masters deployed to take possession of distant continents and to deprive their inhabitants of their land. Others became markers of a landlord�s status and power, badges of possession, and, in a more sinister way, the means through which rulers they laid claim to lands to which title was uncertain. Still other maps became weapons of war, documents that governments used both to control and to tax their subjects, advertisements intended to lure settlers to migrate to distant colonies, and as well as teaching guides meant to assist Christian missionaries in their attempts to convert heathen souls. Maps in this sense acquired meaning, and in doing so, the field of cartographical inquiry blossomed as historians, art historians and literary scholars invaded the field armed with questions that often had little connection with the antiquarian concerns of previous decades.

The New Map History arrived in Spain somewhat belatedly, but by the mid-1980s, owing in part to the work of foreign scholars, it began to make its mark. One important aspect of the New Map History was the search for maps, and map-like documents that traditionally-minded cartographic historians had either neglected, or rejected as lacking in cartographic significance. Of singular importance was the publication of Ciudades del Siglo de Oro: Las vistas de Anton Van den Wyngaerde (Madrid, Ediciones El Viso, 1987), a volume that gathered together a series of city views originally commissioned by Philip II. Scattered among a number of European archives and libraries, the publication of these views required the collaboration of an international group of scholars, and I had the good fortune to form part of this team. For some, these views represented a new and fascinating guide to the urban fabric of sixteenth century Spain. The New Map History, however, suggested that these views were not necessarily what they seemed, that is, accurate depictions of