The Falcons of Fire and Ice

CHAPTER Fourteen



At the very dawn of creation there appeared in northern lands a snow-white egg, the like of which had never been seen before or since. The shell of this egg cracked open and two birds were hatched from it, the gyrfalcon and the ptarmigan, twin sisters born from a single egg, and like the egg from which they sprang, the feathers of both birds were as white as the hills in winter.

The gyrfalcon flew up high into the mountains and found a home among the rocky crags, while the ptarmigan sought shelter in the long grasses of the plateau. They lived apart for so long that the two birds forgot that they were sisters. They each built their nests and laid their eggs, but when the chicks hatched they cried for food.

The gyrfalcon saw her chicks were hungry and she went hunting. She spread her white wings and glided down across the valley and over the plateau. For a long time she hunted, but she could find no prey. Then her sharp eyes spotted something running. She stooped down upon it and, seizing her kill in her sharp talons, she carried it off to her nest. She tore at its breast until the flesh was bare and bleeding and fed it to her chicks. Only then did she look upon its face. Only then did she recognize the face of her sister, the ptarmigan. When she realized who it was she had torn apart with her cruel beak, her grief knew no bounds. And her cry of sorrow, krery-krery-krery, will ring out to the end of time, for she repeats her murder daily and daily repents too late.





Isabela



Hot gorge – when a falcon is allowed to feed on prey it has just killed. A bird may be permitted a full gorge – to eat until its crop is full – or a half gorge or quarter gorge.



I woke with such a start that I must have lashed out, for my arm hit something soft and I heard a grunt of pain beside me. For a moment I didn’t know where I was. The light was startlingly bright as if a thousand candle flames were being shone in my face. I was numb with cold. Then I realized that the light was coming from a low, bright sun dazzling over the top of a hill, and I was lying not in the warm cave, but on damp mosses tucked under an overhang of rocks. Marcos was lying in front of me, curled up like a baby, and groaning as he stirred awake.

Embarrassed at finding myself pressed into a man’s back, I could not think how to extricate myself, since I was wedged between his body and the rock. I nudged him again, hoping it would make him move away, but he turned over and opened his eyes, staring with a frown up at the lightening sky as if he had never seen it before.

He crawled out from under the overhang and staggered painfully to his feet and gazed about him. ‘Sweet Jesu, I thought I’d just dreamt this!’

I scrambled up, trying to smooth my clothes and tousled hair. My clothes clung damply to my goose-pimpled skin, and the breeze only made me feel wetter and colder. But when I glanced up to where Marcos was staring, all the discomfort and cold vanished as I too gaped at the sight.

We were standing on the edge of a broad flat plain of dark green mosses and golden sedges. Above us towered a great mountain of sparkling bluish-white ice, tumbled down between two jagged black peaks. The frozen river flowed out around the base of the rocks, ending abruptly about four or five feet above a shelf of black sand. Little streams of water were running from beneath the ice and trickling into a wide, dark lake in whose ruffled surface the white ice and black rocks trembled. Ribbons of soft white mist drifted across the ice-river and above it the sky was such a dazzling blue it hurt my eyes to look at it.

Marcos slowly shook his head. ‘That … that could never have been a river, could it? How could anything that deep freeze solid?’

For a few minutes all we could do was stare transfixed. Then, as the breeze once again reminded me how cold I was, I glanced around.

‘Can you see Eydis anywhere?’ I asked. ‘I thought the other woman said to wait for her here. She should be back by now, but I see no sign of her.’

Shielding his eyes with his hand from the glare of the sun bouncing off the ice, Marcos pivoted slowly around.

‘Look there. Is that one of those hot springs or is it smoke?’

I followed where he pointed. Half-hidden behind the rocks where we had taken shelter, a thin plume of lavender smoke was swirling gently in the breeze. I caught the whiff of what smelt like fish grilling.

‘It’s a cooking fire.’ I tried to smile and discovered my face was so numb with cold I could hardly move the muscles. The thought of being able to warm my hands over a fire seemed more precious than gold right then and I turned to hurry around the rocks, but Marcos grabbed me.

‘Wait,’ he whispered. ‘It might not be Eydis. Remember the Danes are still looking for us.’

My heart suddenly began to thump. What had been an awe-inspiring expanse now suddenly became menacing, with little cover in which to hide.

‘Get back behind the rock,’ Marcos whispered. ‘I’ll edge round and see if I can see anything.’

I crept back under the overhang, crouching, my body tense, ready to run, though I had no idea where to make for. Marcos crept along the rocks, but even before he reached the end where he might have been seen, a woman’s voice rang out,

‘Marcos, Isabela, gerðu svo vel. Come and eat, you must be hungry.’

Marcos peered around the rock. ‘It’s that woman who took the sisters up the frozen river last night.’

The relief I felt was like being plunged into a warm bath. I crept out of my hiding place and saw the tall woman crouching by a fire she had built on a flat slab of rock. She was twisting a stick on which several small fish were skewered, their skins charred and bubbling.

‘Come, warm yourselves. I am Heidrun, a friend of Eydis and Valdis. I have known them since they quickened in their mother’s womb.’

We both crouched as close to the fire as we could, rubbing our hands, our clothes steaming where the heat touched them.

‘Where is Eydis?’ I asked.

‘She is close by. Eat first, then I will take you to her.’

We breakfasted on the fish which was so fresh that it tasted as if it had only been pulled from the lake minutes before. Heidrun ate hers slowly and delicately, smiling to herself as Marcos and I burned our fingers and mouths in our haste to eat. I hadn’t realized it was possible to be so ravenously hungry. Never had anything tasted so good.

But suddenly I was back in our kitchen in Sintra eating grilled sardines, hearing the thunderous hammering on the door, tense with fear as I waited for it to open, then watching as they bound my father’s hands and dragged him away. What was he eating this morning? Was he even still alive? I had wasted so much precious time.

‘Eydis was going to show me where the white falcons are. Do you know how far away they are from here?’

I knew even as I asked the question that it was cruel and unfeeling. The poor woman was grieving for her sister. What right had I to ask her to show me the birds in the midst of her sorrow? Yet I had to insist. I didn’t know how else I was going to find them.

‘They’re not far. You will see them.’

We drank from the trickles of water which ran from the end of the frozen river. The ice was as wrinkled as the skin of an old crone who has lived for a thousand years, and scored by dozens of cracks and crevices. When we had drunk our fill, Heidrun climbed gracefully up on to the ice shelf, holding out a warm hand to help me scramble up. Seeing her walk on it with such practised ease, I hadn’t realized how slippery it was, and I would have come crashing down had she not continued to steady me. Marcos clambered up too and almost slid straight off again.

Holding both our hands, Heidrun led us up the frozen river. Once we were away from the edge that was wet and smooth with melting water, the surface became harder and rougher, easier to find a foothold without your shoe slipping out from under you.

The coldness rose up from the ice and enveloped us. Our breath hung about in puffs of white. Although I longed to look up to see the vast expanse of ice towering above, the moment I raised my eyes, I would trip over the frozen peaks or stumble as my foot slipped into the cracks. The further we walked, the broader the crevices became until they were wide enough for a man to fall into and so deep that he would never be able to clamber up the glass walls. Follow one line of solid ice, and you could suddenly find yourself stranded with deep ravines on three sides of you and no way across. But Heidrun seemed to be able to pick her way round this maze of crevasses, as if following a track, though there was nothing that I could see that marked the way.

Finally, as we reached the place where the ice-river angled sharply upwards, she stopped. We found ourselves facing an oval hole in the ice like the entrance to a cave, easily big enough to enter.

‘Come,’ Heidrun said. ‘Eydis is inside.’

I had spent enough time in a cave in the past few days never to want to enter one again. Even to look at it brought panic surging up into my throat, the terror of being trapped down in the mountain. Standing there alone in the darkness, sure that the entrance had been sealed and there was no way out for me, then finally the relief of seeing that tiny pinpoint of light, a single star showing the gap was still there. Then climbing up and up and that awful moment of despair again when I realized I could not reach the world outside. Groping over the surface of the walls, desperate to find a hole, a stone jutting out, the smallest thing I could use to stand on, terrified to reach too far in case I slipped and went crashing down, perhaps to lie there mangled but still alive at the bottom.

I saw Marcos watching me, and knew my face must be revealing the horror I felt when I looked at that ice cave.

‘You don’t have to go in,’ he said. ‘I’ll find her and bring her out to you.’

But Heidrun said softly, ‘You must go in to her, if you want to find the white falcons. It is the only way.’

She turned, as if she expected me to follow, and ducking her head, went inside.

‘You don’t have to,’ Marcos whispered.

But I knew that I did. Trying to fight down the desire to turn and run, I too ducked into the ice cave. But it was not like the first cave at all. It was shallow, almost egg-shaped inside. I had thought it would be dark, but I found myself bathed in an iridescent blue light, brighter and more intense than a hundred lamps burning together. It was as if all the rays of sunlight outside were being sucked through the ice and concentrated in that cave. When I moved my head even slightly, the colours of every rainbow that had ever arched through the skies rippled through those walls of ice.

‘Eydis is here,’ Heidrun said.

Her voice startled me. I’d almost forgotten why I was in the cave. She drew to one side, so that I could see. A long low ledge of ice ran along the back of the cave. Eydis and Valdis were lying on it, their hands clasped in one another’s. Then I saw something else – a single white bone, the bone which I had taken from the forest in France. The ring had been removed and the bone was clasped between the sisters’ entwined fingers, just as a lover might hold a rose in death, or a Christian grasp a crucifix.

Ice was slowly creeping up over the bodies of Eydis and Valdis, over their single pair of legs, their arms and heads. Their hair was already fully embedded in the ice. Soon the rest of them would be completely encased.

‘Eydis is dead,’ I breathed. ‘But I thought she had come to release the spirit of her twin. I thought when she’d done that she would be free.’

‘She is free,’ Heidrun said. ‘They both are. Look at them.’

