The Falcons of Fire and Ice

CHAPTER Eleven



Hausse-pieds, teneur and attombisseur were the names given to the three falcons cast off one after another when their master was hunting a heron.

Hausse-pieds, ‘raised feet’, was the first falcon. Her role was to rise above the heron in the sky, then harry and distract it.

Teneur, ‘holder’, was the second. Her task was to stoop on the heron in the air and grasp it or ‘bind to’ it.

Attombisseur, ‘the one who causes the fall’, was the third. She brought the heron down to the earth and killed it.





Isabela



Wait on – when a hawk soars high above a falconer and the dogs, waiting for the game to be found and flushed out of the cover so that she can stoop on it.



‘Where are you running off to now, boy?’ Vítor shouted, as Hinrik clambered up a ridge towards a great heap of small stones that had been piled up there.

Hinrik carefully added his own stone to the top before clambering back down. He stood in front of us, his bandy legs astride, looking at each of us expectantly. Then he squatted down, picked up another stone from the track and handed it to me. ‘You must all pay a stone or you will have bad luck.’

‘What is this nonsense, boy?’ Vítor snapped. Hunger and tiredness were making us all irritable.

‘First time you pass a gröf … a grave like this with stones, you must add a stone to it.’

‘Whose grave is it, lad?’ Fausto asked.

Hinrik shrugged. ‘Witch or wizard. They must be very powerful to be buried out here. They will curse you if you do not give them a stone. You must do it,’ he added anxiously.

Vítor snorted. ‘I’m certainly not going to make any offerings to witches. That’s blasphemy, boy.’

‘Oh yes, I was forgetting you’re a strict Lutheran pastor now, aren’t you, Vítor?’ Marcos said.

‘You know very well I am not a Lutheran,’ Vítor said, his voice crackling with ice. ‘I am here to map this island.’

Marcos and Fausto exchanged looks which plainly said neither of them believed a word of that.

‘Then why didn’t you stay at the coast? Isn’t the shore where map-makers usually start?’ Fausto said. He bent down and selected a stone from the many that lay scattered about, fallen from the steep peaks above us. From the expression on his face, I half-thought he was going to use it to batter Vítor.

It was hard to say which of the two men disliked Vítor the more, for both took every opportunity to goad him as well as each other. Over the last few days, struggling to survive out in the open, hunger and exhaustion had only made their tempers worse. Fausto and Marcos were forever snapping and snarling at each other and at Vítor. Of the three, only Vítor never seemed to lose his chilling self-control, which only made me more wary of him.

‘The coast is already well mapped, Senhor Fausto, as you would have seen if you had taken the trouble to show any interest in the navigator’s work while we were at sea, which I can assure you I did. But my masters are interested in the interior of the island, the mountains to be precise, of which few details are given on the charts. Why do you imagine we are travelling in this direction?’

‘And who are your masters exactly?’ Marcos said.

Vítor allowed himself a half-smile. ‘I, unlike some, am known for my discretion. I was chosen for this task because I could be relied upon not to gossip about their business like some market crone.’

‘Anyway,’ Fausto said with the tone of a petulant child, ‘who says we’re travelling this way for your convenience?’

‘An excellent question, Senhor Fausto, and one I’ve been meaning to ask you. I have patiently explained why I wish to venture into the mountains, not that it is any concern of yours, so perhaps you would care to enlighten us about your reasons.’

‘Diamonds,’ Fausto said brazenly, without the slightest hesitation or embarrassment. ‘Where else would they be found except in the mountains?’ Then he suddenly seemed to recall that I was standing there listening. ‘Isn’t that so, Isabela?’

His eyes met mine. There was something in that tone and look that went far beyond asking me not to expose his lie. It was almost a threat, warning me to keep silent. He offered his hand to me with a slight bow.

‘Come, Isabela. Shall we cast our stones together to appease the old witch? We don’t need any more ill luck, we already have an albatross trailing after us as it is,’ he said, glaring at Vítor.

I shrank away from him. Did he really think I would be so foolish as to clamber up on that ridge alone with him? I could see exactly what he was planning. If Fausto succeeded, the witch wouldn’t be the only corpse lying under a pile of stones. Ignoring Hinrik’s frantic pleas, I turned and walked on up the ravine. I knew the men would follow. No matter what I did, I couldn’t lose them. The more desperate I became to get away, the more determined they seemed to keep me close.

The land had grown more strange and wondrous the further we had travelled from the coast. Once we passed a great flat plain dotted with pools with raised clay sides like little washing tubs. All around them the earth was stained every colour that you can imagine – vivid blue, gentian and red, green, yellow and ochre. I thought at first the wool and cloth dyers had been at work there, but when we walked up to them we saw that the pools contained not water but boiling mud that glooped and bubbled like a thick soup on a cooking fire. Then suddenly behind us a jet of pure, clear water shot high into the air straight out of the ground and fell to earth again, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of steam. As we walked further, we came across more pools of boiling mud and found to our horror that the earth was falling away beneath our feet with every step. Terrified of plunging down, we ran for higher ground.

But the hills and high ridges were not without their hazards either, for we often had to cross wide rivers of loose shale that threatened to sweep us down the hillside. Hinrik showed us how to drop on our hands and knees and dig with a stick a few inches beneath the shale to find the firm rock on which we could crawl across. I copied him and Fausto followed, but Vítor and Marcos were still vying with each other and neither would humiliate himself by kneeling, until Vítor, trying to walk across it, slipped on the loose stone and was carried halfway down the hill by it before he could stop. He soon learned to crawl then. But it was slow, painful work and our knees and hands were cut and bruised by the end of it.

Each time I could safely drag my gaze from the ground I was searching the skies for the falcons, but though I saw many waterfowl winging their way between the rivers and lakes, and even a tiny merlin, I didn’t see a single white falcon, nor its prey the ptarmigan. Whenever I could safely do so, out of earshot of the others, I asked Hinrik where the ptarmigan were. Had he seen any? When did he think we would see some? The poor lad began to look alarmed every time I approached.

‘They are not here,’ he said wearily each time. ‘I told you. In the mountains. High in the mountains.’

‘But if you see one you will show me at once,’ I begged him.

‘I can show you duck. They are good to eat too.’

But we didn’t catch any duck either.

All the time we were walking, and when we sat around the camp fire at night I was constantly planning how I might capture a wild falcon, for I knew I might only get one chance. If I could find them I wanted to take two sore birds, those in their first year of life. They were easy to distinguish because before they went through their first moult their plumage was much darker. But after the first moult it was much harder to tell the age of a falcon from a distance. If I captured one that was too old, the chances were it would not survive the long sea journey home and all this effort would be for nothing. But perhaps I would have no choice but to take whatever I could.

I knew how to take passage birds, those birds migrating south in the autumn. Ever since I had been old enough to sit still, my father had taken me out to the plains in Portugal to wait for the kites and harriers, eagles, buzzards and falcons to arrive. There he built elaborate hides out of sods and set up nets and poles with live pigeons as bait, wooden falcons as decoys, and tethered shrikes that would give warning of the approaching bird of prey.

We would wait in silence in the hide from dawn until dusk, never taking our eyes from the shrikes. ‘Patience,’ said my father, ‘is the most important skill a falconer must master.’ When the shrikes became agitated my father would know exactly which bird of prey was approaching. If they bated and flapped on their perches, it was a buzzard. If they ran out of their hiding places with cries of alarm, it was a sparrowhawk or falcon, and if they moved slowly, a kite, eagle or harrier. If the approaching bird was one my father wanted, he would release a tethered pigeon, and once the hawk had fastened on to it, he could pull them both into his net.

But I could not set traps like my father. He knew exactly which route the migrating hawks would take. He could wait in the certainty that, sooner or later, they would come. I had no idea where the white falcons were.

There was another way he had shown me once when he had helped a man recapture a falcon that had returned to the wild. That required only a long line to which a pigeon or other prey was attached, but that method depended entirely on luck. You had first to find your bird and then hope that it would fly at your prey. If the bird was hungry enough and prey was scarce, your chances were good, but if the white falcons were following a flock of ptarmigan, it would take more than luck, it would take a miracle, and I was no longer sure which God I should beg for the miracle now.

When those Danes seized me and forced me to the ground, did I pray then? I shuddered as I remembered it, feeling again the weight of the man on top of me, crushing me, the stench of his sweat in my nostrils, the sheer terror of being pinned down, unable to move. Katolik! Katolik! they kept shouting at me. I didn’t need Hinrik to tell me what that meant. But I wasn’t a Catholic, didn’t they know that, couldn’t they see? I was seething with rage and the burning injustice of it.

I know it was foolish. In the end it doesn’t matter why a man rapes you. Rape is animal lust. Rape is foul. Rape is the desire to hurt and destroy, because a man has that power. Yet the fact that they were doing this because they believed I was a Catholic was the only thought I could hold on to in my terror. If they had attacked me because I was a Marrano, a Jewish pig, would that have made it easier to bear? I knew it would not, and yet I could not stop hating them for calling me a Catholic.

For the first time since my father’s arrest, I felt in my heart a truth that I had only up to then grasped in my mind – I was not a Catholic. They were my enemies. What I had once believed, I now despised with a loathing that filled my frame with fire. It was that attack which had made me understand it, truly feel it. I was like one who has been drugged for a long time and suddenly wakes to sharp, raw pain.

We made camp not long after we passed the witch’s cairn, higher up the steep ravine whose entrance she guarded. The sun was already setting below the rocks though it scarcely seemed any time at all since it had risen. Even at midday it barely managed to struggle over the back of the mountains, and it was as cold as its own reflection in the bog pools.

