They simply turned to meet Putri’s gaze and nodded quietly.
Putri took another piece of pisang out of its yellow strips of peel and looked around the deck; it was the second level of a black ship manned by Farang men. Putri’s back was against the rail on one side. Two staircases to the right led down to a larger deck where many bearded Farang men watched over several men of Brunei and Luzon. Other staircases to the left led above to a smaller deck where Farang men were speaking their own language. Between those upward staircases was a closed wooden door.
“Indah, can you hear what they’re talking about?” Sitting apart from Aisyah and Putri, Indah was closest to the others on the deck. In the center a wooden chair seated Brunei’s Lord-Admiral named Ake. Surrounding this man were a handful of other wealthy datu seated on mats against the black deck. One young Farang man holding a wooden spear watched over them, standing by the upward stairs on the far side of the deck.
Indah looked over towards the men lazily for a moment, then turned back. “I don’t know. They’re speaking in a Luzon way.”
Farang and Brunei men alike had left the three alone for some time. Since pulling them out of the jyong’s cargo hold and taking them to their own ship, the Farang had addressed them only to offer them fruit to eat. But they showed enough deference to keep them among the datu and their Panglima rather than among the crew.
After some time a Farang man had descended from the upper deck and exchanged some words and gestures with the Lord-Admiral. Shortly after, one of the datu was escorted down to the lower deck. When they returned they brought with them another man: Salam, the Lord-Admiral’s navigator, originally from Makassar on Sulawesi.
Salam glanced over and met Putri’s eyes for a moment as he came onto the deck. The man even acknowledged Putri with a nod. The woman tapped Aisyah’s knee and leaned toward Indah to whisper, “The navigator from Makassar is here, listen to what they say…”
The three of them sat up alert. Salam glided to the Ake’s chair and raised the Panglima’s right hand to their forehead for a blessing. A few more Farang men walked down from the upper deck after a few boys in Farang pants and shirts had brought more chairs for them. A conversation began between those men and Ake, with Salam as interpreter seated on the deck at Ake’s side.
Salam said a long string of words, looking into the air as if making an announcement. Putri realized that the words were Ake’s titles: “Ladya-Muda Ake ng Luzon, Anak ng Ladyamata ng Maynila, Çuçu Sultan Bolkiah, dan Panglima Tentera-Laut Brunei.” Crown-Prince Ake of Luzon, Child of Manila’s Queen Regent, Grandchild of Sultan Bolkiah, and Lord-Admiral of Brunei. The Farang datu putih were silent and wide-eyed before these words, even before the navigator translated them into their language. They spoke at length amongst themselves before they had a response for Salam to translate.
Brunei’s Panglima Laut maintained the poise of royalty even as a captive on a strange and foreign ship surrounded by violent men. The Sultan’s grandson was little more than a war-slave in this moment, but by their presence one might mistake the man not for a guest in a friendly meeting, but the host. The Farang white lords, the datu putih, maintained composure before Ake, but they lacked grace. Their faces and their voices, though the words were strange to Putrih, carried a sense of need and of dissatisfaction.
The navigator seemed adept in the Farang language as far as Putri could tell. The man had previously appeared confident in a variety of Malay dialects. When Ake’s datu from Luzon would interject in the negotiations in their language, Salam seemed to comprehend those comments as well. How young was Salam when someone first made them a slave? Where has he been? To have learned so much… Putri wondered.
A memory of sea life floated into the lady’s mind: a hundred boats rolling over the waves, carrying fruits and metals and woods in a dozen different colors. This scene had happened countless times over in Putri’s life: a floating market of the Orang Laut, the Sea People.
Traders, fishers, and crafters who spent all their days on the water — built their whole lives on the water — would come together and buy, sell, barter, and talk. It could be a peaceful life if you knew the water and you could read the sky and the wind. To sail for shelter when the sky darkened with storm clouds and the wind was warm and heavy.
And one day, not long ago, when the sky and the wind had sent no warning, the Brunei Armada had come down on Putri and the Orang Laut. Ships of war came down on traders and fishers leaving Java. And Panglima Tentera-Laut Ake was leading the way.