Now that their faces were no longer veiled, I saw that they were strikingly handsome, and as alike as two matched pearls. Both women’s eyes were open, and as blue as the ocean, and there was an expression of childlike wonder in them.

‘But, I thought she would live,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know she had come here to die. Did she know? Did she know where you were taking her?’

‘She knew she was coming here to seek life,’ Heidrun said.

‘But she’s not alive,’ I screamed. ‘She’s dead. All those years chained up in the cave, and she finally managed to escape, and now … and now … It isn’t fair!’

I turned and blundered out of the cave, slipping and sliding on the ice, banging my shoulder on the edge of the cave entrance, but I was too angry and shocked even to notice the pain.

Marcos had remained outside, though he must have heard all that passed between us. He caught my arm, trying to stop me charging back down the river of ice.

‘Wait, we need Heidrun to guide us back, otherwise we’ll end up down one of those crevasses.’

‘I don’t care,’ I yelled, but, of course, I did.

His warning was enough to make me stop, but I couldn’t look at Heidrun when she emerged from the cave.

Marcos shuffled his feet awkwardly. ‘I suppose we should have realized, poor woman. You could hardly cut them apart, not without killing Eydis in the process.’

‘They were born as one, Eydis knew they would die as one,’ Heidrun said as calmly as ever. ‘They will lie there unchanged long after we are dead. The ice-river moves slowly, but one day, in time, their bodies will reach the lake and from the lake they will drift into the river and with the river they will flow into the sea and become one with it. Just as a single drop of water that falls as rain will in time become a whole ocean always moving, always changing, but always the sea.’

Without turning to see if we followed, Heidrun set off down the ice-river again, picking her way carefully between the great ravines and cracks. We followed without speaking until we reached the lip of the ice and Marcos bounded down, reaching up to help first Heidrun and then me clamber down on to the black sand and mud below.

I stood gazing back at the ice. Somewhere in that, though I could no longer see the place, Eydis and her twin lay entombed. How could I have been so stupid as even to imagine that Eydis could free herself from her dead twin? As Marcos said, it was impossible. It was obvious she’d come here to die.

Grief welled up in me as a hard lump in my throat. Tears sprang to my eyes and I scrubbed them away. I wasn’t crying for her. Why should I? I barely knew her. I was crying for poor old Jorge burning in front of that screaming mob, for the girl who’d tried to hold on to the casket of bones, for the murdered family in the forest, for poor little Hinrik, for Fausto, for my father and, though I refused to admit it, I was crying most of all for myself.

I thought of myself as far away from home in a strange land. I had longed to return to the place I knew and loved as a child, to the old familiar smells and sights, the hot summer sunshine, the scent of the pine groves and the camellias. But in that moment I finally grasped that I had no home to return to. I was a Marrano. We did not belong anywhere. There was no land we could own as ours, no place to raise a family in peace, no tomb to bury our parents in that would not be desecrated. Even that little strip of land that we might call our grave, our resting place, was not permitted to us. There was no river of blue ice waiting for me, calling for me to return to it.

Heidrun took my hand and gently pulled me round to face the calm, dark lake.

‘I am not like Fannar and Eydis. I am their friend, but not of their people. They call me a huldukona, a hid-woman. We live among them, but we are not of them. We too were once driven out of our homes. But we still keep our own ways. We teach our children the lore which our mothers taught us and their mothers taught them since first this land was made. We do not forget who we were and who we are, and we will remember it for ever. I see it in you. You are like us. You must remain hidden. You must appear to be as one with the people you live among. But you are not. Learn the old ways of your people as we do in secret, teach them to your children, tell them who they were and make them remember. Your home is in your lore. As long as you remember the old ways and teach them, within that knowledge you will always find the place where you belong.’

‘But I don’t understand why you must remain hidden,’ I said. ‘Are you afraid of the Danes?’

She smiled sadly. ‘I am afraid of nothing, except forgetting. Come.’

She walked ahead of us, leading us back to the cooking fire which still glowed on the rock. She retrieved a withy basket which she had tucked into the shelter of the rocks. She opened it and pulled out two live birds about the size of a bantam hen, with dark strips over their eyes. The backs of the birds were grey-brown mottled with white and the belly and flanks were white. They lay quietly in her hands, their big brown eyes staring up at us.

‘These are ptarmigan.’

‘So that’s what they look like,’ I said. ‘They say there are great flocks of them in these mountains, but I haven’t seen a single one.’

‘You’ve seen many,’ Heidrun said. ‘But you haven’t known it. When the snows come they’ll turn white. A hillside may be covered with them, but they will not be seen. In summer they are the colour of the rocks and grey mountain grass. In autumn they look like rocks with a little frost upon them, as they do now.’

Marcos eyed them hungrily. ‘Do they make good eating?’

Heidrun laughed. ‘Yes, excellent, but I am afraid they will not be filling your belly. These are needed for hungrier beaks.’

She handed the birds to me and I held them, one under each arm, their wings pressed closed so that they could not struggle. Their bodies were warm and my fingers sank into the soft feathers. Beneath the skin I could feel their tiny hearts beating fast.

She nodded towards the basket. ‘You will find soft leather in there to fashion into jesses and lines. You know how to snare a falcon, Isabela?’

‘If we ever find one. I don’t know where to look. Eydis promised me that she would help me catch the falcons. She swore … and I believed her. I thought that was where she was leading us. But now …’

‘She will keep her promise,’ Heidrun said calmly. ‘Trust her in death as you did in life. Remember, the ptarmigan and the white falcon are sisters. Where one goes the other will always follow. Now I must leave you. Stay here until you have what you seek. You have a fire to warm you. There are fish in the lake and water in the streams. There is nothing more you need.’

Her smile was gentle as she turned and walked away. I was sure I’d seen her before, not just in the cave, but somewhere else. I suddenly realized I had not thanked her and called after her. She raised one hand in acknowledgement that she had heard me. She did not look back. We watched the tall figure stride across the plain until our eyes lost sight of her, dazzled by the sun.

Marcos stirred up the little fire, rubbing his hands, and eyed the two birds. ‘What are you going to do with them? Wring their necks and leave them out as bait?’

‘Falcons need live prey. Can you bring me the line from the basket?’

Marcos reluctantly held the birds while I fastened a leg of each one to a length of line. He was not used to handling birds, anyone could see that. They flapped angrily in his hands, while he leaned his head so far back to avoid the wings that he almost toppled over.

In spite of his help, I managed to tether both birds and sent him in search of stones that were weighty and rough enough to secure the ends of each line. Then I carried the birds and stones out to a flat patch of grass and set them down. The birds immediately crouched on the ground, staying so still that, had they been among rocks, I would immediately have lost sight of them. But after I had retreated, they cautiously rose and began to search among the vegetation for food.

I returned to the fire and fashioned two nooses at the ends of the two remaining lengths of line, and laid them ready at hand.

‘So, what happens now?’ Marcos asked.

I shrugged. ‘We wait and hope the falcons come.’

My father had used this method of trapping when he knew falcons regularly hunted in a certain place, or when a captive bird was lost, but it was not one he used often. It depended too much on luck. It occurred to me then to wonder how Heidrun had known to bring exactly the things I would need. Doubtless Eydis had told her what I was looking for and she had fetched the things in the night. I wondered if she lived close by, though I didn’t recall passing any farmsteads, but then, they were so hard to see. Like the ptarmigan, their turf roofs blended perfectly into the hillside; you might walk within feet of them and not notice unless you saw the smoke rising from the hearths.

Marcos and I sat either side of the fire, occasionally feeding it with the woody stems of plants as if it was a pet and we were giving it titbits. I continually scanned the bright blue sky, but the sun glinted off the ice so brilliantly that I was forced to keep looking away. Marcos kept looking at me, half opening his mouth as if he was on the verge of saying something, but didn’t know how to begin.

If I did find a bird, would he try to take it from me? He told me he had come here to capture a bird to pay a debt, though he had no idea how to set about it. But once the bird was caught, would I be able to fend him off if he was determined to take it? He had rescued me from the bog and he had warned me about Vítor. But why had he helped me? Was it just to ensure I would stay alive long enough to capture a bird for him? And what would he do when I had?

Marcos shifted his position for the umpteenth time. ‘How long have we been here? My belly is beginning to grumble again. She said there were fish in the lake. I suppose she means us to use one of the lines, though I don’t know what we’re going to use as a hook, never mind bait. Can you catch fish as well as –’

‘Quiet,’ I whispered. Shielding my eyes, I stared up into the blinding blue sky.

Krery-krery-krery.

There it was again. ‘White falcons,’ I breathed.

‘Where?’ Marcos said, struggling to his feet.

I grabbed him and pulled him down.

‘Keep down and stay still. I can’t see them but I can hear them.’

Krery-krery-krery.

I turned in the direction of the sound. Two white specks were soaring down over the river of ice towards the ptarmigan.

‘Stay here,’ I whispered.

The ptarmigan had seen them too. They ran to the lengths of the line, trying to take cover in the rocks, but they were jerked back. The falcons circled above, crying out to each other. The ptarmigan froze, pressing themselves into the ground trying to hide, but though they would have been invisible against the rocks, out there in the open against the golden sedges and green mosses, they could be clearly seen.

The falcons folded their wings and stooped down in a long dive, turning upwards at the last minute to strike the ptarmigan with such force I could hear the thumps across the silent plain. They both rose in the air, the limp bodies of their prey dangling from their claws, beating their wings fiercely as they tried to lift both bird and stone to fly off with them. I saw the lines slipping on the stones and thought they were going to slide off, but they held and the falcons dropped to the ground again. They mantled their prey with their wings, covering the bodies of the ptarmigan, protecting them from any other bird that might swoop down to steal it. They lifted their heads, their huge dark eyes watching for danger. Finally, when they were satisfied they were alone, they began to tear the feathers from the warm bodies of the birds, and stab at the flesh beneath.

I watched them gulp down strips of the steaming bloody meat. Then, gripping the nooses and tingling with anticipation, I rose and strode towards the falcons.

