The Falcons of Fire and Ice

CHAPTER Four



When the French King Philip II was laying siege to Acre, his prize gyrfalcon broke its leash and flew up to perch on the city walls. He sent an envoy requesting the bird’s return, which, not surprisingly, was refused. The bird was delivered to the Saracen leader, Saladin, who was camped with his army outside the city.

Philip was so anxious for the bird’s return that he dispatched a procession to Saladin accompanied by trumpeters, heralds and envoys offering 1,000 gold crowns for the safe return of the gyrfalcon. Saladin, however, regarded the capture of this white bird as a most auspicious omen for his troops and flatly refused to return it even for that sum.





Sintra, Portugal Isabela



Falcon – the female of any species of hawk, as opposed to the tiercel or male. It is also used to refer to the category of long-winged hawks in general.



The knock came again at dawn, four days after my father’s arrest, but this time it was for me. They’d only sent one soldier, for I was only a girl, what resistance could I offer? They hadn’t reckoned on my mother, who clung to me with the tenacity of an octopus. As soon as he had prised one hand off me, she clamped on somewhere else. In the end the soldier had to hold her off with the point of his sword.

‘Don’t be so eager to join your daughter, Senhora. Your turn will come all too soon and I promise you, then you will wish it hadn’t.’

He did not bind my wrists but instead gripped my upper arm and led me up the hill through the narrow twisting streets towards the king’s summer palace.

I was trying desperately to fight down my fear, though every muscle in my body was aching to tear myself from his grip and flee. The only way I could keep from crying in terror was to force myself to think about the place I was in now and not what was awaiting me. I told myself to remember the town as it looked on that morning, for I might never see it again.

The ridge of Sintra was swaddled in a soft white mist that intensified the silence of the early morning. The rocky plain below was hidden by the fog, so that it felt as if Sintra had drifted off high in the sky among the clouds, like a child’s kite that has broken its string. The air was soft and moist, laden with the scent of resin from the pine groves and the perfume of the camellias whose pink blossoms lay so thick upon the path that it felt as if a carpet lay beneath your feet. From the walls of the houses and gardens, lush dark green ferns and soft fat cushions of moss dripped with moisture. How could I leave this? How was it possible that pain and death should be hiding amongst such intensity of life?

We were already at the palace. I tried to turn and take one last look behind me, but I stumbled and would have fallen on the steps had the soldier not hauled me painfully up by my arm. We passed under the arch of the arcade, as dark as the mouth of some great cave, where water dripped into a great basin, echoing like the tolling of a single bell. Then out into the courtyard behind. The red tiled roofs of the cluster of buildings were all but hidden by the mist, but I’d seen them often enough to know they were there, as were the two great white conical chimneys that carried the smoke and steam from the roaring kitchen fires high into the air, so that it should not blow into the windows of the royal chambers. The clatter of plates and irons in the kitchens and stables mingled with the soft tinkling of the many fountains that studded the patios in front of the chambers, but these sounds drifted towards me like ghosts without substance.

Servants loomed out of the mist, vanishing again as they hurried off about their tasks. A few glanced at me, but those that did quickly averted their eyes. I thought I saw one of the boys from the mews, but as soon as he saw me he fled around the corner of a building as if he thought I had the evil eye. The soldier suddenly pulled me into the shelter of a building and held me there as two of his comrades marched past, as if he didn’t want to be seen by them. Then he dragged me forward again.

In the far corner of the palace grounds stood a square white tower. The soldier ducked under the low doorway and led the way up a narrow, winding staircase, until we reached a thick, stout door. He pushed me through it and slammed the door behind me.

I stood too terrified to move, trying to make sense of what little I could see in the dim interior. There were no windows, save for some thin slits in the wall far too high for anyone to reach and too narrow for anything but a songbird to escape that way. The thin blades of light scarcely did more than illuminate the beams high above me.

Ever since my father’s arrest I had been conjuring in my mind the horrors that might lie behind a door like this, but as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness I saw with relief that the room contained nothing but a long wooden table with two high-backed chairs placed at either end. It seemed too commonplace to be real. Yet, as I stood there, I felt the coldness of the stone walls eating into my flesh and I began to understand that it is not always necessary to inflict pain to induce fear.