Suddenly Putri realized that the Datu Putih directly in front of Ake was staring directly at them. The man’s eyes met the woman’s from under a sweaty brow and dark curls of hair. Panglima Ake glanced over Putri too as if they had never seen each other before. The men turned back to each other and carried on their conversation through Salam. Putri had no idea what they were talking about now. Why should they be talking about us? Ake wouldn’t care to seek hospitality for them; Putri, Indah, and Aisyah were slaves to Ake, not guests. Somehow it was thanks to the Farang men the three were up here with the commanders rather than below with the common men.
The woman kept watching the negotiations intently, trying to read the conversation in their movements again. But her skin prickled as if lightning was in the air. The shadows beneath the men’s chairs looked darker than before. And the shimmer of light from the waves to the sails now made Putri’s head sore.
And then the datu were standing up. Panglima Ake remained seated as regally as the Sultan’s grandson that he was. A Farang boy a few steps behind teetered awkwardly and expectantly until the Datu Putih said something that sent the boy across the deck to the door between the stairs. It opened with a whine and the boy disappeared within. Other doors and wooden things were being moved inside, by the sound of it.
In a moment, the Farang man stood before the dark open door, looking at Putri, Indah, and Aisyah. The shade beyond it should have been welcoming under this sun, but it wasn’t. The man waved a hand at them and Salam said softly but clearly, “Go inside.”
Putri looked at Salam. The navigator’s eyes were placid but he offered no explanation, not even a nod of reassurance. He stood stiffly, his spine and his face like stone.
In front of Putri a darkness opened wide as if to swallow them all up. Behind Putri, Aisyah pressed close. Indah was a step further back but staring at the back of Putri’s head anxiously, she could feel it.
“Vȇm…” Carvalho said again with a rough nod. Putri didn’t understand the word, but the order was clear.
The woman’s foot slid forward across the slick black boards. Each foot moved with a will of its own, dragging her slowly toward that darkness.
The sun crawled further across the sky. Mabilis and their kababayan were still sitting against the slick black deck. Around midday their Farang captors had brought a pot of rice for them all to eat. Salam had been called away by one of the maharlika being held on an upper deck with the Raya-Muda. So Mabilis worried if they’d given Salam something to eat too.
The young Tagalog picked the last grains of rice off their fingertips and pushed away the hungry thoughts of fish. A few of the older gintubo among the kababayan had drifted to sleep in the midday sun. Or at least they had closed their eyes while they were all stuck sitting around. Mabilis couldn’t imagine feeling safe enough to close his eyes right now, or ever, as long as they were on a strange Farang Black Ship.
And then Salam was walking down the steps from the higher deck. Mabilis almost stood up out of eagerness to talk to Salam again. But something was different; Mabilis had never seen Salam this way. Something in the way the man’s feet thumped against the deck under each step.
Salam greeted Mabilis with eyes rather than words and sat down on the hard deck.
“Did you eat?” Mabilis asked.
Salam looked back as if confused for a moment and then nodded. “They fed us. And you?”
The Tagalog nodded, “Just rice…”
Salam seemed to hear but said nothing. And so Mabilis continued, “What happened? Did they make an agreement?”
Salam eyes looked lost in thought for a moment… “These Datu Putih serve a different raya than the ones that took Malacca City.” Mabilis didn’t know how to respond… “I mean to say that they weren’t who I thought they were. And they don’t want what I thought they wanted…” Mabilis nodded and Salam continued, “They’re going to the Maluku Islands and they don’t have time to stay here, even if Raya-Muda can restore the Sultan’s friendship for them.”
“So they’re leaving!” Mabilis sighed with relief. But Salam only nodded and looked away.
“They still made a transaction,” Salam said solemnly.
“The Datu Putih with Raya-Muda?”
“Yes, first as a group, and then the one Datu, called Zuaw Kabayo… made a private deal with Raya-Muda… Ake’s personal chest is not with the cargo, of course. But Raya-Muda Ake told them where it is on the jyong. So after they’ve made a final deal with Sultan, Kabayo can keep that in addition to whatever Sultan offers — “
Mabilis scoffed with a click of the tongue and muttered, “they should get nothing!”
But Salam was still speaking, “…and the three Orang Laut…” The three sea people.
Mabilis frowned hard. And then winced at the cut on their face. “What about them?”
“They stay too. Now they belong to this Datu Zuaw Kabayo.”
