Red City on the Ocean

A Moment from the Past - A Storm Off the Coast of Africa

Afonso V and his son, Joao, the heir to the throne, were standing on the deck of the royal caravel. With gloved hands, the royal duo grabbed the tarred ropes as an unprecedented, strong storm raged, bringing with it a furious downpour.

The armada numbered about four hundred ships, and each one was threatened with destruction. Here and there the ships buried their bowsprits in the sea, tilted sideways, touching the waves with the tops of their masts. Waves rolled over the decks, washing away people, horses, barrels, and debris, and there was not a man on these ships now whose heart did not shrink with horror. On some vessels, soldiers arbitrarily launched boats or tried to swim to shore, but it was all in vain. The sea seized them on the spot, pushed at the small boats, and rolled them over. People, both on boats and ships, threw off their heavy armor in panic. Those who managed to do this could still possibly stay afloat. Less fortunate soldiers went under the water without ever having time to shout the name of the Saint Virgin Mary, or their mother or wife...

"Look!" The drenched king shouted to his son, "Look, Joao! I have been preparing this endeavor for years, and now everything I collected for this purpose is going underwater. Do you know how much this cost me and my country? And what this means for all of us! Do you know?!"

Sixteen-year-old Joao did not answer. He knew perfectly well that his father was not waiting for an answer, and the king couldn't even shout or curse in despair like the simple sailors. "Fernao!" The king exclaimed, trying to shout over the noise of the storm. Fernao, the assistant commander of the armada, came out of the cabin on the upper deck of the caravel. He was pale as death. "Fernao, once we are on the shore, you will first count the number of ships remaining in service," the king ordered, "then, you'll fix them up, and also tell me how many days of supplies we have left. If there is not enough for a month, you will have to return to Lagos and replace what we have lost."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Fernao croaked. Holding his stomach with both hands, he wandered back.

Suddenly, a cargo ship hit the broadside of the royal caravel. The cargo ship's mast snapped and began to fall on the caravel. The king and his heir barely managed to dodge out of the way as the mast fell to the deck and cracked it. Judging by the rumble below, the hull was deeply damaged. Fernao's deafening shouts reverberated over this roar as the falling mast grazed him, the end of the second sailyard from above landing right in his mouth and tearing him almost to the ear. Blood gushed onto the deck. Fernao rushed into the cabin where he was quartered with the captain and the doctor, and the squall immediately slammed the door behind him.

The deck became a little quieter. Joao turned his gaze to his father. The king continued like nothing had happened, "Even if we don't have enough supplies, we'll still attack Asilah tomorrow!" The king shouted stubbornly in his son's face. "We will attack the city with what we have left. Having besieged the fortress, we will not last long. We need the provisions they keep in the city. It's all or nothing!"

Joao nodded. He saw his father's despair and was very scared, but Afonso's last words inspired Joao with hope, if not for a successful military campaign, then at least for a successful landing and solid ground under his feet.

Next to the royal caravel, vainly struggling with the waves, a horse floated among the debris and broken parts of ships. She tried to neigh but choked as an indescribable horror froze on her face.