The severed heads of Quesada and Mendoza were preserved with a lotion of sage and laurel to ensure their longevity as a warning to mutineers planning further mischief. Other body parts such as arms and legs suspended from gibbets began to wither after a few weeks but the heads stuck on spikes retained a lifelike freshness with their eyes open and even a touch of colour to the cheeks. The convicts were required to attend daily mass for the betterment of their souls and received the sacrament under the blind gaze of their former captains.
Pigafetta had been one of three scribes recording evidence at the trial. Of necessity, the record was much abbreviated and Captain Mesquita, the trial president, required certain testimony clarified. One witness had claimed he saw Andres de San Martin, San Antonio’s pilot and the fleet’s chief astrologer, throw a chart overboard. He alleged this chart showed the course from Port St Julian to Spain, indicating this was the track to be followed once the mutiny succeeded and a victorious Cartagena led the ships back to Seville. If so, San Martin was clearly guilty of treason.
“We shall need to test this evidence, Pigafetta,” Mesquita said. “I need you to verify the record.”
San Martin was released from the chain gang, at that time gathering firewood. With a rope around his neck like a donkey he was brought to Trinidad, an elderly man nearly forty years of age. Two sailors bound his arms behind his back at the elbows and then attached the main brace, a line running down from the yardarm. The sailors hauled on the line until San Martin was lifted up on tiptoe and Pigafetta’s mind went back to a dungeon in the catacombs deep beneath the Vatican where a black-robed priest in a hooded cassock presided over the purification of the soul of Angela Guerra, an accused witch. She was certainly a witch to the extent she had bewitched Pigafetta.
“You have plotted against the lawful authority of the captain general,” Mesquita said. “Confess now and you will escape with a reprimand but the strappado has five degrees of persuasion.”
“I have nothing to confess.”
The sailors hauled on the line and lifted San Martin off the deck so he was suspended by the elbows.
“Pilot San Martin, you had plotted the navigation back to Spain even before the rebellion. You must have known about the plot. Confess now or we go on to the second degree.”
“I had nothing to do with the mutiny.”
The line was released and jerked up short and San Martin cried out in agony.
“Pilot, it is foolish to persist in denials. Confess and save yourself pain.”
“I have nothing to confess.”
One of Trinidad’s sailors tied a cannon ball to San Martin’s ankles and he was hoisted aloft.
“Pilot, all I need to know is that you have repented your crime.”
“I have committed no crime.”
The sailors released the line and jerked it up short and San Martin’s arms were pulled out of their sockets but he made no cry at all.
Pigafetta could watch no more and fled to his cabin in distress, as much for the memory of Angela as for the torture of San Martin. He fell face down on his bunk and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, “Angela, Angela, Angela...”