Mabilis fell silent and stared at the dark black floor. But before there was any time to think about Raya-Muda’s other slaves, Salam spoke again…
“And the Datu Putih need navigators to get to Malaku.”
“Ano?” What?
“Tonight, when Datu Zuaw releases Raya-Muda Ake from captivity, Raya-Muda Ake will release us — you and me — from slavery. To work as Datu Zuaw’s navigators.”
Mabilis stared at the deck again, “So tonight — no, after Maluku — we’ll be…”
“Tonight, we’ll be free!” Salam looked up at the sky and didn’t smile.
The next day, in the house of the Lord-General of Brunei, the young son of Captain-General João Carvalho was awoken early in the morning. The voices of the Lord-General’s soldiers were noisy outside. Little Carvalinho opened his eyes and found the room dark. He sat up from the hardwood floor on which he and six men of the Armada de Molucca slept. He stood and shuffled to a window where he saw that the sky was still lit by stars and not the sun.
Under the stars, all he could see from there was the distant Water City of Brunei’s commoners, built on the river from floating canoes of all sizes and houses propped up on logs. But by the window he could also hear the guards’ voices more clearly. He couldn’t understand a word they said, but he could tell that whatever had them talking also had them wide awake. No birds were singing yet, so daylight was still far off.
Turning from the window, the boy looked back into the room over the sleeping men. From the window light, he could just see their shapes. He realized that one was missing. Squinting across the darkness he spotted the man against the side of the room where the door was; just a shadow of a man standing. He must have been listening too. Something rustled and Carvalinho realized that one of the men on the floor had been sitting up the whole time.
“Vete a dormir, niño,” the sitting man said in Castilian. Go to sleep.
Carvalinho obeyed. It wasn’t hard to fall back asleep. The next time he woke, the door was opening. The sun shone bright through the window. Captains Espinosa and Elcano were standing in the center of the room. One of the sailors was by the window and the other three sitting restlessly on the floor.
A man draped in silk and gold stepped in the door, with several Brunei spear soldiers pouring in around him. This one was far younger than the Lord-General, their captor. The captains and the sailors of the Armada promptly knelt on one knee and bowed their heads before this new Bruneian lord. Carvalinho didn’t even have time to rub his eyes as he scrambled to kneel like the others.
The young lord spoke some words loudly, but to no one in particular, it seemed. It was in his own language anyway, and none of his men with spears offered any translation. After looking over the lot of them for a few long moments, the man clicked his tongue and turned away and left the room.
Through the open door, Carvalinho spotted the elderly Lord-General, whose house they were in. The two lords spoke to each other as they walked away. Their spearmen soon followed, closing shut the door behind them.
Someone let out a long breath of air — or maybe everyone did all at once — or maybe it was a breeze through the window as all four sailors and the two captains collapsed from kneeling to sitting.
“Who was that?” Someone asked.
“Another lord.”
“A prince maybe?”
“Sì, el príncipe de Luzón.” Matthaios said. All heads turned toward the Griegos in their corner. “We heard in the city that they’ve been anticipating his return all week. The prince of Luzon to the north is this Sultan’s grandson. He’s been fighting pagans.”
Carvalinho yawned and missed what someone said next. The men went on discussing what they’d heard of this island prince but the mestiço boy’s mind wandered until servants brought rice and fish for the voyagers to eat. While the boy was still picking a few fishbones clean, the Prince of Luzon and the Lord-General returned to the room with their soldiers.
They marched in and the Prince gestured toward the floor. A spearman behind him hefted two thick bags and let thump against the floor in front of Captains Elcano and Espinosa, who were just getting to their knees. The Prince spoke and this time an unarmed servant in smooth robes interpreted for him.
“Vocȇs dois vão voltar ao seu Capitão…” It was a rough attempt at the boy’s father’s language. You two will return to your Captain, “…with a message from our enemies.” The interpreter waved his hand in the direction of the bags on the floor, which were each holding something round and about the size of a man’s head.
This encounter between the Empire of Spain and the Empire of Brunei was brief and is generally given little attention within the Magellan-Elcano Voyage. But 50 years later, when the Spanish colonization of Southeast Asia gained momentum, the two empires would meet again in a brief war that would enlist the help of Muslims and Christians from far abroad. North African soldiers of the Ottoman Empire would fight against Mexican soldiers of New Spain in a country that is now one of the smallest in the world.
