October 1495. Castile, the mouth of the Guadalquivir River, Seville Harbor.
In late autumn Seville, the rainy season was near but had not yet arrived. The sky was wide, clear, and bright, while the horizon was a blurred, dreamlike boundary. The color of the open sea shifted from deep blue toward a vast gray-blue, like a fresh sheet of parchment not yet written on. The swelling tide rose in silence, carrying the sticky scent of grape skins and the salty fragrance of seaweed. And as it poured little by little from the depths of the Atlantic Ocean into the mouth of the Guadalquivir River, one could see tall masts arranged in long rows, all moored beside the stone piers of the harbor.
At this moment, from the tops of those towering masts, the flags of the Castilian Royal House were flying—the Castilian Expeditionary Force, soon to set sail. Beneath the masts were lines of Sailors and soldiers inspecting the ships, and groups of Artisans and immigrants carrying supplies. When the sea wind blew hard, the sail-hung masts rattled in the gale. That deep sound drowned out the noisy human voices, like the chanting of some ancient spell.
"I stand at the harbor of departure and hear the gospel bestowed by the Lord. He says, 'Mundus nondum scriptus est, crux expectat mare. The world has not yet been fully written; the cross awaits the voyage.'"
"Yes! Reverend Father Ramon, you put it so well! In eastern India, Cipangu, and Cathay, those countless Easterners are waiting for the enlightenment of the Lord's light, waiting for noble and devout clergy like you to go and guide their souls... Donde termina la costa, comienza la palabra de Dios! At the end of the coast we sail toward lies the very beginning of the Lord's