Midday light streamed through the tall, leaded glass window, casting intricate patterns on the oak writing desk in the middle of the room and glancing across the polished brass inkpot.

Already mesmerized by a map hanging on the wall opposite the table, Francis breathed in the scent of aged paper and leather. He examined the corner illustration of the fraying map, where a sea monster with bulging eyes and a serpentine body rose from the waves to attack a ship.

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

His eyes followed one line across the expanse of sea until it reached an illustration of a ship under a full spread of canvas.

I wonder where she is heading.

He scanned the surrounding water for clues.

“That is a map of the Brazilian coastline.”

Startled, Francis spun around.

John Hawkins stood leaning against the doorframe.

“I am sorry…” said Francis. “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 has shown me one, but I’ve never seen one this large 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 had been touched by water.

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

“My father told me about faraway lands like Brazil, though I’ve never seen them on a map,” said Francis, his cheeks reddening at the lie.

“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 to 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?”

“Yes, half of the day after daylight broke,” said Francis. “And Grandmother kept yelling at Grandfather not to drive the horse so hard.”

John smiled.

“Well, you were traveling at about the same speed as a ship under full sail. Father voyaged to Guinea first.” His hand traced downward from Plymouth, then around an area called Costa da Guiné. “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.”

Francis scratched his head. “Who needs ivory?”

“They make things from that, just like from whalebone. For example, the hilt of this dirk. Well-to-do gentlemen must have things like that!”

“Then, he traveled here.” John’s hand slid across the expanse of the sea. “This is the land of Brazil. 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 counted. “Almost five months to make this journey? That’s amazing!”

John smiled. “Your father taught you to figure well!”

“Why would he venture so far?” asked Francis, beaming at the compliment.

“Some of these things are not available in England—brazilwood, for example. And what we have—like tin or lead—is not available in Guinea or Brazil. These are necessary things and people pay a lot of coin for those goods. Of course, there is danger in traveling so far too.”

“Pirates?!” Francis’s eyes went wide.

“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 Father came across the Falcão.”

Francis frowned.

“Why don’t the Portuguese like trading with us?” he asked. He didn’t want to admit he did not know who the Portuguese were.

“This is Portugal.” John pointed. “And this is Spain. About fifty years ago, the Pope gave half of the world to the Spanish, and the other half to the Portuguese. They could decide whom they wanted to trade with.”

Francis’s eyes followed the movement of John’s hand.

“My father decided to organize voyages and trade with those lands anyway.”

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

John shook his head. “My father is not afraid of anyone. He was a captain in the navy of King Henry, fought in many battles, and the King liked him.”

Francis’s eyes widened.

“He was the first Englishman to sail to Brazil,” John added with pride in his voice. “And for benefiting His Majesty’s realm, he got an appointment as the King’s receiver in Plymouth.”

The words echoed in Francis’s mind.

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.

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

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

Francis looked at John.

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

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 opening two chapters .

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