We built a fire on a mossy ledge beside a raging river which had cut deep into the hillside. Great rocks were strewn either side, some balanced upon one another. There was a little hollow under one, which had evidently been worn down by sheep pushing their way under the boulders in search of shelter from the wind and rain.

Fausto yanked up a small wiry bush and, using the stiff stems as a brush, cleared out the hollow of sheep’s droppings, carefully assembling them in a heap for fuel. We were all learning fast to hoard anything that would burn.

‘You can sleep in here, Isabela, it’s just big enough for you and it’ll shelter you from the wind.’

‘Let Hinrik have it, I prefer to sleep by the fire.’

It was not just because Fausto had suggested it that I refused. Nothing would have induced me to crawl under that huge rock. It felt too much like the nightmares that stalked my sleep.

Ever since we had left France, I had dreamt of that forest, and in Iceland, a land without trees, the nightmares had become more vivid than ever, but they were never quite the same. In some dreams I would be running, fleeing for my life. In others I was trying to hold on to a child, fighting desperately to keep the little one safe, shielding a baby with my own body, pleading for its life. But all the dreams ended in the same way with violent, savage death and then silence, a terrible dark and lonely silence which chilled and haunted me even in my waking hours.

Marcos hunkered down next to me, trying to warm his hands over the tiny fire which Hinrik had managed to get burning with a flint and iron.

‘Fish again tonight?’ he asked dismally. ‘If you can call it fish, more like eating old shoe soles. I never thought I’d say this but I’m actually starting to crave ship’s biscuit, at least the weevils gave it some flavour.’

I rummaged among our pitifully few stores. The smoked puffin was long gone, and there was precious little dried cod left.

I drew out what remained and showed it to them. ‘Fish is better than nothing and tomorrow there will be nothing, unless we find something to stretch this out tonight.’

‘Since you were complaining about the food, Senhor Marcos, I would suggest that you and Senhor Fausto go and find us something else to eat,’ Vítor said. ‘And you, boy, make haste and find us some more fuel before this feeble little fire dies away entirely.’

Fausto threw the stems he’d been using as a brush on to the fire, where they blazed for a few moments before collapsing into ash. ‘And what exactly will you be doing, Senhor Vítor, while we’re all toiling away to keep your belly stuffed and your bony arse warm?’

‘I’ll stay with Isabela and try to keep the fire going. Someone has to stay with her. It will be dark soon. It isn’t safe for her to be left alone.’

‘No!’ The word burst out of me in a shriek before I could stop it. The last thing I wanted was to be left alone with Vítor. ‘Let Hinrik stay with me and we’ll both collect fuel. You three go. As you say, it’ll be dark soon and you’ll all need to search if we’re to have any hope of finding anything to eat. Marcos, you said you studied herbs. There must be some kind of plant growing here we can eat.’

‘Herbs won’t fill our bellies,’ Fausto said before Marcos had a chance to reply. ‘Good strong meat, that’s what we need. I was always rather good at setting snares when I was a boy. I promise you shall dine like a queen tonight, fair Isabela.’ He swept off his cap in a low bow, and bounded away down the hill. ‘Look after her, lad, don’t let her out of your sight.’

With a great deal less enthusiasm Vítor and Marcos set off too, Marcos taking care to go in the opposite direction to the other two.

Hinrik began to feed the fire with sheep’s dung, absently dropping them in one at a time, as if he was feeding scraps of meat to a puppy. He was grinning to himself, obviously enjoying some private joke.

‘What’s funny?’ I asked.

‘Senhor Fausto is in love.’

I smiled. ‘If he is, it certainly isn’t with Vítor, or Marcos, come to that.’

‘With you. He always tries to get you alone. He always tries to get near you when you walk. He watches you when you are sleeping. I have seen him. He loves you.’ Hinrik chuckled.

A cold fist clutched at my belly at the very thought of him watching me while I lay asleep and helpless.

‘No, believe me, Hinrik,’ I said fervently, ‘you couldn’t be more wrong.’

I stared at the hollow under the balancing stone. Why had Fausto urged me to sleep in there, under that great rock? What was he planning now? I would never be able to sleep again, not as long as he was anywhere near me. I glanced up at the hill top. How long would it be before the men returned? If I could just get as far as the top of the hill before they came back, once I was safely out of sight I could hide and then …

‘Why don’t you go and see if you can find something else to burn, Hinrik?’

The boy shook his head. ‘Senhor Fausto said I was to stay with you.’

‘I need to stay with the fire to keep it burning. If I leave it, it’ll go out, but we need more fuel, lots more fuel. Hurry now, it’s nearly dark.’

‘Not unless you come with me. I do not want to go alone … the witch.’ His face was screwed up in anxiety. ‘They rise from the grave when the sun sets. You did not give her a stone. You should have given her a stone. She will curse us. You see, nothing will go right for us now.’

The shadows were deepening in the ravine, the great boulders assuming almost human shapes in the twilight. In that place, I could believe anything was possible. Why hadn’t we done as Hinrik had asked, even if it was to reassure him? I didn’t need any more bad luck. I was running out of time. How many days had passed since we landed? I was losing count. A week? No, it couldn’t be, not yet! Please God, not yet!

‘Hinrik, are we near the place of the white falcons? How far is it to the high mountains? How many days?’

The boy hunched away from me. ‘You must not talk of them. Not in this place. It will call the witch’s curse.’

He refused to say more. In the end we searched for fuel together, never straying out of sight of the guttering yellow flames. We heaped our finds near the fire to dry them – more dung, dried woody roots and stems from bushes and the dried bones and skull of a sheep that must have fallen from the rocks and broken her legs. Hinrik insisted on dragging them to the fire, saying his mother had often burned bones for fuel.

But as soon as I smelt the stench of the burning, I could only see the girl standing in the flickering torchlight of that sultry Lisbon night with the pitifully tiny casket of bones in her arms. I could hear her sobbing as the casket burst into flames on the pyre. Her mother … ? Her father … ?

Hinrik stiffened at the sound of footsteps on rocks as Marcos stumbled back towards our camp. He tossed a small heap of woody plants down beside me.

‘Is that for the pot or the fire?’ I asked.

‘All I could find,’ Marcos said morosely.

Before I could ask him what the plants were, Vítor reappeared, closely followed by Fausto, who threw himself disconsolately on to the ground beside the small fire, and stared into the flames, his fingers savagely plucking at the grey, wiry grass. Marcos glowered at the pair of them.

It was obvious from Fausto’s empty hands and stony expression that he’d caught nothing. So there was really no need for Marcos to comment, but he did.

‘So where’s this sumptuous supper you promised us, Fausto?’

The light from the flames flickered across Fausto’s face, showing the muscles tighten as he clenched his jaw.

‘There’s nothing to trap in this cursed land.’

‘Yet according to you we were going to dine like royalty tonight.’

‘So what game have you brought us for the pot?’ Fausto retorted. ‘I don’t smell it cooking, or was the boar you slaughtered with your bare hands too massive to carry back?’ He prodded the bundle of withered herbs which I was sorting through. ‘Is this what you brought back? Not even sheep could eat this. What is it anyway?’

‘Herbs, but if you don’t want to eat them …’

‘Yes, but what kind of herbs? On the ship you told us you were a physician, come here to look for new herbs for cures. I can’t say I’ve noticed you take any interest in the plants as we’ve been tramping through this wilderness. And for that matter I haven’t seen you do any physicking either. When Isabela hurt her knee it was the ship’s surgeon who attended to her, not you.’

‘That was a job for a bone-setter. I am no common bone-setter. A physician doesn’t deal with such matters.’

‘So you’d let a woman suffer in agony rather than soil your hands, would you? You know what, if you are a physician, prove it.’ Fausto plunged his hand inside his scrip and drew out a couple of handfuls of wizened red berries. ‘I found these. I have no idea whether they’re poisonous, but if you’re as knowledgeable with herbs and plants as you claim, you’ll know whether or not these are safe to eat.’

‘Why don’t you eat them and find out?’ Marcos growled. ‘Then with luck we’ll only have four people to divide that fish among instead of five.’

‘I’ve got a better idea – why don’t you eat them?’

Fausto flung himself on Marcos, seizing him by the front of the doublet and trying to cram the berries into his mouth.

‘Stop it!’ I yelled. ‘Leave him alone. Those berries might kill him!’

Vítor rushed over and tried to prise Fausto off, but even so it took several minutes of Marcos pushing and kicking, and Vítor tugging, before Fausto could be persuaded to let go. All three men collapsed on to the ground, panting. Marcos spat out the berries still in his mouth, and rubbed his bruised lips. It was clear that neither man was in any mood to apologize.

I began to gather up the withered herbs that their flaying feet had scattered, more to break the paralysing silence than with any intention of using them. But as I reached for one plant that Marcos had dragged up by its root, I caught a whiff of something that was vaguely familiar. I examined it more carefully, and sniffed at it again.

‘I’m sure this is valerian. The root smells like old leather when it’s freshly dug up, but more like stale sweat when it’s dried. My father uses it to cure …’ I stopped myself just in time. ‘As rat bait.’

‘Then it’s poison!’ Fausto clambered to his feet.

‘No, no,’ I said quickly. ‘It just draws the rats. They love the smell. But every apothecary has the dried root of this on his shelves. It’s a healing plant, it eases pain, but it will make you fall asleep.’

‘So that was your little plan,’ Fausto said triumphantly, as though he had unmasked a plot to murder the king. ‘What were you going to do, put it in the pot, then refuse to eat any yourself? What then, rob us?’