With a cry of alarm the birds rose up into the air, circling high into the sky. Careful not to touch the bloody carcasses of the ptarmigan, I laid a noose around each bird, pegged it with a piece of woody plant stem and retreated back behind the rock, the other end of the line in my hands. I should have used a wooden peg, but there wasn’t a tree to be seen anywhere. I just prayed the tough stems would be strong enough to pull against.

‘What on earth did you do that for?’ Marcos spluttered. ‘I thought you said you knew how to catch them. If you’d just crept up on them quietly, instead of blundering in with all the stealth of a charging bull, you might have caught them. You’ve driven them off now. What you need –’

‘Quiet,’ I snapped. ‘Stay absolutely still and wait.’

I watched the birds making wide sweeps in the sky, coasting on their wings on the currents of air rising from the land, their heads down, watching, waiting until all was quiet again. I was so tense, I kept forgetting to breathe, until the pain in my chest reminded me to draw breath. Would they stay? If they had killed and fed not long ago, they wouldn’t bother. They would have taken those two ptarmigan from pure instinct, driven to kill because they had seen them running, trying to hide. But if they weren’t really hungry they would simply fly off again. I waited, my eyes fixed on the birds. Were the circles becoming wider, were they climbing higher, would the next turn or flip of their wings carry them out of the valley?

The larger of the two, the female, began to descend towards the carcass. She landed on the ground and sauntered over, her head turning this way and that, before she stood over her prey again. Finally, she began to feed. Part of me was screaming, pull the noose now, if you don’t you’ll lose her! But I knew that as soon as the falcon felt herself caught she would scream and struggle, and her mate would fly off at once. But at least I’d have one.

The jerkin, the male falcon, was flying lower. Land! I kept willing it. Land, before the other takes wing again. How hungry was it? How full was its crop? I couldn’t take the risk of losing both of them. I had to do it now. My fingers were already tightening on the line when at that moment the jerkin landed. He too looked warily around before approaching his own carcass. I held my breath. Then he put his beak down and tore a lump of flesh from his prey.

It was vital I pulled both lines together and at the same pace. I tried, but the noose closed around the foot of the female just moments before the male. She let out a scream of indignation and the male’s head snapped upwards; his wings flapped, but I just managed to tug the noose tight before his feet left the ground. Both birds toppled over, screeching and flapping wildly as they struggled on the ground.

Now I had to get to them before they hurt themselves and I couldn’t trust Marcos to handle them. I snatched up the withy basket.

‘Quickly,’ I yelled at Marcos. ‘Your shirt, give me your shirt.’

I will say this for him, he pulled it off without a word of protest.

I ran to the male, who was nearest, and dropped the shirt over the head of the struggling bird to quieten him. Then I raced towards the female. Scooping her up by her legs, I struggled to close her wings between my arm and chest and hold her still while I slipped the noose from her. She did not submit willingly, and I was terrified that one of her feet would fasten on me, for once they lock into flesh, nothing but killing the bird can force them loose. But I finally managed to lay her on her back in the basket and close the lid.

I walked back and wrapped the male tightly in Marcos’s shirt. I removed the line and marched back with the two birds.

Marcos was shivering, but grinning so broadly, I thought his mouth would split.

‘You did it! You caught them.’ He looked down and his grin faded rapidly. ‘But you’re hurt.’

Both my arms were bleeding profusely from long gashes where talons and beaks had slashed me. My heart had been pumping so fiercely, and I had been so terrified of losing or injuring the birds, I hadn’t even felt the pain, though I felt the fierce sting of it now.

‘You’ll have to bandage those wounds,’ Marcos said, looking vaguely sick.

It was just as well Marcos was not a physician, for he was remarkably squeamish about the sight of blood.

‘That will have to wait. I need to get the leather jesses on them so that I can tether them. I’ve no needle to sew the eyelids shut, or hoods, so I’ll have to cover their heads with strips of cloth. We must keep them calm, else they will bate and harm themselves.’

Marcos, regarding the deep gashes in my arm, flatly refused to hold the birds, but under my direction he succeeded in tying the soft strips of leather to their legs and tore the bottom of his shirt for makeshift hoods which I finally succeeded in getting on the birds, though not without a few more cuts to my hands.

I tied the lines to the jesses and fastened them round the rocks, settling the birds there to perch, where they stood quietly enough. As soon as the birds were calm, Marcos insisted on going off to wet his ragged shirt in water to wash my cuts for they were bleeding and stinging ferociously.

Now that I had the birds safe, I found my legs had suddenly lost the power to hold me up. I was trembling violently. I sank down on to the ground. I had done it. I had really done it! I’d captured the falcons. My father would be released. He would come home safe and well. I could picture him now walking towards me, holding out his arms to me, the joy and amazement on his face that the miracle had happened. It was over. It was all over!

I crouched on the damp ground, waiting for Marcos to return, unable to tear my gaze from the falcons. They were a truly magnificent pair. The plumage on the underside of the birds was white with delicate markings of dark brown, as if someone had drawn on them in ink with a quill, and the plumage on the backs was as yet dark brown. They were just what I had hoped for. Both sore birds, in the first year of their lives, not yet in the full adult livery they would attain after their first moult next summer when the dark feathers would turn white. They had many years of hunting and breeding in front of them, if I could only manage to get them back alive.

Food – that was the important thing. They must be fed regularly. The ptarmigan they had killed would serve for the next couple of days, for they would surely keep fresh in this cold, especially if I packed them in a little of that ice. As soon as Marcos returned, I would send him to retrieve them, as long as I could persuade him not to roast them for his own supper. Perhaps we might spare the guts for Marcos to use as bait for fishing. Not the hearts and livers though, they must be fed to the falcons.

‘Move away from those birds, Isabela,’ a man’s voice growled behind me.

I sprang to my feet. Marcos was on his knees, the point of a dagger at his throat, one arm twisted up painfully behind his back. Standing behind him, holding the hilt of the knife in his clenched fist, was Vítor. His clothes were torn and there was a dark patch of dried blood on his forehead, and a livid purple bruise on his cheek, but his expression was grim and determined.

‘Turn around and start walking towards the ice, Isabela. Slowly! Just keep walking steadily. Don’t even think of running or I will cut Marcos’s throat and then I will track you down. Do falcons eat human flesh? I imagine they would eat anything if it was bloody enough, wouldn’t they?’





Ricardo



Bind – when a hawk seizes its prey in the air and holds on to it.



I don’t know why I hadn’t heard the little weasel coming. I’d never have let a man creep up on me like that in a town. You walk though a crowded street or sit in a tavern and you’re constantly alert to any movement behind you – the cutpurse moving in, the hired muscle sent by the man wanting revenge – you can’t afford to relax your guard for a moment. Vítor would never have taken me in the street, but that howling purgatory of empty space had sucked out even the wits I was born with.

I was just bending down to wet a torn scrap of my shirt in the lake and the next thing I knew there was a knife pricking my ribs and his odious voice whispering in my ear. He marched me back to Isabela, my arm twisted so far up my back, I was praying neither of us would stumble for one sudden jerk would have snapped it.

When Isabela turned, her face blanched as she saw us. ‘Vítor … but I thought you were dead!’

She wasn’t the only one. Why is it that filthy little cockroaches always survive, when everything else is wiped out?

‘What you mean, Isabela, is you left me for dead,’ Vítor said. ‘But God watches over his faithful servants. I was rendered unconscious by my fall from the rocks, and when I came round, I was alone, but at least the steam was no longer filling the passageway. The ledge at the top of the shaft had fallen away, but I was able to carry a flat shard of rock up to the top of the pile of boulders and wedge it upright. Standing on that gave me just enough height to claw my way out. I eventually found Fannar and his family making for shelter. I thought you’d be with them. They were overjoyed to see me and naturally they were only too willing to point out the direction you had taken … But we’ve wasted enough time on this touching reunion. Isabela, I believe I told you to start walking towards the ice.’

He pressed the blade deeper into my throat until I was too afraid to breathe in case it pierced the skin.

Isabela flinched. ‘I’ll walk anywhere you want, but please don’t hurt him.’

If I hadn’t been so humiliated, not to mention shit-scared, I might have been flattered by her concern, but as it was, I could only echo her words in my head – Yes, please don’t hurt me!

Unfortunately, that plea from Isabela seemed only to encourage Vítor to do just that. He jerked my arm more viciously up my back until the agony made white lights explode in front of my eyes. I could tell you, of course, that I didn’t utter so much as a whimper of pain, but I suspect you know me too well by now to believe that. Isabela’s face convulsed in sympathy.

‘I’m going!’ she said. ‘Don’t …’

She broke off, obviously realizing that another plea for mercy would only encourage him to more torture. It’s refreshing to find a man who so thoroughly enjoys his work, don’t you think? Inflicting pain, yes, he loved that, but we both knew he wouldn’t want murder on his conscience. Wasn’t this exactly why I’d been sent here? He couldn’t kill anyone himself. I was gritting my teeth against the agony of my arm, but now I tried to force my jaws apart.

‘Don’t listen to him, Isabela. He won’t kill me. He’s a priest, a Jesuit. He can’t commit murder. Don’t do what he says.’

I squealed as he jerked my arm so savagely, I was sure I was going to pass out.

‘So you’ve decided to start telling the truth, have you, Marcos? Very well then, let’s give Isabela a little more of it, shall we? Do you know why Marcos is here, Isabela? He is a hired villain, a murderer. His real name is Cruz and he was sent to kill you. The king’s advisors have no intention of letting you return to Portugal with those birds. You will die here, and when you fail to return the young king will be persuaded to execute your father. He will hate you and all your kind so bitterly that this time he will be only too eager to light the bonfire with his own little hands. And once he’s lit one fire, he will learn to enjoy the thrill of lighting more, until every heretic in Portugal is burning. This man you know as Marcos is not your protector, he is your assassin.’

Isabela stared from one to the other of us in horror. ‘But I thought … in the cave you tried to warn me … When were you going to kill me, Marcos? After I’d captured the birds for you?’ She lifted her head and stared at Vítor. ‘As for you, you must be a complete fool. You tell me he is here to murder me and then you think I’ll still care if you cut his throat. Go ahead, do it!’