The door opened again and the soldier leaned in. ‘I’ve relieved the guard, but he won’t be gone for long, so you must hurry.’

The bewilderment I felt must have been written on my face, for he stepped further into the room. ‘Your father asked me to bring you here. He wants to see you. They’ll be taking him to Lisbon any day now; he may not get another chance. Come on, hurry.’

‘I thought you’d been sent to arrest me.’

He grinned. ‘Your father didn’t want your mother to know he sent for you. It’s you he wants to see, not her. Only way I could think of to get you here without her following. Worked, didn’t it? Bet you thought you were going to find yourself in chains.’ He chuckled gleefully as if he’d just pulled off some great practical joke.

I tried to smile, since he obviously expected me to admire his ingenuity, but my face was frozen. My legs were still trembling as I followed him back down the stairs. When we reached the level of the courtyard, the soldier unlocked another door with a great iron key and, darting anxious glances out through the archway, he motioned me inside.

‘Watch your step when you get to the bottom, those stones are slippery. Always wet down there.’

Behind the door the steps continued down beneath the tower, until I found myself standing in a long passage lit by burning torches in brackets on the rough stone walls. The walls were black with mould, and an overpowering stench of excrement, urine and rotting straw burned my nostrils. The soldier led me past several low doorways in which were set iron grilles. I couldn’t help stealing a quick glance through one of them, but the interior was too dark to see what lay inside, though something or someone did, for I could hear the straw rustling and a kind of whimpering moan – whether it was animal or human was impossible to tell.

At the furthest end of the passage the soldier stopped and, selecting another key from the great ring of them in his hand, wiggled it into the lock. The lock was evidently rusty for he needed both hands to turn it. He jerked his head, motioning me in, before he pulled the door shut again and turned the key once more. I could barely stand upright in the tiny cell, which was no longer or broader than it was high. The only light seeping through the small iron grille came from the burning torches a way up the passage, and at first I could see little except the dim smudge of the walls.

‘Isabela, my dear child! He brought you. I was afraid he would not.’

The voice came from the floor, but it was in darkness. I crouched down to avoid blocking the light from the door, and as my eyes adjusted I saw my father sitting on a heap of straw with his back to the rough stone wall.

I held out my arms, expecting him to rise and hug me, but as he moved his arms I heard the clanking of heavy chains and realized he could no more embrace me than he could stand, for his wrists were fettered to an iron ring about his neck, which was bolted to the wall.

I put my arms about him as best I could and kissed him. His face was wet, but whether from my tears or his, I didn’t know.

‘Have they hurt you, Father?’

‘No, no, Isabela, the king has been merciful and for now I am under his protection, but I don’t know for how long.’

‘I should have brought you some food and clothes. But I didn’t know that I would see you. I thought …’ I trailed off. To say that my only thought had been fear of what was going to happen to me made me feel suddenly ashamed.

‘They would have taken them from you in any case,’ he said with such a weary resignation in his voice that it sounded as if he had aged twenty years. ‘Listen, Isabela, I gave the guard my ring to bring you here, but I don’t know how much time that will buy us and there is much I have to tell you. Much I should have told you before, but I hoped you would never need to know. Look outside in the passage, is the guard there?’

I peered through the grate, but the passageway seemed deserted.

‘Come close then, in case others in the cells are listening.’

I crept nearer and sat beside him on the filthy straw, my head pressed to his.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘In case we are interrupted, I must first tell you this. You must take your mother and leave Sintra tonight. She will not want to go, but you must force her. I’ve hidden a little money and some small items of value under a loose flag beneath the linen cupboard. I’ve been saving a little when I could, in case it should ever come to this. It is not a fortune, but it will help. Don’t let her try to pack her possessions, just set out with whatever you can carry in a pack. Tell the neighbours you are going to spend a few days in Lisbon, but don’t go there. Make for Porto to the north. So many go there to trade, the arrival of two strangers will pass unnoticed. Many artisans work there. It will be easier to find respectable work. The money won’t last for long, Isabela, and I fear that you may have to seek work to support yourself and your mother. She can’t …’

We both knew that though my mother laboured harder than any field hand in her own home, the shame and humiliation of having to take orders from a master or mistress would kill her.