Without warning he sprang at Marcos again, pulling his knife from his belt as he did so. Marcos leapt to his feet, but he didn’t move quickly enough and found himself backed against a rock, with Fausto’s dagger pointing directly at his heart. Hinrik took refuge behind a boulder. Vítor scrambled to his feet, but eyeing the dagger, this time made no move to intervene.

‘I didn’t know what it was! I swear!’ Marcos protested.

‘But you said you were a physician,’ Fausto yelled. ‘So you should know, that’s the point. If you are not a physician then tell us who you are.’

He jabbed the dagger towards Marcos, and for one dreadful moment I thought he had thrust it in. I ran at him and grabbed his arm, trying to pull the dagger away.

‘How dare you of all people accuse Marcos of lying,’ I shouted. ‘You’ve no right to question him!’

Fausto pushed me away with his other hand. ‘I’ve every right to find out what kind of man we’re travelling with, for all our sakes. He’s obviously got something to hide.’

‘I think you had better do as he says, Senhor Marcos,’ Vítor said quietly. ‘I am sure you can explain yourself. And Senhor Fausto, I suggest you stop waving that dagger about before someone gets hurt. If, as you surmise, Senhor Marcos is not a physician, then you will have no one to tend you if you manage to stab yourself in a tussle, and that could lead to a very painful and lingering death out here miles from any assistance.’

Fausto hesitated, then with obvious reluctance lowered the knife, but he did not sheath it.

‘Go on then,’ he growled at Marcos. ‘What are you waiting for? Tell us.’

Marcos was breathing heavily and his hands were trembling, but he tried to laugh it off.

‘There was really no need for theatrical gestures; I have nothing to hide from my fellow countrymen. I couldn’t divulge my real reason for coming here to any on the ship, nor to that man who searched us. But none of us is in a position to report each other to the Danes, are we? We all have our reasons for being here, which we would not want to make known to them.’ He raised his eyebrows, challenging Vítor, but his face gave nothing away.

‘The truth is I came here looking for the white falcon. I hoped to capture one of these birds and smuggle it back to Portugal.’

I must have let out a cry for Marcos turned to me.

‘Yes, I know how dangerous it is. I realized that even before Hinrik here told us the night we spent with the farmer, but you see, I’m desperate enough to take that risk. I’m heavily in debt.’

Fausto shot a startled glance at me, but Marcos appeared not to notice.

‘A friend of mine, a friend I trusted with my life, came to me to borrow a great sum of money. He needed it, he said, to buy a farm. He was in love, but the girl’s family wouldn’t consent to the wedding unless he could provide her with land and a respectable living. They were threatening to marry her off to a wealthy old man who had asked for her hand. He showed me the farm. It was good land, well stocked with mature vines and olives, as well as pasture. The girl was as terrified of being married off to the old man as my friend was of losing her. He assured me that once he had the girl’s dowry he would repay a third of what he borrowed from me, then another third each year until the debt was repaid.

‘I had nothing like the sum, but I was able to borrow it on my good name, for people knew me as a respectable notary and I was trusted by wealthy men. But it seems my friend was less than honest with me. He was in the habit of gambling and had even stolen from his employers. He laid the money I had given him on the fighting cocks, in the hope of making a fortune and replacing the money that he’d stolen before the loss was noticed, but he lost it all.

‘If I can’t repay the people I borrowed from, my reputation will be ruined and so will my livelihood, for no one will come to me if they think I can’t be trusted. I don’t know how to find enough money to repay them, but if I could get my hands on just one white falcon and sell it I could pay all those I owe and more besides.’

Fausto’s gaze darted to me again before he turned back to Marcos. ‘And just how are you intending to capture these birds? You don’t appear to have brought any nets or traps.’

‘It would have looked a little suspicious if I had, wouldn’t it? You saw how thoroughly that little clerk searched our bundles. If he’d found nets and traps, I don’t think even he would have believed they were for capturing flocks of wild plants.’

Fausto’s mouth twitched in a smile he couldn’t suppress. But Hinrik wasn’t laughing. He edged forward, his face pale under the sea-tan.

‘No, Senhor Marcos, you must not try to catch the birds. The Danes have spies everywhere. They will catch us and hang us.’

Marcos grasped his shoulder and squeezed it gently. ‘They won’t catch me, lad. And if they do, I will tell them you knew nothing of it.’

Hinrik shook his head at what he appeared to think was the sheer stupidity of the foreigner. ‘They hang everyone, even little boys if they are caught with their fathers. The girls and women, they tie their hands and feet then they throw them from a high cliff into the lake to drown. My mother … I watched her …’

He scrubbed angrily at his eyes, then turned and pointed down the ravine in the direction of the witch’s cairn, though it was too dark now to see it. ‘If you try to take a falcon she will make sure you are caught. Nothing will go right now.’

I rose and bustled across to the gently bubbling pot, hoping that food might dispel the boy’s fear. But what was in that pot was not likely to cheer anyone. I found a handful of withered thyme among the valerian Marcos had plucked, though I suspected he didn’t recognize that either. Its leaves were hairy, unlike the thyme at home, but they still had that faint familiar smell of summer, like a wisp of perfume that you catch just for a moment when you crush an old dried rose petal. But it was only a shadow of the plant I knew which thrived under the hot sun of Portugal, and did little to add flavour to the dried cod.

There was not the brittle spark of a star or a sliver of moon tonight to illuminate the distant mountains. A thick blanket of darkness lay across the land. The tiny pool of blood-red light from the fire was like an island in the black ocean that we heard and sensed moving around us, as the wind stirred its waves of grass and the creatures in its depths shrieked and called unseen.

Was it really possible that three of us were here on the same quest? I hadn’t believed Fausto’s story and I wasn’t at all sure I believed Marcos. Had they both mentioned the white falcon because they knew that was why I had come here? If they were lying, then why were they really here, and more disturbingly, why were they so intent on keeping me with them? But if they were both telling the truth, if they were both searching for the white falcons, what would happen if I did catch one? Surely they would try to take it from me. To try to find a pair for myself was hard enough, but if all three of us were going after the same rare quarry …

I glanced over at Hinrik sitting hunched miserably as close to the fire as he could. If the poor boy had been forced to watch his own mother thrown from a cliff, he certainly wasn’t going to help me find those birds, and I couldn’t blame him. I shivered, feeling again my lungs screaming in pain as they fought for air when I was drowning in that bog. If Marcos had not been there to pull me out … No, I mustn’t even think about getting caught. I must not get caught.

We huddled round the fire spearing the meagre pieces of dried fish from the pot with the points of our knives and chewing the boiled pieces. I have never attempted to eat sheep’s wool, but I imagine the texture would not be unlike that fish, and would taste much the same too. We chewed and chewed until the mouthful was softened enough to swallow. Only hunger made us persist.

If we couldn’t even find food now, how would I survive the winter? If I didn’t return to a port and find a passage on a ship I would be trapped here as an outlaw, unable to seek shelter in any man’s home. But of one thing I was certain: whatever it took, whatever it cost me, I would not leave without the falcons. I couldn’t come all this way to give up now, knowing it would mean my father’s certain death.

Even now he was lying in the Inquisitor’s jail in Lisbon, deep in the earth. Were they hurting him? Torturing him? Did he have food in his belly tonight or clean water to slake his thirst? I felt suddenly guilty that I had complained about the tastelessness of the fish. My father and many like him would have been glad of just a fragment of what I’d forced down my ungrateful throat. I had the clean cold streams to drink; I had sweet fresh air to breathe, while they lay in dungeons so fetid that every breath they drew in choked them. And my mother, where was she, and what was she eating tonight?

‘Listen!’ Vítor whispered urgently. ‘There’s someone moving about out there. Scatter. Hide yourselves.’

We scrambled behind rocks, and crouched low. I was thankful for the darkness that concealed us, but also cursing it for I could see nothing and was terrified I had put myself directly in the path of whoever was moving towards us.

Someone called out softly and we held our breath, not daring to move. There was a muttered exchange in words I didn’t understand. It sounded as if there were two men close by.

‘Who are they, boy?’ Vítor whispered to Hinrik.

‘Icelanders. They say they are friends.’

‘We have no friends here,’ Vítor said.

The same young voice called out again.

‘He says they’ve come to help. He says we must hurry! We must come now.’

None of us moved or made a sound. I cautiously peered around the rock. Two men were standing beside the fire. I couldn’t see their faces.

‘Stay here,’ Vítor whispered fiercely. ‘Not you, boy, you’re coming with me.’ He grabbed Hinrik by the back of his jerkin and pulled him out from behind the rocks. They took a few paces towards the fire, Vítor’s fist clenched tightly around the hilt of his dagger.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

The younger of the two knelt down and, as if to show he was no threat, warmed his hands over the glowing dung. The firelight lit up his smooth cheek and the red-gold of his hair. He spoke rapidly and quietly. Hinrik whispered back. Vítor shook his shoulder to remind him to translate.

‘He says his name is Ari. The man is Fannar. He has a farm two valleys from here.’

‘What do they want with me?’ Vítor demanded.

‘He asks if we have a girl with us and two other men.’

Hinrik seemed to be on the verge of answering this question himself, but Vítor jerked him backwards.

‘Tell him no. Say there are just two of us.’

Ari frowned, looking round at the rocks as if he could see me hiding. The older man, Fannar, bent his head close to the lad and they muttered together.

Ari turned back to Hinrik, gesticulating as he spoke.