She turned and started to run.

‘But I think you will care when I kill the falcons.’ Vítor’s voice was colder than the river of ice.

Isabela stopped dead, as if she’d been pierced by an arrow. She wheeled around and came racing back towards the falcons, but Vítor was closer to them than she was.

He raised his dagger and brought the hilt of it down on the side of my head, at the same time releasing my arm. I toppled over and Vítor, in a couple of strides, placed himself between Isabela and the falcons, the point of the knife pressing into the breast of one of the birds.

‘Marcos is correct when he says the taking of a human life is forbidden to me. But it is written we have dominion over the animals and may kill them for our sport. It’s no sin to kill a bird, not even one as valuable as this creature. But it would be a pity to dispatch such powerful creatures too swiftly. I wonder how long they would live without wings. Shall we see?’

‘No!’ Isabela shouted. ‘Don’t harm them. I’ll go wherever you want me to, but let the birds live … release them, please. Let them go free! Please, please don’t hurt them because of me!’

‘As Marcos will tell you, I do not let anything go free.’

‘Then sell them,’ Isabela begged him. ‘They’ll fetch a huge price if they are unharmed. They are worthless to you dead.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Dead, they are worth a Portugal cleansed of all her heretics, a Portugal that is purified for God.’

He seemed to consider the matter, clearly enjoying the abject fear that was written through every inch of Isabela’s frame as she waited for his decision.

‘Perhaps you’re right. They are valuable creatures, and provided they never reach the little king’s hands they may help the Holy Church … Very well. I will spare them if you do exactly what I say, but one hint of resistance from you and I will carry out my threat.’

Isabela swallowed hard and nodded. Vítor gestured with his dagger towards the ice. With her head held high, Isabela walked past him towards the frozen river, glancing back only once to reassure herself that he had moved away from the birds.

Vítor pointed the dagger at me. ‘You, on your feet and follow her! I don’t want you releasing those birds while my back is turned. Besides, your work is not yet done, Senhor Cruz.’

I clambered to my feet, my head throbbing from the blow and a lump the size of a hen’s egg rapidly swelling on my temple. As I stumbled along, still dazed, I clenched and unclenched my fist, trying to restore the feeling in my wrenched arm. I couldn’t work out why Vítor wanted Isabela to climb up on to the ice, but I knew that whatever plan he was hatching in that scrofulous little brain of his, it wasn’t going to be good for either of us.

It took me several attempts and a couple of vicious jabs in the buttocks from Vítor’s dagger to clamber up on to the slippery melting ice. In my whole life I had never wanted to beat a man’s face to a pulp more than I longed to pulverize Vítor’s. We picked our way gingerly until we reached the drier, rougher ice. Isabela stopped and turned.

‘Which way?’ she asked in a tremulous voice.

Vítor’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the frozen river ahead. ‘A little to your left, then keep walking.’

Isabela did as she was told. Several times she glanced back as if she was praying that somehow we would have vanished, but we had not.

If I paused or hesitated for more than a moment, I felt the point of the dagger prick into my back and heard Vítor’s growl to keep walking. While I kept trying to convince myself he wouldn’t kill me, his threat to mutilate the falcons reminded me that there are worse things a man might do with a knife than commit murder. The Inquisition was, after all, well versed in the art of crippling a man for life without actually taking that life even if their victims begged their tormentors to do so. And the thought of being left out here maimed, in agony and alone was enough to make me keep walking.

The cold air rising up from the ice only increased my pounding headache, and my shoulder ached so much I was beginning to fear that one of the bones had indeed been cracked.

But finally Isabela stopped. ‘I can’t go any further. There’s a crevasse in front of me. It’s too wide to get across.’

‘Is that so?’ Vítor sounded almost pleased by the news. ‘And is it deep?’

Isabela must have realized at the same moment I did why Vítor had brought us here. She clasped her hand to her mouth, looking terrified, but said nothing.

‘You, Cruz, take this length of line, which Isabela has so helpfully provided. Tie her hands behind her.’ Seeing me hesitate, he added, ‘I am sure she would want you to do it. She knows what will happen to her precious birds if you don’t co-operate.’

Isabela stood still as I tied her as loosely as I dared. Her hands were trembling.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. But she gave no sign that she had heard me.

Vítor pushed past us and peered down into the crevasse. It was deep, so deep that several men could have stood on one another’s shoulders and still not reached the top. The bottom was strewn with jagged shards of ice, but the sides were as clean and smooth as polished glass.

He straightened up and gave a smile of satisfaction. ‘Do you recall the first night we spent on this island when that drunken peasant of a farmer was telling us his hunting stories? Now, what was it he said? Ah yes, I believe he told us how dangerous the rivers of ice could be. How if a man fell down into one of the crevasses, he would never be able to climb out again. It is a lesson you would do well to remember, Cruz. It is always wise to remain sober whilst others are in their cups, you never know what useful information you might acquire.

‘You’ve chosen your grave well, Isabela. God has been more merciful to you than a heretic deserves. The cold will probably kill you before you starve to death or die of any injuries you might sustain in the fall. I understand dying of cold is not an unpleasant death, just accept it. Don’t fight against the sleep and it will be over quickly. But while you wait down there for death, Isabela, I urge you to think of your sins and repent of your heresy. Use the time you have left well. Spend it in prayer to our Blessed Lord and the Holy Virgin, begging for their mercy. That is all the Church wants, all she has ever asked for, the full and humble repentance of heretics.’

He turned from her, jabbing the point of his dagger at me.

‘Now is the time, Cruz, to fulfil the vow you made before my brothers, the oath you swore by the Virgin Mary and all the saints. Push the girl in. Do it and I will take you back to Portugal to live a life of luxury and pleasure. I will even generously divide the price I receive from the white falcons with you.’

Isabela had shrunk back from the edge. Now she looked up at me, her mouth set bravely, but I could see, behind the defiance, the terror in her eyes. ‘Look after the white falcons, Marcos … don’t let him hurt them … they’re so beautiful.’

I had expected her to plead for mercy. I would have been grovelling pathetically on my knees, but I should have known she would never beg for her own life.

Vítor impatiently gestured with his dagger. ‘Do it, Cruz. You are making her suffer more by hesitating. Come now, quickly, put the girl out of her misery and be done with it.’

‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘I won’t kill her.’

‘I am not asking you to kill her. The ice will do that. Her death will not be on your soul … If you refuse, you will suffer more than you can ever imagine, but not before you’ve watched me mutilate those birds. She doesn’t want that, Cruz. She wants those birds saved. She wants to give her life for them, don’t you, Isabela? You want Cruz to push you in so that your falcons will be spared. Just a little push, that’s all, just one.’

He took a single step towards me, jabbing at me with his dagger. It was that tiny gesture that sealed it. Enraged, I grabbed his wrist and jerked, trying to make him drop the dagger. His feet slipped from under him, and before he could stop himself he had slid over the edge of the crevasse. His fingers locked around my hand as it grasped his, almost pulling me in with him. I fell to my knees and collapsed on to my belly, trying to cling to a rough peak of ice with my other hand to prevent myself sliding over the edge. I was holding him with my injured arm, his full weight dangling from my shoulder, which, already swollen, burned like fire. He was flailing about with his other hand, trying to grasp the edge of the crevasse, but his fingers kept slipping from the ice.

‘Pull me up, pull me up!’ he screamed.

My hold on the lump of ice was slipping as my fingers warmed the surface. I was almost crying from the pain in my shoulder as he thrashed about. I opened my fingers, but his grip on my wrist was too strong. He would not let go, he swung himself, and with one desperate lunge managed to grab Isabela’s ankle. She crashed to the ground and though she kicked and writhed, with her hands tied, she was unable to do anything to stop herself being pulled towards the edge.

Blind terror somehow summoned up the last shred of strength I possessed. I let go of the ice and, drawing back my fist, punched him as hard as I could in the face. His nose burst into a torrent of blood. With a scream he fell backwards, as in the same instance I lunged at Isabela with my other hand, just as she slid over the edge. I caught the back of her gown and for an agonizing moment she swung there in empty space as we heard the thump of Vítor’s body hitting the bottom of the crevasse.

I wriggled backwards on my belly, trying to feel for a lump of ice I could hook my foot around, and then I pulled. With her arms bound, there was no way Isabela could do anything to help herself, and after the punch I’d landed on Vítor my fingers were numb. All I could do was to keep sliding backwards on my stomach and try to haul Isabela up by the weight of my body.

I heard her cry out as her shoulders and back ground hard against the ice as I tried to haul her over the edge. I knew being dragged up like that must be agony for her, but I couldn’t afford to stop. I felt the stitches in her gown begin to give way. It was now or never. I gave one huge jerk, and she landed on her back on the ice, sobbing and shaking. I crawled towards her, wrapping my arms around her and folding her into a tight embrace. I don’t know which of us was sobbing the louder, but if you ever repeat that to anyone, I shall deny every word.

We didn’t attempt to return to the harbour where we had disembarked. It was, as I said to Isabela, a deliberate decision on my part. I told her that if we went back we would be recognized instantly by the officious little ink-head, who would have taken great delight in clapping us in irons for the winter. But the truth was, I actually had no idea where we were or how to get back to that port.

Isabela claims it was her suggestion to follow the river from the lake to find the sea. I’d already decided that was the best course of action, but after all she’d been through, it was kinder to let her think she’d thought of it. Women like to have these little victories, it sweetens their mood.

I’ll say this for the girl, she made sure we didn’t starve. She was good at setting snares. Me? I’ve never attempted to catch so much as a mouse. I knew, of course, that someone must catch and kill animals, I’d seen enough bloody carcasses hanging in butchers’ rows, but as far as I was concerned meat had always presented itself to me swimming in rich sauces and bearing no resemblance at all to the beast which gave it its name. Iceland seemed sadly lacking in rabbits or hares or any edible mammal, but the river provided ample duck, and now that we knew what we were looking for we saw that the hillsides were swarming with ptarmigan springing up like mushrooms in autumn. We shared this meat with the falcons, though somehow they always seemed to get the choice portions, while I had to make do with anything that was considered not good enough for them.

