Mid-day light streamed through the tall, leaded glass window, casting intricate patterns on the oak writing desk in the middle of the room and playing the polished brass ink pot.

Already mesmerized by a map hung on the wall opposite the table, the scent of aged paper and leather piqued Francis’s curiosity, making him oblivious to the commotion happening outside the window. He examined the corner illustration of the fraying map, where a sea monster with bulging eyes and a serpentine body emerged from the waves was attacking a ship.

His finger traced the creature. Next to it was a compass rose, its lines running in all directions. Some lines had cryptic letters marked—N, SSW, and others.

His eyes followed one line across the expanse of the sea, coming across an illustration of a ship under full spread of canvas.

I wonder where she is heading.

He scanned the surrounding waters for clues.

“That is a map of the Brazilian coastline,” said John Hawkins, leaning against the doorframe.

Startled, Francis spun around.

“I am sorry…” he stammered. “Master Wilkinson asked me to…”

“My father’s secretary always needs something” John rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, I think he invents tasks, just to keep everyone else busy.”

Francis smiled.

“Have you seen maps like this before?” asked John.

“My father shown me one, but I’ve never seen one this big, or this marked up.” Francis looked at the map mounted on the wall again. Some of the lines were bolder, as if drawn several times over. The ink bled in some places, as if the map was exposed to water.

“That is one of my father’s route maps from 1531. He journeyed from England to Guinea, then to Brazil and then back to England.”

“My father told me about some far away lands like Brazil, though I’ve never seen them on a map,” said Francis, his cheeks reddening.

“Come, look at this.” John walked over to a larger map hung on the opposite wall of the study.

Francis followed him.

“We are here, in Plymouth.” He pointed at the map. “Tavistock is here—just a little north.”

Francis nodded, though he didn’t know where Tavistock was either.

“Remember how long it took you to go from Tavistock to Plymouth?”

“Half of the day after daylight broke,” said Francis. “And grandmother kept yelling at grandfather to not drive the horse hard.”

John smiled.

“Well, you were traveling at about the same speed as a ship under full sail. Perhaps a little slower. Father voyaged to Guinea, first.” His hand traced downward from Plymouth, then towards the right. “By ship, it’s just over a month to get there.”

“A month?!”

John nodded.

“Why go there?”

“He traded things like lead and cloth for rare goods like ivory and pepper. The journey was dangerous.”

Francis scratched his head. “Who needs ivory?”

“They make things from that, just like from whalebone. For example, the hilt of this dirk.” He lifted up a small knife from the desk. “This white material is ivory. Well-to-do gentlemen must have things like that!”

“Then, he traveled here.” John’s hand slid across the blue expanse of the sea. “This is the land of Brazil, where trees prized for their dyes grow. The wood from those trees is very valuable. Do you know why?”

Francis shook his head.

“It is used to make dyes for cloth. It took him about three weeks to cross the sea to Brazil, and two and a half months to return.”

“So, altogether, he was gone…” Francis’s counted. “Almost five months to make this journey? That’s amazing!”

John smiled.

“Why would he venture so far?” asked Francis.

“Some of these things are not available in England - like pepper, or Brazil wood. And some goods that we have are not available in Guinea or Brazil. These are necessary things. People use lead and pepper, and you can’t make red cloth without the dyes that are made from that wood. People will pay a lot of money for all of those things. Of course, there is some danger in traveling so far too.”

“Pirates?!” Francis’s eyes were wide, anticipating an exciting tale.

“Well, yes, but there are many that simply don’t want the English in their waters—like the Portuguese. They send out warships to patrol their coastlines. That’s where he came across the Falcão.”

Francis frowned.

“Why don’t the Portuguese like trading with us?” he asked, reluctant to admit he did not know who they were.

“They live here.” John pointed. “And this is Spain. About fifty years ago, the Pope decided to give half of the world to them, and the other half to Portugal. It was called the Treaty of Tordesillas. He also allowed those kings to decide whom they would trade with and whom to keep out.”

Francis remembered Mary’s words, “There are two groups of people.”

“My father did not agree with that. He is an experienced mariner, comfortable with long distances. He organized voyages and journeyed to those places.”

“He was not afraid that the Portuguese would attack him?”

John shook his head. “My father was never afraid of anyone. He was a captain in the navy of King Henry, fought in many battles, and the King liked him.”

“He was the first Englishman to sail to Brazil,” he added with pride in his voice. “And for expanding this trade, he got an appointment to be the King’s receiver in Plymouth.”

The words echoed in Francis’s mind. His hand traced the handle of the dirk.

The rules did not apply to him… well-loved by the King… rewarded for taking risks… not afraid. He was not afraid.

He shuddered at the memory of torches descending from the ridge.

“What did Wilkinson send you here to fetch?” asked John.

Francis looked up.

“He said a brown leather journal. Like a book, with the letter H in the leather cover.”

“Ah, that would be this.” John walked to the writing table and lifted a leather-covered book from it. A dark-brown leather cord bound it closed.

Francis looked at John. He yearned to hear more tales of adventure and faraway lands.

“Thank you for sharing this story with me. Will you tell me more about your father’s travels in the future?” he asked, his voice shy.

Read the next scene, from the historical fiction novel Sic Parvis Magna, “Francis Sees Hawkins’s Affairs”

Did you miss the start? Read the opening scene, Going on Delivery or the overview of the sample chapter.

Read my comments about who is real in Sic Parvis Magna.