‘I am so sorry that I have failed you, Isabela. I thought always to provide for you and your mother.’ I could hear the shame in his voice. ‘But promise me you will leave Sintra today.’

‘We can’t just abandon you here, Father,’ I protested.

‘My child, don’t you think my pain would be a thousand times worse if I knew you and your mother were suffering in prison as well? I can bear whatever they do to me, but it would kill me if I knew they were hurting you or your mother and I was powerless to stop them. If you want to help me, leave tonight so that at least I don’t have to fear your arrest too.’

‘But why should they arrest us? Father, listen to me, you mustn’t lose hope.’ I gripped his shirt. It was as wet as the walls of his cell. ‘They will find you innocent, I know they will. How could they not? Sebastian knows you’d no more kill the falcons than you would harm your own family.’

My father closed his cold fingers gently over mine. ‘This is about something far more serious than the birds, Isabela. The gyrfalcons were killed deliberately, so that I would be blamed. I am sure of that.’

‘But I don’t understand, Father. Who would hate you enough to do that?’

I couldn’t imagine that my mild, unassuming father had ever made an enemy in his life, and certainly not one who would plot to see him dead.

‘The Inquisition,’ my father said bluntly.

‘But –’

‘Please, child, just listen. There isn’t much time. There is something I should have told you long ago, but your mother would not allow us even to speak of it, and I was too much of a coward to challenge her. It seemed easier just to keep the peace. Isabela … I know your mother has always told you that we are Old Christians. I think she has really come to believe it herself, but it is not the truth.’

‘I don’t understand.’ He had told me not to interrupt, but I couldn’t help it.

He bowed his head as if he was ashamed. ‘I convinced myself that it would be safer if you didn’t know. You were always such an inquisitive child. Even if your mother had refused to tell you anything, you might have asked questions of old Jorge or me, and knowledge of the old ways is dangerous. But the truth is our grandparents, mine and your mother’s, were once Jews. Our parents were born Jews, though they were so young when they were converted they remember little of it. But it is easy for the Inquisition to find out these things, when it is determined to uncover the truth.’

I couldn’t take in what I was hearing. Ever since I could remember, my mother had told me that we were Old Christians. She was so proud of it. And my own father had sat in the room when she had boasted of it, never once contradicting her. It made no sense. I’d seen the rosary which had belonged to my great-great-aunt, the abbess. I had held it, just as I had held the emblem of St Catherine that my father’s forebear had worn in the Crusades. How could they own such things if they were Jews? All my life, my mother had taught me that the Jews were the enemies of the Holy Church, and Marranos were worse for they were demons hiding among the good Christians. But now, if my mother and father were … if we were … But my father was still talking in a low urgent whisper.

‘Isabela, you saw at the auto-da-fé how the young king refused to light the bonfire? That very morning, those courtiers who stood with him had been whispering about how the king was showing sympathy for heretics. It’s no secret at Court that the Regent, Cardinal Henry, is determined to cleanse Portugal of heretics. But Henry’s influence over Sebastian will last only until the boy is old enough to take the reins himself. Kings have tried to limit the power of the Inquisition before, but Henry is determined that, once he is no longer Regent, the Inquisition’s power should rival, if not surpass, that of the sovereign. He was Grand Inquisitor before he was Regent and may well take up that post again once the young king is of age. He wants to ensure that nothing stands in his way then, certainly not a king who is sympathetic to the Marranos.’

None of this made sense to me. I was still struggling to grasp the idea that I was not who I had always been told I was. My parents were not who I had always believed them to be. It felt as if I had awakened to find that the familiar solid floor of my house had suddenly turned to a bottomless lake. Words had suddenly reversed their meaning. They were Marranos, them our enemies, now suddenly Marranos meant us, me. Then who were the enemies now?

I wanted to scream at my father, demand to know why he had lied to me all these years, yet even as the rage boiled up in me, he shifted himself in the filthy straw, trying to ease his cramped limbs. I heard the clank of heavy chains and the gasp of pain as the sharp iron collar bit into his neck, and I understood with sickening clarity why he had kept the truth from me.

I touched his hand. It was as cold as a gravestone in winter. I tried to speak softly.