I can’t say I cared much for the falcons. I was terrified that one lunge with those dagger-sharp beaks of theirs and they’d have my eye for supper. But in time I got used to carrying one on my arm, once Isabela had made a pad for me with a twist of cloth stuffed with moss, for their claws were like dragons’ talons.

The first two nights Isabella removed the cloth bindings from their eyes and kept the birds constantly awake, to man them, as she put it. In other words, make the vicious little brutes tame and docile, and accustomed to the sight of us. I was amazed at how quickly they grew used to us. And while we still hooded them when we walked, at night their bright eyes watched us and they learned to take the raw bloody morsels she held out to them wrapped in a few feathers to help them digest the flesh.

Once we reached the sea, the ptarmigan were replaced by seabirds and eider duck. Take it from me, gulls are not good eating. So I tried my hand at fishing and managed to hook a seal, which would have been a welcome catch had it not been dead, and not just dead, but rotting and putrid. Nevertheless, I spent many hours drying the parts of it I could salvage over a fire. Isabela begged me to throw away the stinking mess, but as I told her, it was the first thing I’d caught and I wasn’t going to part with it, despite her wrinkling her pretty little nose and protesting.

Even her laughing protest was a sign that relations between us were thawing. The fact that I had, in all modesty, saved her life, did make her trust me a little, though I could tell at first she was still extremely wary of me. I suppose it was only to be expected. When a woman learns you’ve crossed several seas with the express intention of murdering her, it’s only natural she should be a tad reserved in your presence, a little jumpy when you get too close.

But I did not attempt to explain what that bastard Vítor had told her. That’s another lesson I learned early in life, never offer excuses until they are asked for, it makes you look guilty. But finally, one night as we sat shivering around a tiny fire, roasting a plump little duck, she asked me if what Vítor had said was true. Of course, I told her the whole story … well, most of the story … some of the story … Look, I admitted my name was Cruz, what more do you expect? One should never distress a lady with the truth.

I stared into the flames with an affecting sigh. ‘It’s with a heavy heart I have to tell you that I put you in grave danger, Isabela. The truth is, there are those of us in Portugal who are seeking to overthrow the Inquisition, even perhaps the throne itself if we must. We have helped some to escape the clutches of the Inquisition; we steal records and sometimes even assassinate key members of the familiaries, making it appear as an accident so as not to arouse suspicion. It is dangerous work.’

I stole a glance at Isabela. Her eyes were wide and she sat motionless, obviously completely enthralled

‘There was one man,’ I continued, ‘a lawyer, who was responsible for reporting many innocent people. We couldn’t allow him to continue, but we couldn’t simply lie in wait to stab or strangle him. They would have turned the town upside down searching for his killers, so I volunteered to break into his house one night. I had to climb over the roofs of several houses like a monkey, leaping across the gaps between them. Several times servants heard me on the roof and I flattened myself in the shadows as they wandered round peering upwards, but at last I reached his house and mercifully the shutter was open for it was a warm night.

‘I flipped over the edge of the roof and swung myself in. I almost landed on top of him and his wife as they lay in bed. As it was, I trod on the tail of their dratted cat, which screeched as if I had tried to kill it. Its cry woke the man’s wife, so I had to fling myself into a chest to hide while she got up and put the cat out. I lay in that chest until I could hear them both snoring, then I tiptoed out and poured a few drops of poison into the man’s open mouth as he slept. His coughing and wheezing woke his wife, but the poison was fast acting. I managed to slip out of the window again when she went running down the stairs squealing for someone to come to help her husband who was having a fit. I tell you, I came pretty close to getting caught that night.’

‘I had no idea,’ Isabela breathed. ‘That is such a brave thing to do.’ It was obvious she was impressed.

‘Alas, you will not think me so very brave,’ I said, ‘after I confess to you what I must. You see, I was assigned to follow Vítor on this voyage. Of course, I knew from the beginning that he was a Jesuit priest working for the Inquisition, but we didn’t know what his purpose was in making the voyage. Perhaps I should have dispatched him while we were still at sea, but we needed to know what he had come here to do. It was only at Fannar’s house that I discovered that his purpose was to prevent you from returning home. When Ari first took us to the cave, I tried to kill Vítor then, but I confess that I failed. You see, I’m accustomed to working with poisons. I’m not skilled with a knife. Blood, you see – it always was my weakness. But my cowardice put your life in terrible danger. Can you ever forgive me, Isabela?’

She put her hand on my arm and squeezed it. ‘You twice saved my life. Deeds say more about a man’s heart than his words. Although … I did enjoy the story.’ She turned her face away, and I could have almost sworn she was struggling not to laugh.

It was odd though, of all the many stories I have told about myself that was the only one that I had ever really wanted to be true. Maybe there was some point in my life when if I had taken a different path I could have been that man, that hero, fighting for a cause … All right, I know, just who am I kidding? You’d no more believe that of me than if I said I could have been a saint if only my parents hadn’t named me Cruz!

It took us many days to work our way along the coast until we found a little harbour, surrounded by a cluster of tiny houses. Thank God, if you believe in divine providence, it was mercifully free of the accursed Danes.

A small, lateen-rigged caravel was riding at anchor, a piss-poor ship, whose captain had suffered a run of ill luck and was trying desperately to do a spot of illegal trading before the winter set in. The ship was bound for Antwerp, but from there it would be possible to work south to Portugal by sea or land. The ship was due to sail on the following day’s tide. The captain needed little persuasion to take passengers – frankly, he would have taken a flock of mangy goats, he was that desperate – but the problem was money and I didn’t have any left. I would get it though. I’d sooner spend a hundred years in purgatory than a single winter on that desolate island. Even if I had to stand on the street corner and sell myself as a whore to any hairy-arsed sailor or farmer who passed by, one way or another, I was determined to be on the ship when she sailed on the morrow.

But in the end I was not required to pimp myself. I had already devised another plan for getting money, one that had come to me some days before when we first reached the coast. And I have to thank that sweet angel, Eydis, for that. I would never have thought of it had it not been for watching her tending that man in the cave. Mummy! It cures everything, so of course everyone wants it, especially with winter coming on and people liable to fall sick. But the prices those Danish and German merchants demand were nothing short of extortion. It’s an absolute disgrace. There ought to be a law against cheating poor hardworking people like that.

I can’t tell you how pathetically grateful they were when I offered them genuine mummy for a fraction of the price, made, as I assured them, from the finest Egyptian embalmed corpses. I showed them the fine black powder, I even encouraged them to sample a few grains, and though none of them had been able to afford it before, they were certainly not going to admit that in front of their neighbours, so they all agreed that it smelt and tasted of the very finest quality. They bought every ounce I had to offer. And to think Isabela wanted me to throw away that dead seal!

I returned to the place where we were camping a little way out of the village. We had decided against seeking lodgings, for we couldn’t afford for the white falcons to be seen, and there was no knowing who might be in the pay of the Danes.

I told Isabela that I had found us a ship and what the greedy oaf of a captain wanted for a passage.

She bit her lip. ‘I haven’t a half of that left and I still need to buy some live chickens to take on board to keep the falcons fed and buy food for the hens too until they are slaughtered. Will he take less, do you think, if I offer to cook on board?’

‘I tried to argue him down,’ I told her, ‘but I couldn’t budge him and I’m afraid he has a cook already, one of his hands. I saw him.’

‘There may be another ship before the snows,’ she said desperately.

‘The locals say this is the last.’

‘So all of this has been for nothing,’ she whispered. ‘Even if I find a way to get the white falcons back, it will be too late. Father will be dead.’ Her face was a mask of utter misery.

There was nothing I could do to help her. I didn’t have any more of the mummy left to sell. What could I do? I only had enough for my own passage. I mean, I’d have to buy food for the voyage and wine too. Sweet Jesu, I wasn’t about to set foot on that hulk without a barrel or two of wine to take the edge off the misery. Then when I reached Antwerp, I’d have to find another ship to take me to Portugal and …

And … who was I fooling? I couldn’t return to Portugal, not if Isabela did. Those two bastards in the tower of Belém would know I’d broken my oath and have men hunting me down within an hour. When Vítor didn’t return they’d guess that something had happened to him and would no doubt try to blame me for his death on top of everything else. I didn’t know what the penalty was for dropping a Jesuit priest down an ice ravine and leaving him there to die, but I had a feeling that the Inquisition would have reserved their most exquisite tortures for just such a crime.

No, I had to face it, if Isabela returned home, then I would have to remain an exile. But not here, Sweet Jesu, not on this island. There were surely more pleasant countries in the world where I could exercise my considerable talents. If I got as far as Antwerp I could go anywhere, maybe I could even sail to Golden Goa. Why not? Why not really go there? They said riches lay heaped in the streets, just waiting for a man to scoop them up.

I glanced up at Isabela. She was stroking the breast of one of the white falcons turned rosy pink in the firelight. Tears glittered in her eyes. I sighed. Then I pulled out the leather bag of money from around my neck and thrust it into her lap.

‘Here, there’s enough there for passage on the ship and a second ship to take you back to Portugal, if you’re careful.’

Isabela stared at me. ‘But I can’t take it. What about you? How will you pay for your passage?’

I flapped my hand vaguely. ‘I’ve another purse, twice as heavy, when I want to use it, but I’ve changed my mind about returning yet. I’ve decided to stay here over winter. I didn’t want to tell you before, in case you were frightened I was abandoning you. But you remember Fausto telling us about the diamonds? Well, before he died, he confided to me the exact location of a mountain where they’re to be found. He didn’t want to say anything on the ship, for fear others might beat him to it. Those seamen always had their great hairy ears flapping. Anyway, I’ve made up my mind to go and look for the diamonds. In a way I owe it to Fausto’s memory. Prove him right after all. I can mine the stones all winter. Those caves are pretty warm and well hidden from the Danes. Then I’ll pop up again in the spring and find a ship. By that time I’ll be as rich as King Sebastian himself.’

