Lapu Lapu’s reply was shockingly arrogant: “They would not give him for all the riches in the world. . . . They intended to keep him as a memorial.” That might have been the case, but nothing of Magellan was ever recovered, not even his armor.
Today, in the Philippines, the tragic encounter between Magellan and Lapu Lapu is seen from a radically different perspective. Magellan is not regarded as a courageous explorer; instead, he is portrayed as an invader and a murderer. And Lapu Lapu has been romanticized beyond recognition. By far the most impressive sight in Mactan harbor today is a giant statue of Lapu Lapu, his bamboo spear at the ready, as he gazes protectively over the Pacific. There is no other record of Lapu Lapu or his reign; were it not for his battle with Magellan, his name would be lost to history.
Within the harbor, a white obelisk commemorates the ferocious battle between the Europeans and the Filipinos, and it offers two sharply varying accounts of the events. One face presents the European point of view: “Here on 27th April 1521 the great Portuguese navigator Hernando de Magallanes, in the service of the King of Spain, was slain by native Filipinos.” The other portrays the conflict from the Filipino perspective: “Here on this spot the great chieftain Lapu Lapu repelled an attack by Ferdinand Magellan, killing him and sending his forces away.” This version is naturally more popular in the Philippines, where the name Magellan is often regarded with loathing and even gloating at the circumstances of his death. Every April, Filipinos restage the battle of Mactan on the beach where it occurred, with the part of Lapu Lapu played by a film star, and Magellan by a professional soldier. Thousands turn out to witness the reenactment between the nearly naked Filipino warrior and the armor-clad invader who eventually falls face down into the surf.
Book Three Back from the Dead
Chapter XI Ship of Mutineers
The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
“The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!”
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
The officers and seamen of the armada had long anticipated Magellan’s death. “As soon as the Captain General died,” wrote Pigafetta, “the four men of our company, who had remained in the city to trade, had our goods brought to the ships.” With the precious trading cargo—the bells, beads, and fabrics designed to entice islanders—safely stowed away, the survivors held an election to select the next admiral of the Armada de Molucca. They sought a man who would, above all, avoid high-risk endeavors similar to those that had endangered and claimed the lives of so many, and who would rededicate the fleet to its primary commercial goaclass="underline" spices.
There was no discussion of disbanding the fleet or turning back. They had come too far and suffered too much for that. Nor was there any shortage of candidates to succeed Magellan; the ranks swelled with rivals and would-be admirals who had long been waiting for this moment. Although the loss of the Captain General was tragic—no one, not even his detractors, begrudged Magellan his courage—his death brought a palpable sense of relief that the ordeal of sailing under him had at last ended. When completed, the voting produced an unusual result, electing not one but two men: Duarte Barbosa, Magellan’s brother-in-law, and Juan Serrano, the Castilian captain. Even now, the sailors maintained a balance of power between the Spanish and Portuguese presences in the fleet.
Even so, this careful outcome did not satisfy everyone. Sebastián Elcano, the Basque mariner who had played a leading role in the mutiny against Magellan at Port Saint Julian, believed that Serrano was miscast as co-commander. Elcano thought Serrano a competent pilot but nothing more. Implicit in Elcano’s judgment was the conviction that he was better equipped to lead the expedition.
Magellan’s loyal servant, Enrique, was even more bitterly opposed to the new leadership of the fleet. Enrique had rendered valuable service with his ability to interpret the Malay tongue, a skill now more necessary than ever, but he refused to leave Trinidad as ordered, claiming that he was suffering from battle wounds. He remained in his bunk, wrapped in a blanket, loudly proclaiming that he was free now that his master was dead. He was correct on this point; in the event of Magellan’s death, his will provided for Enrique’s liberty along with a bequest of 10,000 maravedís, but the new leaders of the expedition, accustomed to the slave’s unquestioning subservience and still in need of his linguistic and diplomatic skills, insisted that he continue to obey orders. Enrique, coming into his own after years of servitude, stubbornly refused to yield to anyone’s authority.
A loud argument between Enrique and Barbosa ensued, which Pigafetta recorded. “Duarte Barbosa, commander of the Captain General’s flagship, told him in a loud voice that, although his master was dead, he would not be set free or released, but that, when we reached Spain, he would still be the slave of Madame Beatriz, the wife of the deceased Captain General. And he threatened that if he did not go ashore he would be driven away.” Pigafetta’s rendition of Barbosa’s threats likely disguised a considerable amount of verbal abuse. But Sebastián Elcano left a more complete account of the confrontation. According to him, Serrano, and not Barbosa, abused Enrique. “Serrano, being unable to do anything without this intermediary, reprimanded him with bitter words, telling him that in spite of his Master, Magellan, being dead, he was still a slave and that he would be whipped if he did not obey everything that he [Serrano] commanded. The slave became enraged by Serrano’s threats. Ire overtook his heart.”
The harsh words succeeded in rousing Enrique from his stupor, and he furiously stalked off the ship.
Pigafetta believed that Enrique, on leaving the ship, sought out Humabon, “the Christian King,” as he was called, to scheme against the armada, even though the Cebuan leader seemed to be the Europeans’ staunch ally. On hearing of Magellan’s death, he had wept copious tears, obviously undone by the tragedy he had tried so hard to avoid. Despite these strong emotional ties, Enrique “told the Christian King that we were about to depart immediately”—this much is true—“and that, if he would follow his advice, he would gain all our ships and merchandise. And so they plotted a conspiracy. Then the slave returned to the ships, and he appeared to behave better than before.”
Elcano told much the same story: Enrique “secretly spoke with the master of Cebu”—Humabon—“telling him that the Castilians were endlessly greedy and that . . . they would come back and arrest him.” To Elcano’s way of thinking, “The slave convinced the king that because the Castilians had been plotting against them, there was no other solution for the Cebuans than to plot back against the Castilians.” With these arguments, Enrique launched his betrayal of Magellan’s memory. Enrique’s motives were powerful and probably quite complex. Perhaps he resented being a slave for his entire adult life, perhaps the rediscovery of his Filipino origins awakened long-suppressed feelings of loyalty and kinship, or perhaps he failed to realize the drastic effect his words would have on Humabon, who found himself in a desperate situation. Magellan, to whom he had been loyal, was dead, and the crew was about to depart, terminating the protection Humabon had enjoyed. In the absence of the armada, Humabon would have to contend with Lapu Lapu, whose victory over Magellan had emboldened the local chieftain. Because Humabon had sided with Magellan, it was only a matter of time before Lapu Lapu, seeking revenge, came after him. Pressure on Humabon to retaliate against the Europeans came from yet another direction. Many of the island men resented the way their women had been treated by the Europeans. For all these reasons, plotting against Magellan’s men was the most effective way for Humabon to demonstrate his loyalty to his own people and save his own neck.