(The Island of Lefkada, in the Ionian Sea; Spring, 1555)

As a young man Ioannis Fokas was quickly recognized among Greek mariners of the Ionian waters as a superior sailor, courageous, and with a curious mind. His interest in navigation soon brought him to the tables of captains not only on his native island of Cephalonia, but also inside the ports of other nearby islands—Ithaca, Kerkera, Zakinthos, Paxi, and Lefkada. There, methods of ancient sailing craft and navigation perfected by the Greeks over millennia were discussed among pilots young and old. Ioannis was present at these seaside tavernas, where 'tzipiro'—a stringent drink made from crushed grape seeds was sipped.

He was invited to the local captains' tables where plates of cheese, olives and grilled octopus were set out along with tales of fair and treacherous passageways between the islands. Details regarding new lands far to the west, outside the Mediterranean were discussed to the interest of the young man. Excitement was brewing about the need for experienced pilots willing to venture out of the charted waters into this vast new ocean the sailors of the Iberian Peninsula were calling the "SouthSea." To someday sail these waters greatly appealed to the pilot Fokas.

Within a few years, his name was associated not only with the well-established sea routes of the Ionian Islands, on the western side of the Greek mainland, but also southward, around the Peloponnesus and then northeastward, out among the arid Cycladic islands. Like some of the more ambitious seafarers of Ioannis' generation, he looked to sign on with an expedition sponsored by the Crowns of either Spain or Portugal. Their principal needs were for pilots able to navigate in unpredictable seas, and to maintain their skills during the long and arduous routes to and from the West Indies.

Such bold consignments involved venturing into an open ocean for long periods of time, a challenge for any mariner. The recruitment of Greek sailors and pilots was quickly becoming a tradition, beginning with Christopher Columbus' three voyages near the close of the 15th century. The 'Admiral of the High Seas,' had in each case hand-picked his able-bodied crews from the GreekIsland of Hios, between the Greek mainland and Anatolia to the east. The men proved reliable, skilled and courageous enough for the unprecedented journeys past the Straits of Gibraltar and across a still-unknown tract of ocean. During each of Columbus' expeditions, the 'Admiral' returned to Spain believing he had reached Asia, as his unorthodox view of reaching the far East had dictated.

But a new reality began to slowly settle in to the restless Empire of Spain, its private investors, and eventually the rest of Europe. It was that these rich, green islands Columbus insisted on calling China and India, sat off a magnificent new continent, waiting for more discovery and the claim of ownership. Spain and Portugal entered into heavy competition to make the vast and murky lands their own. And from this campaign of entitlement, followed by ambitious commercial ventures, emerged new opportunities for men like Ioannis Fokas. Skilled sailors and especially pilots were sought out in great demand by the strongest kingdoms during the 16th and 17th centuries to assist in these efforts. England, France and Russia would soon also make nautical forays into the uncharted regions during these times, wishing to increase their own future market share of trade and to gain strategic positions in an ever-expanding "New World."

One such opportunity eventually presented itself to the young Fokas by agents of the Spanish authorities from Seville. It was for him to sign on with Spain's Royal Navy, operating in the service of "New Spain" and its explorations off the western coast of Mexico which came calling. Being employed by Luis de Velasco, Count of Santiago, the present Viceroy of the region, confirmed Fokas' long-awaited departure from Greek waters. The island coves and familiar straits he had mastered in his youth were but a training ground for the bolder and uncertain seas which promised adventure and a more lucrative future life. Like other Greek mariners before him, the young pilot from Cephalonia would leave the Spanish port of Cadiz that summer, amid the sad wailing of mothers and wives near the Straits of Gibraltar, and enter into the great and uncharted Atlantic Ocean.

What instigated this offer of service in the New World, and his being singled out for recruitment by Spanish officials, was Ioannis Fokas' reputation as a fearless and loyal seaman, capable of prudent decision making in dire situations. It was also his being assigned by those Spanish officials to a most unusual shipping commission within Greek island waters—and later to continue westward, across the South Sea. It was all about a mysterious collection of stones which was to be made ready for its trans-South Sea journey to the New World.

The young Fokas had learned from the Spanish emissaries who found him in the Lefkada port of Vassiliki, that the mission involving these stones would subsequently lead to a full conscription as pilot in the Spanish Royal Navy. Further details revealed at a formal meeting at his home on Cephalonia, explained how this cargo of green marble blocks would sail on by caravel to Hispaniola, in the West Indies. It would then, with his assistance, be ferried to Vera Cruz on the eastern coast of Mexico at an undisclosed time and for an unstated purpose.