‘But, Father, I don’t understand what the Regent has to do with the gyrfalcons. I thought they’d arrested you because of the birds, not because …’

I was still too shocked to say the word, as if uttering it aloud would make it true.

‘Cardinal Henry knows how much young Sebastian loved those birds, and anyone in the king’s service will have told him how many hours the boy has spent with me, how close we have become. Henry was bound to want to find out all he could about a man who could potentially have so much influence over the child. In my heart I knew the danger, but I refused to admit it to myself. I should have discouraged Sebastian from coming so often to the mews, but I didn’t have the heart to turn the boy away. The poor little lad was so lonely and the falcons were his only refuge from his uncle and those Jesuit tutors who never give him a single kind word. And the truth was, I loved the boy’s company. He was the son I never …’

He trailed off, and squeezed my hand apologetically.

‘I don’t know if Henry gave the orders himself or if it was the Jesuits, but I’m sure one of them came up with the plan to kill the gyrfalcons and to make it appear that I had done it. They wanted to poison the young king’s mind by letting him think a Marrano had betrayed him and murdered the creatures he held most dear. Nothing could possibly hurt the boy more or make him feel more betrayed than if he believed the man he trusted the most had slaughtered his falcons knowing how much the birds meant to him. It would be easy then to persuade the boy that all Marranos were treacherous and wicked. He would not falter again when it came to lighting the next bonfire, he would be begging to do it.’

‘But, Father, Sebastian worships you and he knows how much you loved those birds. He’s watched you tend them a thousand times. He could never believe that you would harm them. Can’t you ask to see him, explain?’

‘I have seen him,’ my father said, with such despair in his voice that I found my eyes stinging with tears. ‘But the young king was not alone. I could see Sebastian didn’t want to believe the tale. But I had never confessed to him I was a New Christian, why should I? It was never something he asked or even thought to imagine. But clearly others had already persuaded him that I had deliberately concealed the truth from him and so there was already a seed of doubt in his mind. If I had hidden that much from him, what other lies had I told him?

‘And even if he believed me, he is just a child. How can he stand up to adults around him? How can he argue with them, especially his uncle and his tutors? He’s terrified of them. Little Sebastian did the best he could. He tried to say he didn’t believe I was guilty, and when one of his advisors told him he must sign the papers for my execution, he stoutly refused … that is, at first.’

‘No, Father, no!’ I clapped my hands over my mouth and moaned.

With a great effort he lifted his hand and pressed my cheek. The heavy chain clanked.

‘Please don’t cry, child … I need you to be strong … you must or you will not survive this. My time is not come yet. When Sebastian refused to sign, one of the Jesuits proposed a test. He said that if I was innocent and a good Catholic, God would prove it to be so by bringing the birds back to life. Sebastian is a bright lad. He said that the birds had already been buried for more than three days, and not even Jesus had been that long buried. The Jesuits were furious. One of them looked as if he would strike the boy, king or not.

‘But Dona Ofelia’s husband quickly stepped in to smooth things over. He suggested that Sebastian simply demand that I should replace the dead ones by producing a new pair of gyrfalcons. He said it as a joke and everyone laughed, for they knew that to be impossible. Where would a falconer find that kind of money, never mind be able to lay his hands on a pair of white falcons? But the young king didn’t laugh. He seemed to grasp at the idea as if it was a way out of his problem. He waved his hand for silence and then formally announced that I had a year and a day to produce a new pair of white falcons. If I did, he would pardon me.’

At my father’s words, my heart felt as if it would explode with relief.

‘Blessed Virgin, thank you!’ I breathed. ‘You see, all is well, Father. We’ll find the money. You said you had hidden a little, and I have some necklaces I can sell. And Mother has rings and clasps. There will be other things. At least he has given us plenty of time to raise the sum we need, but I promise we will do it as soon as we can, so that we can get you out of here. We can borrow –’

‘No, Isabela. That’s not why I sent for you. You must take the money, every valuable thing you have, and leave tonight. The king has bought me … us a little time, and I am grateful for that. But the Jesuits would never let a mere child get the better of them, even if he is the king. It’s not in their power to make a king change a proclamation, but they did force him to add another condition. If I fail to produce the new birds, they will have me executed, but not just me alone … you and your mother will die too, and the execution they have planned is not … merciful. And I believe it will not end there. They will try to track down other members of our family too. My sister and her children … no member of our family will be safe. All of us will pay a terrible price for this crime. So you see, you and your mother must get away tonight. I’m sure that they are planning to arrest you both in the next day or two and hold you until the time has elapsed, in case you escape them. You must not be found. You must get word to your aunt also, but only once you are safe.’

