Magellan replied that he was committed to Spain, and nothing could change his mind.
Álvares’s practiced reply would have unnerved a weaker soul than Magellan. “I said to him, that to acquire honor unduly, and when acquired by such infamy, was neither wisdom nor honor . . . for he might be certain that the chief Castilians of this city, when speaking of him, held him to be a vile man, of low blood, since to the dis-service of his true king and lord he accepted such an enterprise.” Furthermore, “He might be sure that he was held to be a traitor in going against the State of your Highness.” Every term of opprobrium that Álvares hurled at Magellan strengthened the mariner’s resolve to carry out his mission. Even Álvares was impressed by Magellan’s conviction. “It seemed to me that his heart was true as to what befitted his honor and conscience.”
Despite his resolve, Magellan suffered pangs of conscience over his decision to abandon his homeland. “He made a great lamentation,” Álvares observed, “but that he did not know of anything by means of which he could reasonably leave a king who had shown him so much favor. I told him . . . that he should weigh his coming to Portugal.”
Leaving Magellan to his torment, Álvares tried to persuade himself and King Manuel that the expedition would never come to pass. He counted on the once brilliant Faleiro’s deteriorating mental state to aid the Portuguese skulduggery. “I spoke to Ruy Faleiro on two occasions,” Álvares reported to his sovereign. “It seems to me that he is like a man deranged in his senses. . . . It seems to me that, if Ferdinand Magellan were removed, Ruy Faleiro would follow whatever Magellan did.”
If the fleet somehow managed to depart, Álvares advised that the five ships were barely seaworthy. “They are very old and patched up, for I saw them when they were beached for repairs. It is eleven months since they were repaired, and they are now afloat, and they are caulking them in the water. I went on board [one of them] a few times, and I assure Your Highness that I should be ill inclined to sail in them to the Canaries.” These islands were only a few days’ sail from the Iberian coast, and if the ships could not be trusted to sail that far, how could they possibly reach the Indies?
Álvares went on to boast that he knew what course the fleet planned to follow. Once the ships crossed the Atlantic, if they crossed it, Brazil would remain “on their right hand” as they sailed to the line of demarcation dividing the Spanish and Portuguese halves of the world. He erroneously informed the king that the fleet would then sail across open water west and northwest to the Spice Islands. “There are no lands laid down in the maps which they carry with them,” Álvares noted with malicious glee. “Please God the Almighty that they make such voyage as did the Côrte Reals”—Portuguese explorers whose fleet had sunk without a trace.
Of all the problems Álvares recounted, the most serious was Ruy Faleiro’s fragile mental state. Since leaving Portugal, and perhaps even before, the brilliant cosmographer had exhibited signs of instability. One acquaintance said that Faleiro “sleeps very little and wanders around almost out of his mind.” Others remarked on his irritability or simply stated that he had lost his mind. The evidence, fragmentary though it is, suggests that Faleiro was suffering from bipolar disorder or some form of extreme depression. Magellan remained silent on the subject of his colleague’s condition, but all around him Spanish officials commented on the danger of taking Faleiro in his unstable condition on a long and trying voyage. What if he went mad, misused his authority as co-admiral, and endangered the entire expedition?
Even King Charles took note of Faleiro’s condition, and on July 26, 1519, issued a royal certificate declaring that Faleiro would not sail with Magellan. Instead, the cosmographer would remain in Seville to prepare for another expedition that would follow in Magellan’s wake. This violation of the ten-year exclusive King Charles had granted Magellan was more likely a face-saving gesture designed to preserve what little dignity Faleiro had left, for he never went to sea.
Magellan seemed relieved to rid himself of the unstable Faleiro; he agreed to the removal as long as the fleet could keep the cosmographer’s precious, state-of-the-art navigational instruments, which is exactly what occurred. Faleiro’s trove consisted of thirty-five compasses, supplemented by an additional fifteen devices that Magellan purchased in Seville; a wooden astrolabe constructed by Faleiro himself; six metal astrolabes of a more common variety; twenty-one wooden quadrants; and eighteen hourglasses, some of which Magellan purchased himself. Then there were the charts, twenty-four in all, most of them top secret, all of them extremely valuable. An unauthorized individual caught with a chart could be punished severely, even with death. They were kept under lock and key, and under armed guard. Of the total number of charts, six had been drafted by Faleiro. Eighteen others were the work of the cosmographer Nuño Garcia, seven of these under the direction of Faleiro, and eleven more under the direction of Magellan. All of these precious items remained with the armada, at Magellan’s disposal. The fleet also carried quantities of prepared blank parchment, as well as dried skins to make still more parchment, if necessary, for additional maps.
So the team of Magellan and Faleiro, the driving force behind the expedition since their days in Lisbon, was sundered. In reality, the architect of Faleiro’s removal was probably Fonseca rather than King Charles. As head of the Casa de Contratación, Fonseca had long been looking for a way to alter the arrangement whereby two Portuguese commanded the expedition, and Faleiro’s illness provided just the excuse he needed. There is a story that Fonseca artfully provoked a quarrel between the two Portuguese comrades by entrusting the royal standard to Faleiro, indicating that he, not Magellan, would be the Captain General of the fleet. Magellan was said to have become so incensed that he requested Faleiro’s removal from the enterprise, and Fonseca was only too glad to comply.
Fonseca replaced the would-be explorer with Andrés de San Martín, a well-connected Spanish cosmographer and astrologer who had long sought a lofty role for himself in the Casa’s affair. San Martín occupied a prestigious position in the roster, and commanded a generous salary—an advance of 30,000 maravedís, plus an additional 7,500 to cover expenses—but he did not hold Faleiro’s exalted rank. Faleiro had dazzled the Spanish with his brilliance, passion, and his aura of mysticism. San Martín, in contrast, was a fully qualified astronomer and astrologer who enjoyed the respect of the Spanish authorities, and nothing more.