‘But I can’t let you stay here.’ Isabela’s face was a picture of concern. It was quite touching to see it.

‘Do you think I’d pass up the chance to get rich?’ I said, with a cheerfulness I certainly didn’t feel.

‘I know there aren’t any diamonds,’ she said fiercely. ‘Just for once, why can’t you …’ Tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘Thank you … thank you, Marcos, for my father’s life.’

I saw Isabela off on the early morning tide. We smuggled the falcons aboard in baskets concealed between the cages of hens. The falcons would have to remain hidden until the ship was well clear of Iceland. When she turned to say goodbye, I took her hand. There was something I still had to tell her.

‘Isabela, Vítor is not the only Jesuit who wants you dead. There are many who are very anxious you should not return, especially with those birds. I hope, with all my heart, you will get there in time to save your father’s life, but if you do, you must promise me you will not stay in Portugal for one day longer than you have to. Get a boat, walk over the mountains, leave in any way you can and as fast as you can. They are determined that one day soon you will be lying in their dungeons too.’

I had watched Isabela come close to death more than once, and thought I had seen her afraid, but what passed across her face at that moment was a look of profound dread and foreboding that I had never seen on the face of any man or woman before. She was terrified of what she was about to do. She was forcing herself to go back, when every bone in her body must have been screaming at her not to return. I cursed myself for giving her the money and it was all I could do to stop myself dragging her back off the ship. But I knew even that wouldn’t stop her.

‘Don’t go, Isabela, please don’t go back.’

She swallowed hard and forced a smile. Then she reached up and kissed me on the cheek.

‘You just can’t help being a good man, Marcos, in spite of what you try to be. Promise me you’ll never stop looking for diamonds.’

I watched the ship receding from the shore, saw her triangular sails unfurl and leap eagerly before the wind. You know me, I’ve never exactly pestered God or any of his saints, and I didn’t intend to make a habit of it, but I reckon every man’s entitled to ask for one favour from the Old Man just once in his life.

‘Blessed Jesu,’ I whispered, ‘look after her. Let her live to grow old.’

I turned away and walked along the harbour. There were no more ships. I had just watched my only hope of escape from this midden sail off across the horizon and now I was stuck here at least until spring. Somehow I’d have to find a way to survive. But given what I’d been through in the past few weeks, I wasn’t going to let a little thing like an empty purse defeat me.

There might not be any diamonds in those mountains, and I certainly wasn’t stupid enough to go back into any of those caves to find out, but this mummy was proving to be a profitable little venture. Of course, I’d have to find more dead seals and other villages and towns to sell it in. Keep moving, that was the secret, never stay long enough for them to find out it didn’t work. But then, who knows, maybe my powder would cure them as well as the real thing. If people believed in something strongly enough, miracles had been known to happen. Wasn’t that what the priests called faith? And the more people paid for something, the more faith they had in it. The Icelanders were as poor as corpses in a common grave, but there had to be some wealthy Danish widows around somewhere, and stuck on this island they must be starving for the company of a charming man who knew how to woo a lady. Who knows, they might even consider taking another husband.

I stared down into the clear green water. A naked woman was floating just beneath the surface. Her brown skin was soft and smooth. Her raven hair fanned out all around her, undulating in the waves. An amulet in the form of a single blue eye lay between her firm, round breasts which shamelessly thrust up through the ripples at me. She was smiling, her full lips parted in lustful desire, her arms held wide to embrace me. She wanted me to come to her, to lie with her in the cold, lonely depths. Silvia wanted her revenge.

I kissed my fingers to her. ‘Not yet, my sweet Silvia. Not yet. Patience was never one of your virtues. One day you’ll take me down there with you, and you’ll torment me for all eternity in death just as you did in life. I will pay the price for you eventually, but I’m not ready to surrender to you yet, my beauty. Haven’t I always said, life is a tree laden with sweet, ripe peaches for those who know how to pluck them. And I have many more juicy peaches yet to steal, my darling, a great many more.’





Eydis



Sails – the wings of a falcon.



Isabela stands beside the rail staring at the coast slipping by, as the fragile ship weaves around the murderous rocks. She sees the towering rivers of ice inching towards the crashing waves of the shore. She sees the deep blue water surge around the barren cliffs and break on the black sand. She sees waterfalls thundering down in rainbow sprays and a thousand birds ebbing and flowing like the tides.

Soon the ship will break from the shore and there will be nothing to watch but the sea. She will mark the passage of each day and night, desperate for the ship to sail faster, frightened that she will not reach home in time or at all. A thousand anxieties swarm through her head. Can she keep the birds alive? Will she find a ship in Antwerp? Does her father still live? Will they keep their promise and release him, or will they simply take her too?

Her fingers stray to the lucet around her neck. She rubs the horn against her cheek, comforted by its cool smoothness. One day, she will begin to fashion a new cord with it. She will remember that she can call the dead. She will always fear death, but not the dead. They are her friends now and they will surround her. She will draw them to her with the cord and they will come to her. The dead can never be lost to her. The grandmother and the child, Hinrik and Jorge, Valdis and me, we all travel with her, and when the time comes to face the evil she will know we will all stand with her – the door-doom of the dead.





The black thread of death to call us from our graves.

The green thread of spring to give her hope.

The red thread of blood to lend her our strength.

Rowan, protect her.

Fern, defend her.

Salt, now bind us to her!





Historical Notes



Portugal



In 1492, Jews fleeing from the Inquisition in Spain were allowed to settle in Portugal on payment of eight crusados. The Jews were considered vital for trade and industry in the expanding Portuguese empire. But when, in 1497, King Manoel I of Portugal married the daughter of the Spanish king, his new bride insisted that both the Portuguese and exiled Spanish Jews be ordered to leave Portugal or be baptized as Catholics. The Jews were given ten months to decide.

However, just three months later, King Manoel commanded all Jews to gather at the ports. They believed they were going to be given passage out of the country, but instead they were told no Jew was now allowed to leave Portugal. Their children were seized and every Jew was ordered to convert to Christianity. Those who refused were either killed or forcibly baptized. The converts and their descendants became known as New Christians, or Marranos, which meant pigs.

King João III (1521–57) allowed the Grand Inquisition of the Catholic Church to establish itself in Portugal in 1536, but in the first three years it was only permitted to gather information on heretics and apostate Christians, not to act. Their particular targets were the communities of Marranos who, though outwardly Christian, were suspected of practising Judaism in secret. But the king would not allow the Inquisition to unleash its full power, because he needed the New Christians for their crafts and trade links. The Inquisition was growing increasingly frustrated.

Then in 1539, banners appeared on all the churches in Lisbon proclaiming that Jesus was not the Messiah. A young Marrano, Manuel da Costa, was arrested and under torture confessed that he was responsible. He was executed, and the scandalized populace, whipped up by the priests, demanded that Portugal be cleansed of its heretics. The king finally granted permission for the Inquisition to round up Marranos, Muslims and Lutherans, the last being identified as anyone found in possession of a Bible translated into Portuguese. Any Christian convert who was suspected of having secretly returned to their former Jewish or Muslim faith was considered a heretic and liable to be arrested, tortured and executed. And so began the reign of terror under the Inquisition.

Some readers may be wondering what became of little King Sebastian, the child-king in the novel. In 1578, aged just twenty-four, he embarked on a war to aid the deposed ruler of Morocco, Abu Abdallah Mohammed II Saadi, in defeating his Turkish-backed uncle. Portugal had lost several important trading stations in Morocco which were vital for its route to India. At the Battle of Alcácer Quibir – the Battle of the Three Kings – Sebastian was last seen charging into enemy lines and was presumed killed. His great-uncle, Cardinal Henry, succeeded him as king until his own death in 1580, when Sebastian’s uncle, Philip II of Spain, claimed the Portuguese throne.

Although Philip later claimed to have recovered Sebastian’s body and interred it in the monastery at Belém, rumours persisted that Sebastian had survived the battle and had been taken prisoner for ransom, and that he would one day return to claim his throne. Over the years several men appeared, each purporting to be Sebastian and saying that he, not Philip, was the rightful king of Portugal. The last of these claimants was hanged in 1619. But the rumours lived on, and down the centuries the legend grew that, like King Arthur of England, Sebastian was merely sleeping and would one day return as O Encoberto or The Hidden One, to aid his country when it was in grave peril, a belief held by some right up until the nineteenth century.


Iceland



From AD 874 when Iceland was first settled by the Norwegian Viking, Ingólfur Arnarson, it had to a greater or lesser extent been ruled by Norway. But in 1397 at Kalmar, under the terms of the Scandinavian union pact between Norway, Denmark and Sweden, the sovereignty of Iceland was transferred from Norway to Denmark. So when Lutheranism was established in Denmark in 1537, it also spread to Iceland.

At first, the Catholic bishops of Iceland declared it heresy, but even after they were replaced by Lutheran bishops, the Reformation had little impact and was largely ignored by the Icelandic clergy and laity. But in 1550, when a Catholic bishop was arrested and murdered, the Icelanders took revenge by slaughtering Danes. Denmark was then determined to impose Lutheranism on Iceland. The Lutherans seized all the assets of the Catholic churches in Iceland and stripped them bare of all images of saints and religious decoration. They closed abbeys and monasteries, driving out priests, monks and nuns. They confiscated Latin Bibles, relics and religious items from Icelandic families and from the churches. The Reformation also destroyed much of the traditional cultural life of Iceland, because many of the long-established arts such as circle dancing were considered pagan and outlawed.

In 1602, Denmark imposed a complete trade monopoly, which together with a division of the country into four commercial districts, preventing trade between the districts, brought the population to near starvation. One man had his entire house contents taken because he gave garments his wife had knitted to an Englishman in exchange for two fishing lines. Another was flogged for selling fish to a neighbour who lived just over the border in another trading district.

Independence for Iceland came slowly, beginning in 1830 when Icelanders were granted two seats out of seventy on the Danish board that governed the island, but it was not until 1 December 1918 that the Icelandic flag finally flew over its own land, and full independence was not achieved until 17 June 1944.


