"Captain, I asked around! The nearest Portuguese town to here is Coimbra, three days east of the village, about a hundred li or so!... The Royal Capital, Lisbon, is to the south. No one knows how many hundreds of li away it is. No one in the village has ever been there either... But according to the villagers, Portuguese merchant fleets are often seen here, as well as tax officials belonging to the royal family..."
The rainy season had only just passed, and the damp coast reflected the clear sky like a splendid Venetian silver mirror, shimmering with blue-white watery light. The northern Portuguese coast spread out in yellow-white beaches, yet it was not broad and level; instead, there were many jagged cliffs. And one small Portuguese fishing village sat beside a low valley where the cliffs broke off and a river flowed, like a green grape fallen onto an early-summer branch.
The battered Santa Maria great sailing ship lay anchored outside the fishing village, its sails being repaired by the crew. As the village boats came and went from fishing, the Portuguese fishermen aboard all turned their heads curiously to look, pointing now and then and whispering among themselves.
On the deck of the big ship, the Castilian captain De La Cosa sat cross-legged, holding in both hands a local fishing-village specialty—also a Portuguese "special delicacy"—a piece of dry, salty pickled codfish (Bacalhau), which he gnawed at unhurriedly. His expression remained calm the entire time, unchanged even under the fishermen's gawking stares. Only when the sailor Luis, who spoke Portuguese and had been sent ashore, brought back a seemingly unremarkable piece of news did he pause, set down the delicious little dried fish, and ask in a deep voice.
"Mm? Luis, are you certain they were tax officials directly