‘He says Danes on horseback are tracking three men and a girl who attacked their sons. When they catch them they will tie them to the horses and run them back. It is what they always do. Most die before …’ Hinrik was plainly so terrified he could not bring himself to translate what would happen to us, if we survived long enough to reach a town.

‘Tell them if I see these people, I’ll warn them.’ Vítor was still giving nothing away.

Ari sighed, plainly exasperated by the game, and spoke again to Hinrik.

‘Ari says if he can find you, the Danes can too. They are fools, but not dead fools. They can see the glow of a fire in the dark and smell smoke and fish cooking. They know only an outlaw would be camping out at this season. If we want his help, Fannar will give it.’

‘And why would this Fannar risk his own life to help strangers?’ Vítor asked.

‘Fannar hates the Danes and they say …’ Hinrik hesitated, exchanging glances with the older man, ‘He has heard the girl is of the old faith.’

‘And he is of the old faith, the Catholic faith?’ Vítor said carefully.

Marcos suddenly stepped into the circle of firelight. ‘What are you playing at, Vítor? The three of us can’t fight off armed men on horseback. These men are offering to help us.’

Vítor tried to say something, but Marcos took a step forward, pushing him aside and addressing himself to Hinrik. ‘Tell them we’re the ones the Danes are hunting, but we didn’t attack them, they were trying to rape the girl.’

I rose from my hiding place and edged forward a few paces. ‘It’s true. They were only trying to help me.’

When Hinrik translated the older man nodded and grunted, as if he had guessed as much, then spoke to Hinrik, gesturing to him with an impatient wave of his hand to tell us.

‘Fannar says those boys are evil. But what can you expect with such fathers? But it is not safe here. He says he will hide us until the Danes have moved on. But we must come now. We –’

Fannar grabbed Hinrik and clapped a broad, meaty hand across the lad’s mouth. The boy struggled until Fannar whispered something, then he stood rigidly still. Ari motioned us to be silent. We all stood still, listening.

‘Hestur!’ Ari whispered.

Just at that moment I heard it too, drifting up from the bottom of the ravine, the unmistakable ring of horses’ shoes striking stones and the creaking of leather. Before any of us could move, Ari had tipped the contents of the pot over the fire, extinguishing the flames with a hiss of fishy steam.

I felt my hand grabbed by someone in the darkness. For a moment, frightened it might be Fausto or Vítor, I resisted, but then realized it was Ari. He was pulling me between the rocks, as if he could see exactly where we were going. I was running blind, stumbling and slipping. I didn’t know if the others were following or not. All I could do was cling to Ari’s hand and trust him. The ravine was filled with the sound of hooves, shouts and yells as the riders urged their mounts up the steep track. But we did not stop to look back. We ran for our lives into the darkness.





Ricardo



Haute volerie – ‘the great flight’, when the quarry bird such as a kite, raven, crane or heron climbs high into the air and the falcon tries to fly above it to stoop down on it, resulting in a great aerial battle of life and death.



The world was suddenly plunged into darkness as Ari extinguished the fire. I couldn’t even work out which was up or down, but when I heard the horses’ hooves clattering over the stones, I wasn’t going to stop to find out. It sounded as if there was a whole army down there. I turned and fled in the opposite direction to the shouts below. Stones were kicked down as someone scrambled up the rocks ahead of me. It’s not often a fellow has reason to be grateful for dirt being kicked in his face, but at least it meant I could follow the trail. I just hoped they didn’t dislodge anything bigger.

A broad, heavy hand suddenly clamped down on my arm and hauled me into the shelter of some overhanging rocks, nearly dashing my brains out on the stone. I yelped, but another hand shot over my mouth to silence me. We huddled together, crouching in the darkness, listening to the sounds of one another’s rasping breath and the roar of the river as it galloped down the hillside. We were all straining to hear if the Danes were following us. We could hear them blundering about below us, but their voices did not seem to be getting closer.

Fannar whispered to Hinrik who in turn relayed the message to us. ‘He says he will go ahead to guide us. We must follow one after another, but keep close. Hold on to the person in front until he says it is safe to let go. If we fall off the track, we will fall a very long way down. Come.’

‘No, wait. I think someone is missing,’ Isabela whispered urgently.

In the darkness it was impossible to see who anyone was, but we each whispered our names and realized that it was Vítor who was not with us.

The Icelander muttered something that I’m sure was a curse or two.

‘You don’t think Vítor would tell the Danes …’ Isabela began, but trailed off.

Fannar whispered to Hinrik in a gruff voice.

‘He says he will go back to look for Vítor. Ari will guide us to the farm.’

Before any of us could stop him, Fannar was gone, sliding back into the darkness.

There was a pause, then we heard voices.

‘That’s Fannar talking! Have they caught him?’ Isabela asked.

I could hear the fear in her voice. I reached out and took her hand. It was as cold as marble. I chafed it gently to warm her, but she jerked it away as if I’d burned her.

Hinrik had crept a little way out of the overhang to listen. He came scuttling back on all fours, as silently as a spider. ‘He tells them the fire they saw was his fire. He was searching for lost sheep and got hungry so he cooked himself some supper.’

‘Do they believe him?’ I whispered.

‘If they do, they’ll ride on and Fannar can look for Vítor, if not …’ He did not need to finish the sentence.

With Ari leading we trailed up the mountain track. I was holding on to Isabela as we stumbled through the dark, edging round great lumps of rock on one side of the gut-churningly narrow path, with nothing but a yawning black abyss on the other. As we climbed the wind grew stronger, buffeting us as if it was trying to push us off the track. I pressed my free hand against every boulder I could feel on the side of the path, in the desperate but vain hope that I would be able to grab hold of something solid if I slipped.

Occasionally one of us would kick a stone and we’d hear it fall away in the darkness, rattling and bouncing down the steep hillside in a drop that seemed to go right down into hell itself. I asked myself a dozen times how on earth I had come to be wandering blindly along a path in the pitch dark, following a mountain goat of a boy I’d never met in my life before, when every step I took could see me plunging down to certain death. Was Ari even human? Maybe he was a demon or one of those trolls Hinrik talked about. How would I know? All I did know was that I had to be as mad as a mooncalf to be putting my life in his hands.

And yet, as I felt the warmth of Isabela’s back, the flexing of her muscles beneath the cloth, smelt that strange, sweet perfume of her hair, I found myself willing to be led anywhere.

Finally, to my immense relief, I felt the track beginning to descend, but I quickly discovered a new hazard, for it seemed to be far easier to slip walking down. In front of me Isabela was limping badly. If my knees were protesting at the slope, her weakened leg must have been giving her agony, but she didn’t so much as let out a squeak of pain or ask to rest. That girl had more spirit than a vat of brandy.

But soon we found ourselves walking on a flatter, smoother track. Every now and then the moon would peer round the curtains of cloud at us, like some inquisitive old lady determined to see who was passing along her street. Its silver light appeared just long enough to reveal that we were in a high valley, with the sharp ridges of mountains on either side, before darkness closed in again.

God alone knows how far we walked. Now that we were no longer in single file, Isabela was walking at my side. Several times she stumbled, and in the end I put my arm around her to help her along, and though she resisted at first, eventually, limping and exhausted, she leaned into me. If she hadn’t been with us I’d have collapsed in the grass and refused to take another step, but I had to keep going for her sake. I could hardly let her think I was weaker than a woman. Besides, that little mountain goat, Ari, was still bounding along as if he’d just been taking a summer’s evening stroll around town. He might not have looked like a troll, but he certainly wasn’t human. No normal man could ever have that much energy. There are times when a fellow could really loathe the young.

Fannar and Vítor arrived at the farmstead not long after we did. Fannar’s wife, Unnur, had just served us with some kind of broth that tasted of nothing but smoke, when they stumbled in. Fannar was in high spirits. Apparently he had managed to convince the Danes that he was alone, and they had finally ridden off. Vítor who, so he claimed, had lost his bearings in the dark, had hidden nearby, emerging only when he heard the Danes ride away.

Fannar’s wife, a dumpy little woman, looked thoroughly alarmed when the story was recounted, clearly not believing even the Danes could be so foolish as to think a farmer would go looking for sheep at night without dog or lantern, but Fannar thought it was a huge joke.

‘Fannar says Unnur worries too much,’ Hinrik told us. ‘The Danes think Icelanders are so stupid that they believe nothing is too crazy for us to do. He could have told them he was fishing for whales in the stream, and they would have asked him how many he had caught.’

Hinrik and Fannar clearly thought this was hilarious, as did Fannar’s two daughters, Margrét and Lilja, but his wife bit her lip and went to the cooking pot to ladle out more broth, the frown deepening on her face.

I must have fallen asleep where I sat out of sheer exhaustion, for when I finally managed to prise my eyes open it was morning and the hall was almost deserted save for Unnur and Hinrik. Unnur seemed to have been waiting patiently for me to wake, for as soon as I stirred she thrust a bundle of unsavoury-looking rags at me. I prodded the cloth dubiously.

‘What is this for?’ I asked, pronouncing the words slowly and loudly. ‘Cleaning?’

I mimed polishing one of the wooden bowls, though nothing in the house looked as if it had ever been cleaned. Everything from the floor to the rafters, including Fannar’s wife, seemed to have been smoked to the same shade of grey-brown.

‘Unnur wants you to put them on,’ Hinrik explained. ‘If you are seen in your clothes, everyone will know at once you are a foreigner.’

Unnur said something, and Hinrik sniggered. ‘She says you look like an erupting volcano, with your white, black and red.’

That was some cheek coming from a woman who was dressed like a bog.

‘She asks how you can work with all that padding in your jacket and breeches.’

‘And can you give me one good reason why I should want to work?’ I said.