Huguenots



The Huguenots were French Protestants, a movement which evolved in the 1500s from a number of different religious and political movements. They were mainly townspeople, literate craftsmen and noblemen from the south of France, who were opposed to the rites and rituals of the Catholic Church and were heavily influenced by both Luther and Calvin. They sought to live a life of simple worship and adherence to biblical commandments, relying upon God rather than the mediation of the Church or priests for salvation.

The Huguenots faced constant attack and persecution from the beginning, but King Francis I (1515–47) tried at first to protect them. However, in October 1534, anti-Catholic documents appeared overnight pinned up all over Paris. One was even attached to the door of the royal bedchamber while King Francis was asleep. This action so alarmed the king that it turned his sympathies against the Protestants. Many suspects were rounded up and burned, giving the signal for open hostility and persecution of the Huguenots.

Over the subsequent years many Huguenots fled to the Netherlands, Switzerland, the New World and England. A charter of Edward VI of England in the mid-1500s permitted the first French Protestant church to be set up in England. Its descendant, which can still be visited, is now in london’s Soho Square.

The elaborate, and highly symbolic, Huguenot cross we know today was of a much later design and so would not have been used on the graves in the period covered by this novel.


Black Cloud



In the novel, the little child Frída is brushed by a black cloud travelling at great speed. Several early travellers in Iceland wrote that they had witnessed or been told about this phenomenon. What all their stories have in common is that having being touched by the cloud, the victims appeared to suffer terrible pain, and babbled incoherently. They frequently tried to kill themselves, though whether this was in an attempt to end their agony or was due to hallucinations, no one seems sure. Most of the victims recovered spontaneously after a few days or weeks. It has been suggested that, if these stories have any basis at all in fact, the cloud may have been a ball of gases and ash ejected from a volcanic fissure, often heralding a bigger seismic event. This would account for the speed at which the cloud appears to travel.


Draugr



A nightstalker or draugr (the plural is draugar) is a revenant, or animated corpse. They appear in many early tales from all over northern Europe. These include the nightstalker Grendel in the eighth-century Anglo-Saxon saga of Beowulf; the ghosts described by Yorkshire’s Canon William of Newburgh in his Prodigiosa, written in the twelfth century; and the fourteenth-century Glam, who appears in the Icelandic Grettis Saga. Encounters with these revenants continued to be recorded right up until the nineteenth century in Iceland.

Early tales of the draugar suggest terrifying, monstrous creatures, whose eyes shot flames and who caused great destruction by tearing off the roofs and doors of the halls they attacked. In these stories, the draugr only appears during the hours of darkness, vanishing at dawn. But by the later half of the Middle Ages, the draugr takes the form of an apparently normal human, who remains visible and tangible both day and night, but is possessed of great physical strength and a voracious appetite. The draugr was also thought to be able to control the weather and was a shape-shifter who could take the form of creatures such as a flayed bull, or a savage cat who would sit on a sleeping person, growing heavier until it crushed their chest, suffocating them. Those who had been drowned at sea often appeared as a draugr whose head was a mass of seaweed.

Stories are told of both Catholic and Lutheran clergy in Iceland who were learned in magic and dabbled in the black arts, including the raising of corpses. They often studied the black arts through books, but legends recount how some clergy attended ‘the Black School which lay over the water’. Some folklore experts have suggested that the ‘Black School’ referred to in the legends was in fact the University of Paris, otherwise known as the Sorbonne.

Once a draugr had been raised by a sorcerer he or she would have to do the sorcerer’s bidding, which generally meant seeking out a particular man or a family against which the sorcerer had a grudge to wreak vengeance on them.

The family would often be fooled into taking the draugr into their household, believing him or her to be a stranger in need of hospitality or a servant seeking employment. Once there, not only would the draugr consume all their precious reserves of food, he or she would cause havoc – maddening livestock, spoiling crops, and terrorizing anyone who stayed in the house overnight. Whatever a man’s personality had been in life, once dead he became cruel and malicious, bent on hurting the living in every way he could.

Since a draugr appeared to be a living person, it was useful to know the signs by which they could be detected. One clue that you were being addressed by a draugr was the repetition of a word or a phrase in a verse-like taunt. But the word or phrase could only be repeated by the draugr twice, for any repetition of a word three times in succession was said to invoke the Holy Trinity, at which point the draugr would be forced back into the grave.

Once the draugr had completed whatever task it had been raised to accomplish, the sorcerer had to be able to send it back into the grave, otherwise it would follow him and his descendants for nine generations, all the while growing stronger. Forcing the corpse to return to the grave was not something to be undertaken without considerable risk, for the draugr would not return to his lonely tomb willingly and was likely to seize the sorcerer in a vice-like grip and carry him down into the grave with him.


Mummy



The use of human corpses in medicine is recorded as far back as ancient Egypt, Rome and Greece. But even as recently as the eighteenth century, mummy was still included in European herbals. As early as the twelfth century, tombs in Egypt were being ransacked for embalmed corpses, and throughout the Middle Ages there was a lively trade in embalmed bodies, looted by Syrian merchants from Egyptian tombs, which were sold to European apothecaries to make mummy.

It was considered such an important medicine that no apothecary’s shelf would have been complete without it. Mummy mixed with other ingredients could treat abscesses, skin complaints, paralysis, epilepsy, diseases of the liver, heart, lungs, spleen and stomach as well as treat wounds and serve as an antidote to poison. Little wonder that the wealthy liked to have a stock of it to hand.

Mummy was also used to treat ailments in valuable horses, hunting hounds and falcons. It was listed by the medieval writer Pero López de Ayala, chancellor of Castile, as one of the sixty essential preparations which a falconer should always have to hand. López believed that mummy was the most efficacious ingredient in the treatment of any wounds on a falcon, and according to him the best-quality mummy was obtained from the human head. Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim (1493–1541) invented balsam of mummy and treacle of mummy which both proved to be very popular. It could also be dispensed in the form of tinctures, elixirs, pills, ointments and powders.

When the supply of ancient Egyptian corpses began to run out, the merchants and apothecaries were forced to use modern cadavers. In Othello Shakespeare refers to a handkerchief that was said to be ‘dy’d in mummy, which the skilful conserved of maidens’ hearts’. Some herbalists, such as John Parkinson (1567–1650), were still of the opinion that the best mummy was obtained from bodies which had been embalmed in the Egyptian manner, but others, like Oswald Croll (1580–1609), recommended that mummy should be made from the corpse of a hanged criminal, preferably of ruddy complexion and around twenty-four years old.


Hid-woman



The tall woman, Heidrun, who befriends Eydis and Isabela, is a huldukona, a hid-woman, meaning a ‘hidden woman’, which the Icelandic people thought a safer term to utter aloud than álfur or elf. The name Heidrun comes from the old Norse heiðr meaning ‘health’ and rún meaning ‘secret’.

Huldufólk were certainly not ‘little people’. They were the same size or taller than humans and thought to inhabit caves or dwell on farms which were invisible to most human eyes. They lived in a parallel human-like society under the leadership of a king, engaging in activities such as farming, fishing and even holding religious services with their own consecrated priests.

Humans sometimes feared them as child stealers, bringers of curses and misfortune, often vengeful and malicious. Others regarded them as creatures who would help, protect and reward the good and innocent, and punish the guilty. Huldufólk often mingled with humans and the only way to tell them apart was by some small physical abnormality, for example the lack of a division between the nostrils or a ridge instead of a groove on the upper lip. Belief in these creatures was very strong in Iceland and many tales are told of encounters with them as late as the nineteenth century.

There are several Icelandic myths surrounding the origin of the hidden people. Some say they were the race of people who inhabited Iceland long before the Vikings and fled into the caves when the Vikings appeared. Others say they were shamans, priests and priestesses who worshipped the old gods and were driven into hiding after the fall of the old religion and the coming of Christianity.

But a Christian legend recounts that when God made an unannounced visit to Adam and Eve, Eve presented the children she had washed to him, but hid those she hadn’t had time to bathe because she was ashamed. Asked if she had any more children, she said no, and God declared, ‘Whoever is concealed from my sight, will be hidden also from human eyes.’ These hidden children were the ancestors of the Huldufólk.

Another legend tells of the time when Lucifer led a rebellion against God and was cast out of heaven down into hell with the fallen angels. But there was a group of angels who refused to join the armies of either God or on the Devil, so they were thrown down on to earth to live inside the mountains. There they can perform both good and evil but to a degree far greater than any human.


Wildlife



Fausto failed to catch rabbits and mountain hares because although foreigners always assumed the hare and rabbit must live in Iceland, as such creatures abounded in the rest of Europe, in fact there is no evidence they ever did, despite a law being introduced in 1914 to protect these elusive animals. Over the centuries, several attempts were made to bring them in and establish them as game animals, but it would appear none survived the first winter.

The gyrfalcon or gerfalcon or gyrfalco, as readers will have already gathered, was the most prized and valuable of all the birds used in falconry and remains so today. Gyrfalcons from Iceland, Northern Greenland and Kamchatka can be brilliant white with brown/black barred scapulars and wing feathers which the Spanish called letradod because the marks look like the lines drawn by a quill pen. But the plumage of the mature birds can range from white to dark grey and have huge variation in the brown markings on the body, and darkness of beak and talons. The whiter the mature bird, the greater was, and is, its value.

In the nineteenth century, some ornithologists claimed that the birds found in different countries were in fact different species, because of the variation in colour and size. But modern taxonomists agree with the medieval falconers that all of the birds found in these different countries are in fact one species – the gyrfalcon, Falco rusticolus. Some modern scientists have suggested that the colour variation is too wide to be able to separate the gyrfalcons into different subspecies, but others have identified six different subspecies based on size and colour.

It is likely that some variants of gyrfalcons no longer exist today. Early descriptions of prize gyrfalcons suggest that in the Middle Ages there may have been wild gyrfalcons who were more pure white than any known today. Their possible loss may be due to changes in climate and food supplies or possibly interbreeding with darker-plumaged birds. Certainly some centuries-old breeding sites for falcons in Iceland are known to have been destroyed by volcanic activity.

