“Now you are dead, Pereira, the last of the pioneers, without whose arrival this city on the edge of the known world would not exist, the one that you planted on the ruins of another and the graves of your family. We feel as if the strongest pillar on which our existence rests has broken, as if it is subsiding on one side, as we can feel it wobbling on its foundations. Let each of us try his utmost. Let each of us beg you to let a portion of your strength pass into him.”
He stepped aside. One by one the senators passed by the corpse, placed their hand on Pereira’s heart and said a brief prayer. Then the eldest, Guimares, closed his friend’s eyes and continued:
“We all know that the one who is to take the place of the departed has none of his qualities and yet is as powerful as he, through diametrically opposed qualities. We know that the successor is not esteemed for his chivalrous virtues or for his distinguished origins. But let all consider that the common interest demands that, now he has been elected, he shall be treated as one of us. Magistrate, show in the new senator.”
The Magistrate went outside and returned with a short fat figure whose head was covered by a cloth that had been thrown over it. He led him first around the body, then let go of him and said curtly: “Take the staff from the hands of your predecessor.”
Velho, having been released at the foot end, stood reflectively, as if wanting to feel in silence where he must grope, then took a step forward, suddenly grasped in the right direction and relieved the dead man of the staff. A murmur of surprised approval went through the line. Guimares again gave a short address, once more signalling the difference between the dead man, who was a great warrior, and his successor, who was a great merchant, which could serve as a symbol of changed times. He now asked Velho to exert his great influence for the benefit of the body of which he now formed part.
Velho replied coolly and reticently. Guimares then gave the Magistrate a sign, and the latter lowered a hatch in the wall and the glass of wine that came from the original ship’s store of the Mãe de Deus, which every senator had to empty as an initiation, was ready in the alcove. Velho went over to the niche and drank from the glass, but became deathly pale, staggered, and would have fallen if the Magistrate and a senator had not caught him and put him on a chair.
He was brought a glass of water. He drank and again spat on the ground, and seemed to faint again. They all surrounded him. It was some time before he could speak again.
“My body will soon lie there, and my successor will take the staff from my stiff arm. Don’t waste any time in appointing him. My days are numbered. It was prophesied to me: when the wine you thought was the sweetest tastes like vinegar, the Angel of Death will be at your door. And this wine was bitter as gall.”
Campos replied:
“We hope that fateful coincidence spoilt this wine. Perhaps seawater forced its way into the bottle. In the darkness the servant could not detect the cloudiness of the wine, but if you want to prepare for death, then immediately keep your oath to do as much for the colony as is in your power. We know that you have a great fortune and no children, except your adopted daughter; make your will this very day, assure her of a legacy and bequeath the rest to the colony.”
Velho had come to his senses again and stared straight at him. Finally he spoke:
“I see that you are unconcerned about, indeed hostile towards the kind of man I cannot help being. You won’t have my money. It is safe from your greed. But I shall make my will. Write it down. Velho,” he continued to the Magistrate, “bequeaths his fortune to Macao on the day that it breaks free of the crown of Portugal and becomes a part of the Chinese empire.”
“Do you realize, Velho, that you’re writing another death sentence? If you do not die your own death, we can have you shot as a rebel.”
“It’s all the same to me. You call me a rebel? Am I not expressing the last will of him who is lying here before me, and of the man who first landed here, Farria?”
Campos motioned him to be silent; some wanted to attack him. Order was restored with some difficulty and the following decisions, to be taken in the session, were tabled:
To agree to the request of the Jesuits to deprive the Dominicans of the right of settlement and conversion; to give legal status to the proposal of five senators to declare all donations and bequests made to religious orders null and void and to use the funds for the benefit and strengthening of the colony itself.
Pedro Velho got up.
“Gentlemen, I shall take no part in your work. If I should die, my possessions shall fall neither into your hands, nor into those of the greedy church. If I live, then you will find out who you are dealing with.”
He left the senatorial cellar. Outside it was chilly and dark, and waves of thick fog poured through the streets; it was as if he could already feel the damp shroud on his face.
The following day Velho made preparations to leave Macao. He had rented a large junk and had all his possessions loaded onto it, and made no secret that he was going to live in Canton, which no other foreigner was permitted to do. He would not be able to have his house within the city walls, but would live on one of the islands in the Pearl River.
The inhabitants sent a petition to the Senate asking that Velho be persuaded to stay. They were afraid that trade would move away if other people followed Velho’s example. Many senators preferred to have Velho, though he was hated, in their midst rather than as a neighbour. If he survived he would certainly be of one accord with the Chinese. But a request to stay could not be issued by the Senate after that night.
The senior citizens went themselves. Velho received them, offered them good wine, which he significantly tasted himself in advance, listened to them benevolently and said that he might come back and that it was not certain that he would stay in Canton, and might go further north. But he would probably die soon anyway!
He was to leave next morning; a large junk was lying close to the quay. When it was light, the many people standing waiting on the Praia saw that during the night the junk had been painted black and strewn with white flowers. The author of this lugubrious joke remained a mystery.
Velho arrived on the quay with his household, shrugged his shoulders. The flowers were swept into the water and the junk sailed away, black as it was.
Later they heard that Velho, after just three days in Canton, had sailed further up the Pearl River in a narrow river boat. A week later the junk drifted past the quay, right across the tidal current, and disappeared out to sea. Velho’s absence and mysterious fate remained a threat to Macao. It was difficult too to decide from trading activity whether he was dead or whether his influence would start operating from further inland.
CHAPTER 4
I
IN THE EARLIEST PHASE of the discoveries the ships crept almost unnoticed down the Tagus. Most were manned by criminals, and it was hard to find a low-ranking priest to bless their hulls before they set sail. The kings generally pretended not to know anything about the voyages, though there was one monarch who sailed with them for some distance in disguise. That changed when the first fleets returned with gold and spices; on the quay long stands were erected for the courtiers and the women in their finery; it was like tournaments used to be. It was true that one now only saw the beginning of the contest but it was a much greater and more momentous one: not horses and knights fighting each other, but big brown ships pitted against the Unknown. There was more at stake too: the men were no longer fighting over some matter of honour. The winner could buy a castle or a whole region — that was better than a trophy, a blue flower or the golden grail. And the danger was so much greater; that was especially attractive. Only a few returned, in ships ready to sink, and did not trouble their brides for long with the desires of their premature old age.