Hinrik translated this for Unnur and she stared at me in disbelief, as if I had asked her why I needed to breathe.

I sighed. I could tell it was pointless trying to explain that the voluminous slashed and padded clothes were intended as a proclamation to all the world that the wearer had no need to soil his hands with manual labour. But when I looked down at my doublet, even I was forced to concede that my clothes weren’t exactly shouting ‘man of substance’ any more. Several nights of sleeping rough, the fight with the Danes and then blundering across the hills and valleys in the dark to evade the horsemen, had covered my breeches, hose and doublet in thick, greenish mud. The fabric had been ripped in nearly a dozen places, so that half the padding was falling out, and most of the trimming and a part of one sleeve had been torn away. I hadn’t seen a mirror since I had left Portugal, and for once I was glad to be spared the sight of the ruin I had undoubtedly become.

Seeing that Unnur was consumed with curiosity about what garments I wore underneath my clothes – at least I hoped that was why she was watching me with a fascinated expression – I removed my outer clothes and pulled on the plain brown breeches and shirt she offered. They stank as if they’d been stuffed up a chimney for years, and the cloth was so rough that within minutes I was scratching and chafing, though it didn’t take me long to realize that it wasn’t just the coarseness of the cloth that was making me itch.

‘Unnur says you can go outside,’ Hinrik said. ‘But do not go far from the house, and if we hear the dogs barking, we must run inside and hide. She will show us where.’

Unnur led Hinrik and me out of the hall into a passageway so narrow that we could only walk down it in single file. She opened another low door.

‘This is the store chamber. If anyone approaches the farm we must hide in this place until one of them comes to tell us it is safe to come out,’ Hinrik told me.

The only light in the room filtered in through the open door from the passage. A few barrels, a loom and several small chests stood in the centre away from the damp earth walls. The cold air rolled up from the muddy floor. I shivered. I hoped none of Fannar’s neighbours would decide to come calling for dinner. I didn’t fancy spending even a few minutes in there, never mind several hours.

‘Does she think the Danes will come here?’ I asked Hinrik.

‘She says if they suspect Fannar was not telling the truth, they will. She does not think they are as easy to fool as her husband believes.’ Hinrik darted an anxious glance up at me. ‘I think she is right.’

I had no sooner ducked out of the low doorway into the blessed fresh air than Vítor grabbed my arm without so much as a by-your-leave. ‘I need to talk to you. Come with me.’

He strode around the side of the turf building, where we couldn’t be overheard, dragging me with him. I was sorely tempted to shove him off and walk away, but curiosity got the better of me.

‘Isabela,’ he announced, ‘is still alive.’

‘Why shouldn’t she be?’ I asked him, startled by the oddness of the statement. Then I looked round in alarm. ‘Has something happened to her?’

‘No, but that, my friend, is precisely my point. We both know something should have happened to her by now, but it hasn’t, has it?’

I shook off the grip he still had on my arm. ‘Vítor, I thought you were a tedious little turd the first moment I clapped eyes on you, but now I’m convinced you are not merely tedious, you have the brains of a senile goat. I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, and I rather fear, my friend, that you haven’t either.’

‘Then let me make it plain for you. The girl you were sent here to kill still lives.’

Suddenly the breath seemed to have been sucked out of my lungs.

‘Kill … I … I beg your pardon,’ I stammered, trying to regain control. ‘Do I look like a murderer?’

‘No,’ Vítor said, with chilling calmness. ‘You don’t look like a murderer, which is exactly why you were chosen, but you are a murderer, aren’t you? Silvia. I believe that was her name.’

The ground seemed to be buckling under my feet. I must have looked as if I was about to pass out for Vítor grabbed my arm again, but this time as if he was trying to hold me up. I swallowed the acid that was rising in my throat and took a deep breath.

‘I am very much afraid, Senhor Vítor, that you have me confused with someone else. I don’t know who you think I am, but –’

‘I know the name by which you were christened in the Holy Church was Cruz. I know that you were arrested for attempted fraud, and taken to the tower of Belém. And I know that you were advised by two of my most respected brothers to embark on a sea journey for the good of your health, or in your case one might say for the good of your life, for if you’d refused their generous offer, you would by now have joined your lover in her sepulchral embrace.’

I gaped at him. How the hell did he know all this? I tried to laugh as if this must be a joke, but only succeeded in producing a squeaky giggle which might have been emitted by a nervous maiden aunt.

‘I regret to say I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Vítor. I thought our companion was the biggest liar in our little band, but you make him sound as truthful as a nun in confession. First you told us you were collecting sea monsters. Then you were a Lutheran pastor. What was it after that – oh yes, I remember, you were supposed to be mapping mountains. And now – just who are you claiming to be this time, a prison guard?’

‘A Jesuit,’ he said softly. ‘Like my two brothers who visited you in the tower of Belém. My sole purpose in coming here was to ensure that you carried out your part of the bargain you made with them. Come now, Cruz, there’s no need to look so shocked. You didn’t really believe that we would simply take your word for it that the girl was dead, did you?’

Vítor gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘You were, after all, arrested for fraud, and it wouldn’t be the first time in your illustrious career that you have spun, shall we say, a web of untruths. You might have allowed the girl simply to run off, as she so nearly did that night in France. Then you could have returned to Portugal to claim your reward, swearing that you’d disposed of her, and leaving us with the potential embarrassment of her somehow finding her way back to Lisbon.’

‘Such an idea never crossed my mind,’ I spluttered indignantly.

I was outraged. They had sent someone to watch me as if I couldn’t be trusted. This Jesuit had deceived me, lied to me, lied to us all. Map-maker, collector of curios, persecuted Lutheran. How could he sit there and blatantly tell us such tales, without so much as twitching his eyelid? I mean, surely you are supposed to be able to trust a priest to tell the truth.

Vítor, if that was his name, though doubtless he lied about that too, was studying me with disdain as if my face was some kind of fake document he was examining.

‘It would seem that my brothers were wise to send me to watch over you. You were sent here to arrange an accident for Isabela. But, though you’ve had countless opportunities to dispatch her, she is still very much alive and, if I am not mistaken, still determined to find those falcons. Worse still, I think you are beginning to fall in love with this girl.’

It was hearing those words – you are beginning to fall in love – that really made me smart, because for one brief moment I wondered if it might just be true. I had whispered the word tenderly and passionately to a hundred different women, especially my poor Silvia. But up to now the word love had been as empty as a discarded nutshell, just something to be tossed away with a thousand other casual phrases. Now, for the first time, the word seemed to contain a tiny kernel of something that I couldn’t quite identify. Could I be falling for the girl? No! It was pig’s dung. I was just suffering from the shock of finding out who Vítor was, that was all. Sweet Jesu, I certainly wasn’t going to tie myself up in all that nonsense with any woman. Lust always, but never love, that’s my motto.

Vítor glanced around again to reassure himself we were still alone. Then he took a step closer to me. ‘Isabela may appear to be a helpless, pretty little girl. I can see why men would want to protect her. But let me remind you again. She is not an innocent little virgin, she is a Marrano, a vile Jew, a heretic who is already condemned to the eternal fires of hell and you are sworn to send her down into those flames.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ I said coldly. ‘You’re now claiming to be a Catholic priest. And if that is true, you, a priest in holy orders, are telling me I must damn my own soul by committing murder.’

Vítor arched his brows as if in mild surprise that anyone should object to this. ‘You have already damned your soul with one murder. I hardly think another will make much difference. Besides, all sin may be forgiven, if confession is made of it in all contrition. The more so, if it is committed in defence of the Holy Church and to the greater glory of God. I could absolve you of the deed within the hour if you’re afraid you might die before you return to Portugal. I would willingly absolve you too of the murder of your lover, Silvia, if you were to confess to it. Indeed, many would say ridding the Church of one of her enemies might be considered apt penance for the crime you committed in lust and anger.’

‘How many times do I have to say it? I did not murder Silvia. No one did. She’s still alive. And if killing this girl is such a pious act,’ I spat, ‘I’d hate to deprive you of the opportunity of cleansing your own soul. Why don’t you kill her? You’ve come all this way. You may as well make certain. After all, if it’s so important to the Church that she dies, they might even make you a saint for doing it.’

Vítor folded his hands as a monk slides his hands into his sleeves. ‘I am a consecrated priest, a man of God. The Church cannot shed blood.’

‘But you can order others to do it for you,’ I said savagely.

But Vítor’s tone remained unnervingly calm. ‘The Church orders nothing. When the Church has assisted heretics to see the error of their ways and confess their wickedness, they are released to the State. It is the State who pronounces the death penalty on them and the State who executes them, as you are in grave danger of finding out at first hand.’

He spread his hands wide. ‘It’s entirely up to you whether or not you choose to kill the girl. I am only here to bear witness. My duty is to carry the news back and to assure the Grand Inquisitor that nothing and no one will remain to adversely influence the young king’s innocent mind and beguile him into undoing the holy work of cleansing Portugal when he comes of age. I am not ordering you to do anything. Alas, I don’t have that power, I am merely a priest.’ Vítor pressed his hand to his heart and humbly inclined his head. ‘It must be your choice, your decision. Like all priests, I am merely here to serve you. Think of me as your conscience, there to whisper softly in your ear when I see you on the verge of doing something foolish, something you will live to regret bitterly. I am here to remind you what your fate will be if you make the wrong decision and, of course, to see you return safely to Portugal, to face the consequences of any decision you make.