The so-called ‘white falcon’ found in Iceland is slightly larger than the gyrfalcons of Greenland and Norway, and with its pure white plumage or livery, except for the elegant dark markings on the upper part of the body, would have been the most sought after for royal falconries. From the description of the markings, the Icelandic white falcon appears to be the type of gyrfalcon owned by one of the most avid exponents of falconry, Emperor Frederick II. This would appear to be confirmed by other early writers on falconry who say the gyrfalcons from Iceland are whiter and larger than those from Norway and therefore more prized by kings, though not necessarily better hunting birds than the Norwegian gyrfalcon.

Emperor Frederick II believed the term gyrfalcon or girofalcon came from the Greek hiero, meaning ‘sacred’, or kyrio meaning ‘lord’, hence kyrofalcon – ‘lord of the falcons’. However, others dismissed this as pure romance, and since that time there have been countless arguments about how the birds got their name, some claiming the origin to be variously Persian, Latin or Norse, among many others. This is not helped by the many modifications to the name as it has passed into the various European languages. The English falconers, for example called it jerfalcon, or just jer, with jerkin used as the name of the tiercel or male. But the meaning and origin of the name continue to remain as mysterious and elusive as the bird itself.





Glossary



Badstofa – This was the long common bedroom and living hall of Iceland farmhouses which even up to the nineteenth century had probably changed little since Viking times. In later years, in wealthier homes, the turf walls were usually wood panelled, and the floors of beaten earth were covered with wooden planks. But there was a great scarcity of wood in Iceland and poorer people simply couldn’t afford to use it for walls or floors, so when it rained hard the earth floors turned to muddy puddles. Windows were either absent or kept to a minimum to conserve heat, and those few windows were glazed with fish skin or animal membranes which admitted a similar amount of light as you would get through a sheet of greaseproof paper.

The communal beds, stuffed with hay, seaweed and leaves, were used for seating during the day. Meals were cooked and eaten in the badstofa. Spinning, weaving and other crafts would also be carried out here, especially in the long winters, but there was no other domestic furniture in the badstofa, such as cupboards, tables or chairs. Clothes and personal belongings would be stored in chests or boxes kept in the separate store room, along with the food supplies.

Basilisk – A mythical beast also known as the cockatrice. In the time of the Ancient Greeks it was described as a giant serpent, but from the Middle Ages onwards it was a four-legged cock with a serpent’s tail that ended either in a sting or another head. Its eyes could turn any living thing to stone. Wherever its gaze fell, it turned that place into a desert and its venom was deadly. It was only afraid of two things – the crowing of a cockerel, and a weasel, which was the only creature unaffected by its stare. The prudent traveller in the Middle Ages would therefore arm himself with a cage containing a cockerel or a weasel before exploring a foreign land.

Caravels – Two-or three-masted, ocean-going ships, which were used to travel long distances at sea. They carried around 50 to 60 tons of cargo and provisions. They were between 50 and 70 feet long and 19 to 25 feet broad. Such a ship would be crewed by approximately twenty to twenty-five men. They were sturdy and fast, so were often used for exploring distant lands. The early caravels were lateen-rigged, meaning they had three triangular sails which allowed them to change course rapidly. However, increasingly caravels were rigged with a square sail for the fore and main sail, using the triangular sail only for the rear mizzen mast. This allowed them to achieve faster speeds in a steady wind.

Castrati – Since women were forbidden to sing in church choirs, and boys’ voices broke just a couple of years after they were fully trained, the Church needed to find a way of preserving the angelic voices they needed. From the fourth century onwards, boys between the ages of eight and twelve had their testicles removed to prevent their voices from breaking. This left them as adults able to achieve full sexual function, but they were, of course, sterile. Throughout Europe, castration centres were established in monasteries to create castrati for the choirs. By the fifteenth century, castrati were well established in all the best Catholic church choirs in Europe, including the Vatican. Alessandro Moreschi was the last known castrato in the Vatican choir. He is believed to have been castrated around the year 1866. His voice was captured on recordings made between 1902 and 1904, and he died in 1922.

Cookbox – Ships were built of wood, the timbers coated in tallow and tar, and the gaps caulked with crushed hemp and pitch, materials so flammable that even a small fire could quickly engulf a vessel and all lives might be lost if it was far from shore. Yet the sailors needed to cook food and heat metal for the blacksmith to make repairs. So they used a cookbox, which was enclosed on three sides and underneath by high metal sheets which minimized the risk of sparks escaping and also shielded the flames from the wind. The floor of the box was raised on wooden runners to allow the heat underneath to dissipate and not warp the planks of the decks. The fires were lit on bricks which lined the bottom of the cookbox. Cooking pots stood on iron grids above the fire, but their handles could be hooked to a metal rod which was inserted through the sides of the box. This ensured that in rough weather the huge pots could swing freely on the metal rod and thus remain upright through the roll of the ship without spilling their scalding contents on to the deck or men.

Door-doom (dyra-dómr) – Part of ancient Norwegian law, which involved assembling a group of six, or even as many as twelve, neighbours who would act as a court ruling on local disputes, such as a man refusing to pay a debt or one neighbour accusing another of harming his cattle by witchcraft. According to ancient law, the door-doom had to be assembled at the front door of the accused’s house but far enough away from it so that the accused could hold his own door-doom if he wanted to bring a counter-claim against his accuser. Once both door-dooms were assembled there still had to be enough space remaining for a wagon full of wood to be driven between the house and the door-dooms.

But there are records of door-dooms being conducted within the house. For example, if a ghost had taken up residence and was refusing to leave, it might be summoned to appear before a door-doom of living neighbours just as if it was still alive, and it would have to abide by the decision of the door-doom which could force it to leave. On some occasions, though, the door-doom might rule that the ghost had the right to stay on in the house provided it behaved itself and didn’t annoy the people who lived there.

Familiaries – These were the lay agents of the Inquisition. They were not in holy orders, but were ordinary men and women recruited to work for the Inquisition. In addition to accompanying the penitents and condemned at the auto-da-fé, they acted as the spies of the Inquisition. Large networks of familiaries existed all over Europe. The Inquisition would send these agents highly detailed physical descriptions of people they wanted to find, even including observations such as a particular man who had nasal polyps and therefore breathed through his mouth. Since the populace didn’t know the identity of the familiaries – they wore hoods at the auto-da-fé – it meant that fugitives had to be constantly on their guard.

Farthingale – Adopted from the Spanish court, this was a bell-shaped linen or canvas underskirt into which a series of horizontal hoops of wood or whalebone were sewn to give full shape to the heavy gowns. It caused women to walk with a gliding, swaying movement. They also wore a linen or leather corset stiffened with strips of whalebone, wood or horn at the front, back and sides, to create a narrow waist and upraised breasts and achieve an hourglass shape. This corset was held up with shoulder straps, which helped to raise the breasts, since there were no cups built into it.

Gromet – An apprentice seaman. Among the ordinary sailors the most experienced men were known as ‘able seamen’. They could hoist and lower sails, make repairs to the rigging and read a ship’s compass when on watch. The gromets did the hard labour, pumping the bilges, raising the massive anchors and climbing the rigging. Lowest of the low were the ship’s boys who cleaned, served the officers and were required to sing hymns for services and shanties to keep time for the seamen or for entertainment.

Lucet – A cord-maker. This was usually a piece of deer horn with two prongs, a forked twig, or a piece of wood carved into two prongs, with a handle that sat in the palm of the hand. This ancient implement was used to knot wool or other materials to make a strong cord, known as a ‘chain’, to tie up anything from sacks to live chickens. Objects such as knives, spoons, purses, keys, drop-spindles, even the lucet itself, were hung from the waist or neck by cords. Cords were also used to fasten shoes and garments and as draw-strings for clothes and bags. In the days before the production of cheap commercially made string, so many different cords were needed for daily living that all but the wealthy had to make their own, and even small children could use a lucet, since the technique is rather like French knitting, but using two prongs instead of four.

Manticore – A mythical monster believed to live in Africa and one of the many beasts which travellers throughout the centuries feared to encounter in foreign lands. It was described as a gigantic red lion with a human face whose mouth bore three rows of teeth, and whose tail could, according to some accounts, sting like a scorpion, while others claimed the lashing tail fired poison darts like a hail of arrows. All the writers agreed its favourite food was human flesh.

Morcela – A type of blood-sausage made in Portugal, flavoured with cumin and cloves. Another classic sausage of the region is the chouriço, a sausage coloured with paprika.

Strappado – A method of torture by which the victims were hauled by a pulley up to the ceiling by means of ropes attached to the wrists, with heavy weights fastened to their feet. He or she was then suddenly dropped within a few feet of the floor. The violent jolt dislocated the joints. This could be repeated two or three times until the victim was persuaded to confess.

Tölt – The Icelandic horse was introduced with the first settlers and is believed to have remained unchanged for over a thousand years. They are known for their distinct gaits found in few other breeds. These include the normal walk, trot and gallop, as well as the skeið, otherwise known as the pace, and the tölt, which is a smooth running trot that does not jiggle the rider up and down like a normal trot. These beautiful, sturdy horses can keep up the tölt for hours across country.

Troll rune – Runes were an ancient form of writing used in Northern Europe from about the third century BC, though they have been found as far south as Italy. Ancient poems and sagas make reference to a troll rune, or letter, which if inscribed on a stick or stone would reverse the meaning of any runes written after it and turn them into a curse. The troll rune was þurisaz (pronounced thurisaz), a letter shaped like a thorn. Thurisaz has been variously interpreted as meaning giant, troll, demon or thorn – something evil which will wound you if you touch it. When thurisaz was used in a curse it meant power. The troll or curse rune was used to conjure spirits of the dead or invoke demons. Some authorities have suggested there were three curse runes, others that there was only one, thurisaz, which was repeated three times, followed by a group of three other runes or letters which together made up the curse.