The year was 1555 when the Greek pilot penned the proper enlistment documents from his home. From that moment on, Ioannis Fokas would be known in Spanish as 'Juan de Fuca, pilot.' He would in the ensuing years under that name follow orders under the Viceroy in Mexico, both for exploration and commercial ventures in the distant New World. His services would eventually lead to navigation with the historic Spanish galleon trade, which steadily became a lucrative trans-Pacific operation between Manila in the Philippines and Acapulco, Mexico.

Once the young Fokas' paperwork was secured and witnessed by a notary of the Spanish Court, he had approximately a week's time to get his new life together and sail with the Spanish emissary to the island of Tinos to begin his "secret" mission. There he would take possession of the special cargo and begin the long journey back to the Spanish port. After a month's preparation, and officially under the title 'Juan de Fuca,' the longer journey would begin across the Atlantic for delivery. As a former Greek sailor, it was an adventure he had only dreamed about.

The season was early summer, 1555 when he met up with his Spanish contact on Cephalonia and sailed for the CycladicIsland of Tinos. It was coincidentally also the same year in Spain that Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca's 'Relaciones y commentarios' was published. This book chronicled the explorer's phenomenal shipwreck and return from the American Southwest in 1537. De Vaca's journey was treacherously on foot and over two-thousand miles through the continent's most barren territories. The eight year saga, completed with only three comrades out of an original lost expedition of four hundred men, spoke of the courage and survivability of the 16th century adventurers. Cabeza de Vaca's account, upon returning to Spain, would become a sociologically significant document about the great diversity of peoples and resources offered in these vast new lands.

"Juan de Fuca," at the age of twenty-one, along with his small crew and a nervous Spanish official by the name Antonio Silva y Galianos, departed for the island of Tinos and arrive there after some nine days at sea. There they approached the coastal waters of the island under the watchful eye of the Ottoman Turks who in those times controlled most of the Aegean islands. By special arrangement, the Venetian Gheezi family maintained Roman Catholic control of the island through diplomacy and heavy taxation to the Sultan. During that summer it was pre-arranged that the stones of green Tinian marble would be allowed to be collected from a small port near the stone quarry on the northern side of the island. It was understood by all parties that the cargo of some 400 pre-cut stones of varying measurements would be transported by De Fuca in and out of Turkish waters without interference—something the young Fokas was astonished to learn from the Spanish court official.

The Greek vessel he sailed for this leg of the journey was called a 'caiki.' It was a medium sized, sturdy craft with a wide, Turkish-style hull and miniature wheelhouse. Such crafts were used commonly by the Greeks to transport cargo around the Mediterranean. It also had a lateen sail and was low-slung on the sea for stability. Known to be the 'workhorses' of Greek waters for hundreds years, it would be De Fuca's last time to command such a Greek ship, making the transition when he would reach Cadiz to the more powerful Spanish-built caravels and the Portuguese versatile Naos. Later in his career De Fuca would pilot the massive, freight carrying galleons across the Pacific Ocean to the Philippines.

After two days awaiting fair weather, the sturdy caiki stocked with food and water left Cephalonia with the tides and headed southward across he Ionian Sea. Ship and a crew of four passed along Greece's eastern mainland coast, hosting the Spanish emissary to the three peninsulas which prominently define the Peloponnesus of the Greek mainland to the south. Here the craft fought heavier seas and took shelter from the gales at night in leeward coves along these great fingers of land. Good weather followed and the navigator with his Turkish silhouetted sails in full bloom rounded the last peninsula of the Mani region. From there they headed north-eastward toward the Attic peninsula and after two more days of sailing entered into the then-small port town of Athens for supplies.

Spending a day in the port of Piraeus, the pilot, crew and guest dined at a taverna with the great Acropolis in the distance. The men feasted on roasted lamb and drank the local wine—"retsina," with its distinctive taste of pine sap blended with fermented white grapes. Before sunrise they sailed onward, leaving the SporadicIslands and hugging the AtticPeninsula north-eastward, further along the coast of the Aegean.

By sunset, beneath the cliffs of Sunion, the crew and a perennially sea-sick Spanish official looked up at the ruins of the temple of Apollo. They listened to their young pilot recount the legend of how the Aegean Sea got its name. For it was from that lofty bluff, De Fuca explained, that King Aegeas in ancient times had jumped to his death into the waters far below. As legend had it, after sending his son Theseas to Crete to slay the monstrous Minotaur, he awaited the hero's ship to return to Athens. Were the sails to be white upon returning, he would know from a distance that his son had succeeded with his improbable labor—and survived. Were they to be black, as when the ship had left, he would know the young man had perished attempting the improbable task inside the Minotaur's labyrinth. Aboard the caiki, the sea-sick Spaniard seemed to show some signs of interest as De Fuca continued with the outcome of the myth.

