Pirates of Farangistan
Retelling Magellan’s Southeast Asia
501 years ago, the young son of a Portuguese nobleman and a Brazilian native woman traveled with the voyage of Ferdinand Magellan around South America and across the Pacific Ocean. European accounts record that the boy saw the Pacific Islands, the Philippine Islands, and the island of Borneo, which is today shared by the countries of Brunei, Indonesia, and Malaysia.
The following is a fictional story based on historical accounts of initial contact between the Empire of Spain and the Empire of Brunei during the Magellan-Elcano Voyage.
The Guarani boy stared through the window at the open sky. Now and then a breeze came through it with a scent of fish being cooked. But Joãozinho wasn’t thinking about food. He could only see the sky through the window, but he knew that beneath it was the river. And on the river were the hundreds of houses of the Water City and hundreds of ships of the Brunei Empire. Two more ships out there were black hulls under white sails bearing red crosses. That was where Joãozinho’s father was, João Carvalho.
In the dark and quiet of the room it was easy to picture La Trinidad on the water. Guns out, mortars loaded. The Captain-General would be shouting and men would be obeying. Little Carvalinho remembered his father’s beard: thick and brown. It would shake like a bush full of birds when he’d yell. Will I ever have a beard like that?
He could almost hear Pai’s voice now. “Vȇm, menino…” “Para, menino…” “Bom trabalho, meu filho…” His father’s voice would echo in his head when they were apart. Sy’s voice used to do the same. But he was so far away from Mother now and it had been so long.
Carvalinho thought of the water: the waves rolling and their crests breaking in the wind. The sun shining down on the waves would penetrate the surface when they would sail through shallows: the fish and plants and rocks that Carvalinho had seen in those shallows were like nothing he’d ever imagined before. Colors and shapes like out of his dreams. Yet somehow they were memories from the living world.
In the open sea the sun revealed nothing beneath the waves. There was only more water: water below, water to either side, water behind, and water ahead. Pai knew ways to measure how deep the water was, with ropes and tools. Father had tried to teach Carvalinho but he could hardly understand, no matter how long he tried. Days and weeks would pass between each island. Only the sun, the moon, and the stars accompanied the Black Ships across the deep sea. “No one from your people has ever been this far,” Pai once told the boy. “…and… no one from my people either!” Were his people not my people? Carvalinho wondered.
He heard footsteps walking across wood. A shadow stood in the light of the door to the cabin and said, “It’s time to go home.” Carvalhinho saw Pai’s smile. An uncommon sight. The boy knew that when his Pai said “home” he didn’t mean the place where Sy had raised him.
And then Carvalinho opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d been falling asleep. The shadow was still standing in the light, speaking, but it wasn’t Pai; it was Juan Sebastian Elcano, a Basco. “It’s time they let us go,” the captain was saying with a scowl.
And it wasn’t the light of the cabin door on La Trinidad, it was the light of a window in the estate of Brunei’s Lord-General. The room was bare except for a few rugs laid out over a wooden floor. Gomez de Espinosa was sitting hunched on the floor nearby, ?? and ?? were reclining on the floor also, saying nothing and looking nowhere. The Griegos were sitting against the wall together in a corner with their knees up. Only Elcano was on his feet, pacing in front of the window, making the sound of footfalls against wood.
“We have to send someone first,” said Espinosa, the other Captain. “Carballo has to send someone first,” he corrected himself, and in his Castilian accent.
“Capitan-Heneral Carvalho,” the boy corrected further, but only in a whisper mumbled to himself.
“We saw the proas go out first, and THEN the mortars fired!” Elcano exclaimed. “Whatever happened, the Sultan must have started it — “
“But the fort didn’t fire…” Espinosa said. He sounded tired.
Elcano turned and looked out the window, as if he hadn’t heard. Or as if he didn’t want to hear.
The room was silent again for some time. The smell of cooking fish drifted in again and this time the boy did think of eating. The next sound he heard was the Griegos speaking their language to each other. Softly at first, but it didn’t seem like they were trying to be quiet. No one else seemed to mind, or to notice. Then Ioannis spoke up in Castilian, “Captains…”
“Sí?” Elcano and Espinosa both answered apathetically without looking over.
Ioannis waited a moment, “…We’re going to stay.”