‘But I hardly think my gentle counsel will be necessary. Can you imagine what might happen to you if you return to Portugal having deliberately aided a heretic to escape? I cannot believe that a man like you would willingly subject himself to weeks of agonizing pain and an ignominious death, simply to save a Jewess you barely know. Besides, when she returns to Portugal with or without those birds, eventually she will find herself burning on a pyre. The king might spare her this year, but she won’t have many years of liberty, that I promise you, for the Inquisition will not rest till every last Marrano is dead. Wouldn’t it be kinder, more merciful, to ensure she did not return to such a fate? An opportunity to dispatch the girl may arise sooner than you think, Cruz. I suggest you think over what I have said and prepare yourself to take full advantage of it.

‘And while you are making up your mind, Cruz, you should remember this – you may believe that you were ill-used in the tower of Belém, but I can assure you those who have fallen into the hands of the Inquisition would think your incarceration was a year spent in paradise compared to the tortures inflicted upon them. There is the strappado which dislocates their limbs, or the roasting of their larded feet over a fire, or the water poured over a cloth on their face, forcing it down their throat until they are convinced they are drowning. You see, the Inquisitors love their little games.

‘Can you imagine how cruelly that fragile young girl will suffer in the dungeons of the Inquisition before she dies? If you love her you would surely want a swift and unexpected death for her, so that she has no time to dread it. Silvia’s death was quick, wasn’t it? How long does it take to strangle a woman, Cruz?’

I was woken unceremoniously as several feet trod on me at once. I cursed and turned over, determined to burrow back into sleep, until I realized that everyone was scrambling out of the communal beds and pushing their feet into their shoes. The fire in the hall had died down to a faint ruby glow, and only two small dish-shaped oil lamps burned on the upright beams, which hardly gave enough light for me to see my own hand.

‘Is it morning already?’ I groaned.

‘Dogs outside are barking,’ Hinrik said.

‘What of it?’ I mumbled. ‘Dogs bark at their own shadows. Maybe they saw a fox.’

‘They are trained only to bark at men.’

Unnur hurried Isabela and her own daughters out of the hall ahead of her, pausing only to give her husband a brief but desperate hug. Fannar turned and addressed the three of us in low urgent tones.

‘Wait, Hinrik, come back and tell us what he’s saying,’ I called.

Hinrik had started to follow the women towards the hiding place in the store room. He hesitated, then reluctantly slunk over to us, his eyes wide with fear.

‘He says you have claimed the protection of his badstofa … It is his duty as a host to defend you … As guests, it will be no dishonour to you if you go with the women and hide, but if you wish to stay and fight as brothers …’

Seeing the grim exchange of glances between Fannar and Ari, the blood started to pound in my head and I felt my chest tighten. They were in earnest and they were afraid, which was nothing to what I was. For a moment or two I was sorely tempted to run after the women, but Ari began to hand out heavy staves and axes, and before I knew it I found myself grasping an axe. I was grateful for the stout wooden handle to hold on to, but in truth I had no more idea of how to wield an axe than shoe a horse. I just hoped I could swing it around a bit and do some damage to the right people, without chopping my own leg off in the process. But what would these unwelcome guests be armed with? We could already hear horses’ hooves clattering into the yard.

‘Komdu! Komdu!’ Ari whispered, beckoning frantically to us to follow him.

He led us out into the narrow passage and through a door on the opposite side to the store room. We crowded in and found ourselves standing in a cow byre, stinking of dung and piss, where half a dozen cows and a couple of calves lay on a thick layer of straw and dried bush twigs. The beasts rolled their eyes back and scrambled clumsily to their feet, lowing in agitation at the sudden appearance of five men in the middle of the night.

Ari motioned to me to help him lift a beam and lower it into two iron brackets either side of the door we’d come through, to brace it shut behind us. Then he whispered to Hinrik, gesturing to a low, wide door on the opposite side of the byre. All three of us pressed our heads close to Hinrik. He was shaking and cringing at each new sound that echoed from the courtyard.

‘He … he says crouch down. Keep very still and quiet. When he opens that far door … we must … must push the kýr out and creep out between them so they hide us.’

Outside in the yard, men were calling to one another as they dismounted and yelling at the dogs which were still barking. Then came a thundering at the main door, as if someone was pounding on it with the pommel of a sword. I gripped my axe more tightly and glanced at Ari, but he motioned us to keep still.

We heard the grate of the door as it opened, a man barking questions and the lower tones of Fannar answering. There was a thump as if someone had been shoved hard against a door, followed by the clanging of metal and more shouts as the men pushed their way down the narrow passage. The great hall must have run directly behind the byre, for though noise was muffled by the earth wall, there came the sickening sounds of wooden panels being ripped off, beds being torn apart and objects being hurled aside. The men were tearing the place apart.

Someone rattled the handle of the byre door which led into the passage, then barged against it, but it held.

Ari’s head swivelled towards the opposite door. He held up his hand, signalling to us to wait. We crouched rigid. Hinrik was grasping a stave in both hands, his eyes closed, but his lips were moving soundlessly as if he was muttering some desperate prayer over and over again. For once, I was almost tempted to pray too, except that the name of every saint I’d ever known seemed to have vanished from my head. My palms were so slippery with sweat that I was sure the axe was going to slide from my grasp the moment I stood up. Then we heard the men fumbling with the latch on the outside door and moments later it swung open.

Ari leapt to his feet, shrieking and waving his arms like a man possessed. The cattle, with bellows of fear, reared and turned, charging at the open doorway. It was probably as well we couldn’t move as quickly as the beasts for we would have been crushed between them in their panic to squeeze out through the gap. One of the men standing outside was knocked over by the first animal and we heard his screams as the others’ sharp hooves trampled over him. The second man managed to jump back in time as the cows thundered past him.

We ran after them. Ari swept his cudgel sideways as he burst out of the doorway and succeeded in catching the second man full in the face. He crumpled to his knees, falling across his companion who was lying bleeding in the dirt, moaning helplessly as he tried in vain to lever himself up on crushed and broken limbs.

Ari began to run towards the back of the farmstead, but as we rounded the corner, two men sprang towards us from the darkness, swords flashing. Hinrik raised his stave, but the sight of the sword seemed to unnerve him completely. He dropped the stick and fled.

One of the Danes came straight for me. He raised his sword and swept it down. I dodged back, but the blade passed so close to my face I felt the wind of it as it whistled by. I lifted the axe high in both hands, but in that same instant I knew I had made a terrible mistake for I’d left my body completely unprotected. As if in the slowness of a dream I watched the point of his blade thrusting towards my chest and I could do nothing to defend myself. Then, just as the swordsman lunged forward, his leading foot slipped from under him in a patch of cow shit, and he landed on the ground with a cry of pain as his legs splayed wide. It was nothing to the scream he gave moments later as my axe blade sank into his skull. Scalding blood splattered on to my hands and face.

I glanced down. The other Dane was also lying there bleeding into the mud, though which of the others had killed him I had no idea. I briefly contemplated trying to wrench the axe out of the man’s head, but almost vomited at the thought, so I snatched the sword from his still twitching fingers and fled into the darkness.

We ran a little way off and took shelter behind some low bushes. Some of the Danes were carrying burning torches and by their light we could see the dark figures of men milling around the farmstead and hear them bellowing to one another. But it was too dark to make out their numbers. The cries and shouts redoubled. Someone, it could have been Fannar, was running from the house. I only glimpsed him for a moment or two before he vanished into the darkness.

Then we heard a familiar but desperate cry. I could make out the slender outline of a lad struggling between two Danes who were dragging him towards one of the horses.

‘They’ve got Hinrik,’ I whispered.

‘If he stays calm he might be able to convince them that he is just a simple farmhand,’ Vítor said.

‘I don’t think there’s much chance of him staying calm.’

The lad was shrieking for help and even as we watched, we saw them tying his wrists to a long length of rope which they evidently meant to fasten to the horse.

‘If they leave him to search the building, we might be able to creep over and cut him loose,’ I said.

But before I could even think of a way to reach him, a horse came galloping round the corner of the building, the smoke and scarlet flames from the rider’s torch streaming out behind him like a banner. As the horseman passed the entrance to the byre, he tossed his blazing torch into the straw. The flames ran swiftly across the floor, then roared upwards as the whole byre ignited at once.

‘Look at the roof,’ Vítor whispered. I followed his finger. Behind the byre, flames were starting to curl up through the turf roof of the hall. Dense smoke rose into the air as the turfs smouldered from the heat beneath.

Beside me in the darkness, I heard Ari cry out in horror.

‘They’ve fired the whole building,’ I breathed. ‘They must have set the hall ablaze from inside.’ A terrible chill went through me. ‘Isabela and the women are in the store chamber. The fire will spread along the beams. They’ll be trapped. We have to help them.’

‘The Danes are waiting for us to do just that,’ Vítor said. ‘The moment you go out there you will be captured just like the boy.’

‘But we can’t just leave her. We have to get her out.’ I started up, but someone grabbed my arm and twisted it, forcing me to the ground.

I felt a knee in my back pressing me down. Vítor bent his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his hot breath on my skin. ‘They won’t let you get within shouting distance of the farm. We need an accident, remember. Think about it. Her blood will be on the hands of the Danes, not yours. I have made it easy for you.’

I was struggling to fling Vítor off, but with the full weight of his body pressing down on my back, I was as helpless as a trussed chicken.

Fausto scrambled to his feet. ‘I’m not just going to sit here and watch her die, not my Isabela. I won’t. I have to try, I have to!’