Theseas' crew in their hastiness to return to Athens, victorious, had forgotten their king's instructions and were not concerned that they had simply left the black sails on the ship. While the valiant prince sailed home from his duties, his father saw what he had feared—the dark sails approaching on the horizon. The distraught king Aegeas climbed to the temple's precipitous edge and in his anguish leaped to his death into the sea. His grief and suicide forever designated that body of Mediterranean Sea to be called the "Aegean."

When asked by the crew how he liked the myth, the sea-suffering Senior Silva y Galianos could only inquire of them how much farther the sail to Tinos would be.

They caiki was now on a direct northeast course for Tinos, in the Cycladic chain of islands and the waters were famous for their 'meltemi' winds which whistle across the white-capped sea. They sailed all night, navigating past the windy island of Andros with its wooded hillsides, much like Fokas' own island home, now on the other side of the Greek mainland.

By mid-morning the barren hills of Tinos could be seen in the clear skies. Their pilot, sleeping little over the past several days maneuvered his craft around the north side of the island by evening. It was there he would soon find the port described to him by the emissary with a crude map he produced from belongings. It showed a small protected cove just down from the rock-strewn mountainside, obviously close to the marble quarries. It was a remote location, desert-like and out of the seafaring commerce routes of the main port of Tinos. On this side of the island the Venetians and Turks had negotiated a maritime trade agreement which existed over hundreds of years.

Christos, the stone cutter and his two sons were on the small dock in the early morning hours when De Fuca's sail first became visible. A half hour later, the navigator began tacking into the small harbor with difficulty under the now high winds. There, on a crude stone dock, away from the action of the waves, were the celebrated green Tinian stones, cut and stacked neatly, as promised a year before. They were in groups of equal size for easier handling and transport. These piles reached the height of one man and they were set out on the dock the length of five men lying on the dock head to toe.

Stepping out of a small structure with one window and a tall clay chimney was the smiling Christos accompanied by his adult sons. After carefully anchoring the caiki fore and aft, leaving just the distance of a gangplank between the dock and the ship, Fokas agilely stepped onto the dock, his assistants obediently behind him.

He greeted the marble smith with a handshake and the men all proceeded out of the howling wind into the small block structure. There the stone-cutter's sons closed the door and poked up the flames in a corner fireplace. They had put out the characteristic small glasses and tzipiro was poured for all present. Ceremoniously, they held their glasses up in unison before sipping and nodding in approval of the stout local beverage. A brief discussion of their journey was conducted, as was a mentioning of weather, present and past on the island, much to the impatience of the Spanish official. When this formality was deemed concluded, the entire committee exited the small refuge out onto the dock where in the cool wind the stone-cutter allowed for the stones' inspection and the awaited emissary's approval. The blocks glistened brightly in the mid-morning light, radiantly green, and already absorbing the warmth of the summer sun.

The navigator could see these strange stones were of peculiar sizes. They were stacked four to five together and were catalogued on the back of each with a code—first a Roman numeral and then an Arabic number. Fokas walked the length of the stack with the Spaniard. He chose one block and lifted it to check its quality. Quickly complying, Christos ordered his sons to bring several other larger stones nearby for the inspection. When Fokas and the emissary counted their total and were satisfied the manifest was complete, the Spaniard produced a large leather pouch he had been carrying with some difficulty, hidden in his doublet. He ceremoniously dumped out its contents on the stone dock. It was a generous combination of numerous gold bars and silver coins. At that point the man ordered his older son to begin counting them, which he did by grouping the precious metal into little stacks.

When this was done to the satisfaction of the stone-cutter, the Spaniard took out a secondary small pouch, apparently a bonus commission for complying with the time frame, and handed it to the master quarrier. Christos opened it and looked inside, ostensibly counting it quickly and then smiling in further approval. The men shook hands and Fokas gave the signal for his crew to start loading the stones into the deep and buoyant cargo hold of the caiki.

Within the hour, after a small supply of bread, cheese, fruit and drinking water had been consumed and a fresh supply for the homeward journey given the men, Fokas went to the task of maneuvering his craft out of the small port into the lively winds once more. It was this swift, cool air that would ferry them back across two seas of the Mediterranean and then home, completing the first leg of the journey for the marble stones—Cadiz, on the Iberian Peninsula.

From that point in time, Ioannis Fokas would begin his new life as Juan de Fuca, pilot for the Crown of Spain, ready and able to embark on the next leg of a clandestine journey to the New World. It was to be a venture neither he nor any man understood the true significance of.

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