I felt as if my blood had turned to ice. It was well that I was already sitting on the ground, for I was sure my legs would have collapsed under me. The vision filled my head of those prisoners tied to the stake, the flames leaping up around them in the darkness, the mob screaming for their blood. But this time when I saw that scene it was me staring out at them through the heat and smoke, straining in vain against my chains as flames crept towards me.

I forced myself to speak, but my voice was shaking, though I tried to sound confident. ‘But it won’t happen, because we won’t fail, Father. We will get the money somehow.’

‘It’s no use hoping for miracles, child. Even if you could raise the fortune it would cost to buy the birds, where would you buy them? The gyrfalcon is a royal bird. The king possessed the only pair in Portugal. If it was a lanner falcon or an eagle, you could easily buy another. There are many traders bringing them in every year. But the gyrfalcon comes only from the frozen lands of the North. And the kind of gyrfalcons which are the largest and whitest, like the ones Sebastian owned, are only found in Iceland. That land is ruled by the Lutherans. They’ll never permit their royal birds to go to a Catholic king, particularly not in a country where the Inquisition holds sway, for the Inquisition murders the Protestants as fervently as they do the Marranos. No child, you must promise me that you will –’

My father stiffened as we heard footsteps hurrying down the passage towards us. The key grated in the lock and the door creaked open.

The flickering orange torchlight from the passage was obscured by the massive bulk of the soldier who had brought me.

‘Hurry, the guard’s finished his breakfast. I saw him from the window. He’s gone to the latrines for a shit, but he’ll be back any minute.’

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me to my feet, tugging me back out through the door. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye to my father, never mind hug and kiss him.

As the soldier pulled me along the slippery passage towards the stairs, I heard only a single word follow me. Promise!

I did not go home. I couldn’t. I didn’t even want to look at my mother, much less be forced to talk to her. The cold, damp stench of the dungeon still clung to me and I couldn’t bear the thought of being inside any building, even my own house. I needed to be outside in the fierce, hot sunshine, breathing in pure, sweet air. I climbed high into the pine forest, wading through the ice-cold streams and scrambling past the great moss-covered boulders. The thick, sinuous roots of the trees had grown around and over the great stones. And even where the trees had fallen in a storm, or stood dead and blackened, the roots would not relinquish their stranglehold on the boulders, as if they had become rock themselves.

I was so intent on getting as far as I could from that stinking dungeon that I didn’t even pause if my skirts became entangled on branches. I simply strode on, letting them tear as I pulled them after me. The sound of ripping fabric was almost a relief, I needed to rip and break, to hurt and smash.

I was so frightened for my father and so bewildered by what he’d told me. Last night I prayed to the Blessed Virgin for him, certain of who he was and who I was, and in a single hour all that had been swept away. I was one of the despised, a Marrano, a Jew, and yet I could no more enter their world than I could return to the world of my childhood, for that door had been slammed shut and sealed for ever.

But I knew I had to return home eventually. Where else could I go? The sun was already low in the sky when I entered the kitchen. My mother was sitting at the table, her head resting in her hands. I had never come into the house before without seeing her bustling about, engaged in her ceaseless war against dust and dirt. Now her neat hair was dishevelled and her eyes red with weeping. She raised her head and stared at me as if I was a corpse risen from a grave. Then, with a little cry, she threw herself at me, hugging me so tightly I thought my ribs would crack.

‘What happened? What did they ask you? Did they hurt you?’

I felt the wetness of her tears on my cheek and heard her breath coming in heaving sobs. And for a moment I felt a twinge of guilt, as I realized that all this time she had thought that I’d been arrested and was chained up in some prison somewhere or worse.