Now both captains turned their heads to the Griegos in the corner.
“Us, just us two,” Ioannis clarified, pointing to himself and Matthaios next to him.
“Por que?” Elcano asked at the same time that Espinosa said clearly, “No.”
After another pause, Ioannis sighed and answered, “We’ve done our jobs in this Armada… and now… we have better opportunities here…”
“Your job isn’t done!” Espinosa said. Matthaios made an incredulous face and Ioannis replied more diplomatically.
“Our services can be offered to the Sultan as a gift, an offering of good will.”
The Griegos continued making their arguments and the captains continued making their counter-arguments, but Carvalinho lost focus on the conversation. He only looked out the window again at the blue sky and thought again of the rolling water. And of his father Carvalho crossing over it in the Black Ship Trinidad.
Pain stung the Tagalog’s face for just a moment as the water that had been cupped in Salam’s hand ran down Mabilis’ cheek and neck.
“Is this water clean?” Mabilis winced. “Is it fresh?”
“O o,” Salam confirmed. “I think it’s rainwater. I’ve already been drinking it.”
The water had carried some blood down onto the shoulder of the Tagalog’s shirt. Mabilis raised a hand to touch the wound but Salam gently slapped the hand away.
“Don’t scratch it,” the man from Makassar said. “It would have stopped bleeding by now if you’d leave it alone. And if you’d stop wrinkling your face.”
It was true. The Gintubo realized they had been scowling for quite some time. They looked around: their Maynila Kababayan all sat sullenly upon the black deck of a Farang ship. Others were conversing too, but in soft voices. In softer voices than Mabilis thought they were capable of. Not one of them was wearing a sword, or even a knife. These had all been taken away by the Farang men.
Most of those men had gotten back to ship duties or some other business but a few were still standing guard over the Kababayan. Another crew had joined them from another jyong that had also been captured here in the mouth of the Brunei River this morning. But that crew’s ship was floundering now with no one onboard to repair it. Raya-Muda Ake’s jyong was tethered behind this Farang ship, also unmanned.
“Why don’t you speak to them? You know their language, you can do something!”
“And say what to them?”
“I mean — negotiate!”
“Mabilis, the datu do the negotiating. I just translate. And only when I’m told to…”
“Yes well… I mean you know what they would say, right?”
“Not my place to speak for Raya-Muda, no matter how well I might know the man. And after all, speech is silver but silence is golden…” Mabilis tried not to frown at that and Salam, still dabbing the damp cloth at the wound, continued with a gentle sigh, “This will all be done soon. The datu putih from the other black ship are still talking. Then I think they’ll call on Ake. We can wait until then.”
Mabilis tried to relax and let their thoughts slow down a bit. “…You learned their language in… in Malacca?”
“Mostly in Malacca,” Salam nodded. “But also here in Brunei, and in Ternate. Other places too, but those are some of their favorite ports. For the sweet wood.”
“And they call themselves Farang…?”
“No, no,” Salam chuckled. “We call them that. Or… in Malacca they call them that. Because it’s what they’re called in Negara Arab.”
“They pirate there too?” Mabilis tried not to scratch the wound.
Salam dropped the washcloth and looked at Mabilis. “Sometimes, yes. And I heard they were banned from a port in Çina a few seasons ago for causing some kind of trouble there.”
“I saw them taking Ake’s cargo.” Mabilis frowned again.
“Yes, and they’ll keep some of it, I’m sure. Just as we would.” Salam sounded more concerned with treating the wound than with their captivity. “But Ake is Sultan Bolkiah’s grandson and Lord-Admiral. So we’ll be off this ship before sunset.”
The above story is part 23 of Retelling Magellan
Previous chapter: Battle of Brunei Bay pt.2
Next chapter: Leaving the Abode of Peace
No country has ever called itself Frangistan/Farangistan. The word Farang traveled across a continent by land and sea, carried by trade and war faster than European explorers themselves. When Muslim nations encountered European crusaders who were mostly Franks, those Europeans came to be known as “Farangi.” Traders traveled across the Caspian Sea, the Indian Ocean, and the South China Sea carrying knowledge and language to Southeast Asia and beyond. The name is still used for foreigners in several places, including Iran and Indonesia.