Ari tried to grab him and pull him back down behind the bushes, but Fausto shook him off and the next minute he was running back towards the farmhouse, crouching low, trying to keep to the shadows. The flames from the burning house were now so high that they bathed the whole meadow around it in an eerie red glow. We could feel the heat from it even where we lay. We could see the dark outline of Fausto running towards the back of the building. It looked for a moment as if he was going to reach it, but the Danes must have had men watching.

A cry went up which carried even over the roar of the flames. Two men came galloping around the side of the building towards Fausto. We saw the glints of their blades, blood-red in the firelight, as they raised them. They drew level with him, one on either side. Fausto raised his staff and swung at one of the riders, but the second rider thrust his sword into his back at full gallop. For a moment Fausto was thrown clean off his feet with the force of the blow, his back arched in agony, and then he crumpled and fell without a cry.

As Fausto was slain, the farmstead, as if it could bear no more, surrendered itself to the ravenous fire. With a thunderous crash the roof caved in and flames shot high into the air. Red and golden sparks from the burning turfs and hay drifted over us in the dark sky, falling to the earth like rain.

I stared at the inferno, numb with horror. I couldn’t take it in, but even as I watched, unable to speak or move, I knew that nothing … nothing could remain alive inside that tangle of burning wood and flames.





Eydis



Imp – to mend the broken feathers of a hawk. A wooden imping needle, whittled from a piece of twig, is inserted in the hollow shaft of the broken feather, to which a previously moulted feather can be glued, enabling the bird to fly.



The corpse is healing now. I watched and waited for three days, turning the pot containing the severed head in the embers of the fire, until the flesh and bone were dry enough to pound to pieces. I knew they sat with me in the shadows, the old woman and Valdis. As mourners we waited, we watched not to see life depart, but restored. The draugr watched too, and he is afraid. I can breathe his fear.

I ground the old woman’s skull into a fine powder in my mortar and pestle. I mixed it with the fox fat, blessing the hunter who had brought me a jar of it as an offering. Dried primrose, burnet, root of bistort and seeds of lupin, these too. And when all was infused into the fat, I spread the ointment on the wounds of the corpse, anointing also his lips and tongue, his nostrils, ears, hands, feet and genitals. Now his skin is flushed with blood and his chest is rising and falling. But he does not open his eyes or stir. How can he? For the spirit which animates the body remains inside my dead sister, mocking me through her lips, watching me through her eyes.

A spasm of pain shoots through my head, and for a moment I can see nothing. As it subsides, I know it is the girl. I feel her terror. I feel the cold breath of all those who follow her, like a mountain stream running through my fingers. Valdis’s head turns towards me. The black eyes search mine, trying to find a way into my thoughts. The draugr knows that something is wrong. He knows I am losing her.

I take up my lucet and weave the cord as rapidly as my fingers can move.

‘Rowan, protect her. Fern, defend her. Salt, bind her to us!’

His laughter rolls around the cave, but I will not be silenced.

Ari is scrambling down the rocks. I know his tread well by now, but he is not alone. Others descend cautiously, cursing in foreign tongues as their feet slip or they bang an elbow on the sharp rocks. I pull the veils over our faces and retreat to the shadow of the far corner of the cave to wait.

Ari leads two men into the cave. They gaze around them in clear amazement. The taller of the two bends down and touches the rock he is standing on as if to assure himself it really is warm. He is a handsome man, with thick black hair, a straight, elegant nose and eyes of such startlingly deep blue that he might have plucked them from the sea. The smaller of the two is pale beneath his dark stubble, and his dark eyes move restlessly around as if he is trying to memorize every detail of the cave. Like Ari, both men are covered in mud and splattered with blood, though it is not their own.

I step from the shadow as Ari gestures to me. Looks of utter horror and revulsion pass across the two men’s faces. They gaze open-mouthed at me. A throb of shame runs through me, as if we are girls again being stared at by mocking children. The Icelanders who come to the cave have known us all their lives and their faces no longer betray the disgust they feel. Until a stranger reminds us, it is easy to forget that we are not like other women.

‘Eydis, this is Vítor and this is Marcos.’

The taller of the two, the one named Marcos, makes a gallant effort at a bow, though he cannot tear his gaze away from me. The other, Vítor, makes no effort to acknowledge me, but watches me warily as if I am some loathsome creature who might savage him.

‘They’re foreigners, fell foul of the Danes, and Fannar was hiding them. But the Danes raided the farmstead looking for them and burned it to the ground. There was another lad with them, Hinrik, but the Danes caught him and took him off with them. I’m sorry, Eydis … I didn’t know where else to bring them.’

‘Does this Hinrik know about the cave?’

‘I never told him, and Fannar and Unnur would never speak of you or the cave in front of strangers.’

‘And Fannar and Unnur, and the girls, where are they?’

Ari hangs his head miserably. ‘I don’t know. I thought I saw Fannar running from the house, but I lost track of him in the dark. The women took refuge in the store room, but … the fire …’ He shakes his head as if trying to dislodge the image from his mind. ‘Now that these men are safe, I’ll go back and search for the bodies. Bury them. They deserve that much at least.’ His fists clench. ‘Unnur was a good woman and I’ll not leave her or her children for the foxes and the ravens to pick at.’

‘You cannot return yet,’ I tell him as gently as I can. ‘The Danes will question this Hinrik and will show no mercy. It will not take them long to discover who has escaped them. Even now they will be searching for the three of you. If you leave here you will be caught. You might even be seen leaving the cave and lead them straight here. Patience, Ari. You must rest and take some food so that your wits are sharp when you return to the light.’

‘I can’t rest! What if Fannar is lying hurt somewhere? He’ll think I’ve abandoned him.’

‘He knows you, Ari. He trusts you to protect his guests, even before the lives of his own family. That is the old way, the code of honour he has always lived by.’

Ari will stay. Like a faithful dog, he will carry out what he knows to be Fannar’s wishes, even if it costs him his life. But he is young and headstrong. The frustration will gnaw at him until he cannot bear it. No matter what the danger, I will not be able to contain him for long.

We sleep fitfully, eating when we wake, then sleeping again. Though Vítor sleeps soundly, several times I notice Marcos lies awake staring miserably up at the flame of the lamp, the glitter of tears in his eyes. Several times I rise quietly to anoint the corpse of the draugr.

And each time I rise I knot a few more lengths of the cord. Her footsteps have fallen silent. She is drifting, tossed like a gull on the wind of a storm. Without the girl, the ghosts will not come to help us. The mountain is calling and every day the voice of the pool grows stronger, the monster beneath more restless. The great black beast of death stretches his leather wings.

I wake again to see Ari returning from the mouth of the cave. He holds up his hand as if swearing an oath.

‘I haven’t been out. I just went into the passage to look up at the cave entrance to see if it’s morning or night. It’s dark again. A whole day gone.’ He kicked a stone savagely. ‘How can you bear this? How can you even tell whether it is day or night, or how many days have passed?’

‘We sleep when we are weary, eat when we are hungry. We are not governed by the moon or mastered by the sun, schooled by the rain or herded by the wind. When we first came here we ached to feel the sun again, to see the first snow fall in winter and run in bare feet on the new spring grass, but eventually we came to learn that there is a kind of freedom in being outside the rule of time.’

‘Don’t you long to leave this cave? I couldn’t bear to be shut up here alone for days on end, never mind for years. I’d go mad.’

‘Madness is an escape which is not as easy to accomplish as you might think, Ari. But you will not be here for years, not even for many more days. We will hide you here for as long as we dare, but there is another danger greater even than the Danes. The pool is –’ I hold up my hand. ‘People are climbing up the mountainside towards the cave.’

Ari darts towards the two sleeping men and shakes them awake. He gestures to them and they spring up, one grabbing a sword, the other a staff.

‘Ari,’ I whisper urgently. ‘Follow the ledge beside the pool. We have not been able to go far along it, because of our chains, but we were told it leads to a second cave. Take care not to slip; the water has grown much hotter since you were last here.’

Ari nods and beckons to the two foreigners to follow him.

‘Eydis, Eydis,’ the dark voice murmurs. ‘You are wasting your time. You can’t hide those men, those Papists. Don’t you think I will sing out and tell the Danes exactly where they are? You can’t silence me. The Danes will kill them and they deserve to die, you know that, Eydis. They’re going to die.’

I close my eyes and concentrate on trying to sense who is approaching the cave. Feet are scrambling on the stones above. Familiar voices call out softly.

Fannar comes round the side of the rock carrying his younger daughter, Lilja, in his arms. Three women crowd in behind him, his wife Unnur, their elder daughter Margrét and a girl.

I know her face. I have seen her standing at the end of the tunnel in the black mirror. The blood pounds in my head. It is the girl I have been waiting for. The cord has drawn her here at last. She has come! She has come to us. I can scarcely take my eyes from her. I see the shock in her face as she catches sight of me, but there is no disgust in the look, only sorrow as she stares at the iron band around my waist.

Fannar lays his daughter carefully down on the floor of the cave. There is a deep cut to her shin, which is bruised and swollen. Fannar tenderly smoothes her tangled hair. He has suddenly turned into an old man, his face drawn, his hand trembling with fatigue.

‘Eydis, we have …’ he begins.

I shake my head. ‘Save your strength. Ari has told me what happened.’

Despite his exhaustion, Fannar’s eyes light up with hope. ‘Ari has been here? He is safe? And the three men, the foreigners, did he speak of them?’

‘See for yourself, Fannar.’

I drag my chain to the ledge and call out the news of Fannar’s arrival. Moments later I hear the men edging back along the ledge towards us.

‘Slowly, slowly, do not slip!’ I warn.

Ari is moving far too hastily in his anxiety to see Fannar. My warning goes unheeded. Ari springs from the ledge and grasps Fannar in a great hug, both men clapping each other on the back and swearing that each believed the other dead.

Marcos, when he steps rather more gingerly from the ledge, stares around in bewilderment, then a look of utter joy fills his face and he runs to the girl, clasps her waist and, lifting her off her feet, whirls her around.

‘Isabela, Isabela!’

She is startled and quickly wriggles from his grasp. So that’s the way of it, he loves her, and she doesn’t know it.

Vítor steps unhurriedly down. He too is smiling, but the smile does not reach his eyes. It does not take the gift of second sight to tell he is not pleased to see the girl.

Fannar greets both men warmly in turn. His relief is plain to see. Then his expression turns grave again.

‘Where is Hinrik and the other man, Fausto?’

‘The Danes arrested Hinrik,’ Ari says. ‘He was alive … when they took him. Maybe they’ll let him go,’ he adds, but there is no conviction is his tone. ‘Fausto is dead. He went back to try to help the women when the fire started. I couldn’t stop him. The Danes cut him down with a sword as he ran across the yard. He would have died instantly from such a blow.’

Fannar shakes his head sorrowfully and makes the sign of the cross.

Ari turns to Unnur. ‘But how did you escape the fire?’

Unnur is as drained and wretched as her husband. Her face and clothes are streaked with mud and soot. But she moves to her husband’s side and pats his arm fondly.

‘Fannar taught me what to do, if ever we were attacked. There was always the danger we might be, with Father Jon …’ She hesitates and glances warily at the foreigners, even though from their blank expressions it is plain they cannot understand her.

‘There was a place at the back of the store room where the wood which held up the turfs on the roof could be lifted off, like a trap door, but it was hidden from view, unless you knew where it was. Fannar said if ever we were attacked, the girls and I must lock ourselves in the store room. He would try to stop the attackers entering the badstofa. He said that if he appeared anxious they should not go in there, that would be exactly where they would go first. And they did.

‘When we heard them smashing up the hall, we broke open the hole in the roof and crawled out, before the fire could take hold and spread to the store room. We had arranged a place long ago where we would go and wait for Fannar to come and find us, if he could. We waited and waited, but he didn’t come. I thought he was …’ She breaks off, unable to bring herself to utter the word.

Fannar puts his arm about his wife. ‘The Danes were still searching. They were between me and where I knew my wife would be hiding. I was afraid that if I tried to reach her and was seen, I might lead them straight to her. They kept searching for most of the next day. Only once it got dark again did they give up and I was able to go and find her.’

Unnur suddenly bursts into tears, sobbing on her husband’s shoulder. ‘Our home … everything … all gone … destroyed …’

Their elder daughter, Margrét, begins to sob too, but little Lilja stares blankly into the flames of the cooking fire, as if her mind has frozen out all that has befallen her.

Fannar pats his wife’s back awkwardly as if he’s never seen her cry before and doesn’t know how to stop her. Women like Unnur have too much pride to shed tears in their husbands’ presence. But she has suffered much in the last two days, and hungry, frightened and exhausted, she can no longer hold back her grief.

‘It’s hard, I know, but homes can be rebuilt, Unnur,’ I tell her gently. ‘Fannar and your daughters are alive and safe, in the end that’s all that matters.’

She nods and tries to smile through her tears, wiping them away on her torn sleeve.

‘Now, Ari, find some spoons and let Fannar and his family eat while I tend to the child. I don’t have eating-vessels for so many, so you must all eat from the common pot, though that will be no hardship if you are hungry.’

While they eat, I fetch some water I have already set to cool and prepare to wash Lilja’s shin, but though she is normally an obedient child, the terror and shock of the last two nights have made her fearful of everything. She curls up in a ball and will not let me touch her. I sense someone standing beside me. It is the girl, Isabela. She crouches down by the child, holding out her arm to her. There is an angry red line across it, which has blistered badly. She must have been struck by some burning wood as she escaped the house. Isabela takes the bowl of water and the cloth from me and gives them to Lilja, miming that she wants the child to bathe her arm.

Lilja stares. Slowly she picks up the cloth and dabs at the burn. Isabela does not flinch, though the slightest touch of the cloth must hurt her. She holds her arm steady, smiling encouragingly at the child.

I fetch some of the mummy ointment and tell Lilja to gently coat the burn with it. It will heal them both as well as it has the draugr. But that is not why I do it. The bones of the old woman are in that ointment, the first spirit of the door-doom of the dead. I must make a connection, a bond, a cord, between the old woman and the girl. Only then, only if we can all join one to another, will we be strong enough to stand against him.

Isabela gestures to Lilja’s shin and the child stretches out her leg towards her trustingly, allowing her to tend the cut, which she does with great gentleness and sureness. She is plainly well accustomed to caring for wounded creatures. She sniffs at the ointment, and dips her little finger into it, licking it. She nods to herself as if she recognizes the ingredients and approves of the mixture. As she returns the jar to me, our hands touch.

In that moment I see a great cloak of white feathers envelop her, like the cloak the goddess Freya used to turn herself into a falcon. It is only there for an instant and then it vanishes. But something remains behind. A host of shadows suddenly crowd at her back. I hear cries, screams, then a silence so deep it is as if every sound in the world has been obliterated. The shadows dissolve.

Who are these ghosts she has brought here? Evil and terror surround her, like dark water swirling about a rock. The draugr feels it too. Valdis’s head swivels towards her under the veil. The draugr fears this foreign girl. He senses this fragile child holds the power to destroy him, when not even a blacksmith has strength to overcome him.

But Isabela has felt nothing. She slips an arm around Lilja, pulling her close, so that the child’s head rests on her shoulder. She smiles wearily at me. She does not know what she has brought to us. She does not understand why we have drawn her here. She thinks only of the white falcons, and her hunger for them is so all-consuming she will not listen to the shadows. She will not look at them. But she must, she must.

Fannar shuffles across to where we are sitting, and squats down next to me. His hands rest limply on his knees.

‘Eydis, we have nowhere to go … I know our neighbours would offer us shelter on their farms, but our presence would only bring trouble to them. Besides, the Danes may have already raided them too. I know you don’t have enough food to feed us all for long … we could hunt for birds, but that means going out in the daylight and I daren’t risk that yet. But Ari and I will go out after dark and steal what we can, even a sheep if we must. We will repay our neighbours for what we take from them when we are able. But we can find food for us all …’

‘Fannar, you know that you are welcome to stay as long as you need and share whatever we have, but you will not be safe here for long. Do you not feel how much hotter the cave has become since your last visit? You are sweating, so are we all.’

‘I hadn’t noticed. I was so thankful just to get here safely.’ He runs his fingers distractedly through his grizzled hair. ‘Now you mention it, I suppose it is a little warmer. But what of it?’

‘Look at the pool. See how it is bubbling, how dense the steam that rises from it. The water is too hot to touch now. The rocks beneath us are growing warmer every day. Soon the steam from that pool will be scalding. Anyone remaining in the cave will be boiled alive. I know you have troubles enough, Fannar, but you must be prepared for the day when you will have to leave this cave, and quickly. It might be weeks yet, but it could be as soon as tomorrow.’

Fannar gnaws his lip. ‘There are other caves.’

‘The rivers of fire are beginning to run beneath the earth again, every cave around here will be in danger. You will have to go far away from this mountain to be safe.’

Valdis’s lips move beneath her veil. ‘If the water begins to boil, then we will die in this cave, Fannar, for we cannot free ourselves of this chain. Don’t leave us here.’

Fannar nods gravely. ‘You need have no fear of that. I will find a way to get you loose from this chain. It may take time to break the iron bands, so as soon as Ari and I return with food, we will make a start.’

‘No!’ I cry. ‘No, you must not break the iron band. You must not. There is danger in it, danger you cannot begin to understand.’

He stares at me in astonishment. ‘But I have to. If we are forced to leave the cave in a hurry, there may not be time to set you free. And as your sister says, we can’t leave you both here to be scalded to death.’

‘You must leave us here, Fannar. If I can find a way to remove the danger first, then I will gladly let you break the iron. I will beg you to do so. But I will not allow you to do it unless I know it is safe. If Valdis asks you to break the band, you must stop your ears and not listen to her. Whatever she says, whatever promises or threats she makes, you must ignore her.’

Fannar rubs his forehead. He is struggling to make sense of what I am saying, but he is exhausted.

‘But, Eydis, we have always listened to you both and you have never misled us. You have always spoken the same word. Why should you and your sister quarrel now, and over something so important? I don’t understand. What is this danger you are talking about?’

I cannot explain it to him without terrifying him and his wife and daughters. They have been through enough. For the moment they are comforted that they are in a place of safety. They need to rest, to sleep. It is hard enough for Fannar to learn about the pool. How can I tell him that his wife and children are trapped in this cave with something far worse than the Danes? And how could he live with the knowledge that it was he himself who brought that creature of death here?

‘Valdis has changed. Something has entered her and she no longer speaks the truth, you must believe me. She is not to be trusted any more.’

‘It is Eydis who does not speak the truth. She’s gone mad. Why else would she want to die in agony in this cave? Don’t listen to her, Fannar. Listen to me. Free us and we will guide you to a place of safety where the Danes will never find you.’

‘Swear to me, Fannar,’ I beg him, ‘on the lives of your precious daughters. Swear that you will not try to break the iron bands, unless I ask you to.’

But Fannar is staring from one to the other of us, a look of complete bewilderment on his haggard face. He does not know which of us to believe, but which of us will he listen to in the end? If he chooses to trust Valdis, none of us will live to escape this cave.