‘Have they released your father too? Is he with you?’ she asked eagerly, peering over my shoulder as if she thought he was going to walk through the door behind me.

I felt a coldness come over me, a sudden hatred of this woman. My mouth was so dry I couldn’t answer her. I pushed her away and crossed to the big clay water jar in the corner, dipped in a beaker and drank it in a single draught, refilling it several times before my thirst was slaked. I sank down on the bench where only a few days before my father had retreated to eat his breakfast of sardines, while she had told us why poor old Jorge deserved to die. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

I told her all that my father had said, with a brutal harshness, sparing her nothing, not even the fact that my father had paid for me and not her to be brought to him. I knew I was hurting her, but for the first time in my life I didn’t care. I refused to play the game of pacifying her any more.

She stood pale-faced, her hand gripping the crucifix around her neck so tightly I could see the whiteness of her knuckles. I wanted to tear it away from her throat, just as I was ripping away the whole necklace of lies she had so proudly worn throughout her life.

‘All those foul things you said about poor Jorge and the other heretics, yet all the time you were saying them, you knew that we were exactly the same as them.’

‘We are not,’ my mother spat. ‘We’re not like them. They’re filthy Jews and always will be. There are no Jews in my family, nor in your father’s. We’ve always been Catholics. Always! Your father doesn’t know what he’s saying. Goodness knows what they’ve done to him in that place. It’s enough to turn anyone’s wits. They’re making him confess, but it’s not true. It’s all lies. We are Catholics, do you hear? Good, decent Catholics.’

A horrifying thought struck me. ‘Were you the one who reported Jorge?’

She flushed a dull scarlet and I knew it was true.

‘Why?’ I screamed at her. ‘Why would you do that? Don’t you see that it was as unjust as what they’ve done to my father?’

‘I am a good Catholic. I did it to prove I am a good Catholic. Your father wouldn’t do it, so I had to. Father Tomàs had been asking questions, asking if we knew Jorge, how long we had known him, how often we went to see him. I knew that meant they suspected him. Someone had to protect our family. You have to prove you are loyal. You see what happens if you don’t. You see what they’ve done to your father, because he refused to denounce Jorge.’

I felt the anger drain out of me. I saw now what my father had long understood, that arguing with her was hopeless. Even after all I’d told her she still wouldn’t accept why her husband had been arrested. I don’t believe that even the Grand Inquisitor himself could have made her admit the truth. She had lived the lie for so long, that like the tree roots and the rocks, she and the fantasy she clung to could not be separated.

‘We have to leave tonight,’ I said dully. ‘We must start packing.’

‘Leave here? But we can’t just go. This is my home. What about all my things, my furniture, my pots and linen? It will take weeks to pack. Besides, they’re bound to release your father soon, when they realize it’s all been a mistake.’

‘Mother! Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? They are not going to release him. They are going to kill him, kill us all, unless I can give them a pair of gyrfalcons in exchange for our lives.’

‘And just how do you propose to do that? You think we have the money to buy such birds?’

‘I will have to take them from the wild.’

My mother snorted. Contempt for my father’s occupation had become such a habit with her that even now she could not keep the expression of distaste from her face.

‘I know you and your father think I am stupid, that I don’t know anything about his precious birds. You both like it that way, don’t you? That private little world you share with him, laughing at me behind my back, cutting me out of your conversations. But you can’t be married to a man like your father for twenty-two years without learning something, and I know that gyrfalcons only breed in the Northern lands. They’re not passage birds. They don’t migrate through these parts. So you can’t set traps for them or take the chicks from the nest, because there are no wild gyrfalcons in Portugal.’

‘Then I will have to go to where I can capture them,’ I yelled.

It was only when I heard the words burst from my lips that I suddenly realized that was exactly what I had to do. There was no other way.

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ my mother began. ‘Even if you were the son your precious father always wanted, it would be impossible, but you’re only …’

I didn’t wait to listen to the end of her speech. I was not a son. I was not my mother’s daughter. I was not an Old Christian. In truth, I didn’t know what I was any more. The image flashed into my head of the young Marrano girl, weeping and clasping the little box of bones to her chest as they forced her to put it on the pyre and watch it burn. The only thing I knew for certain at that moment was that I would not become that girl. I would not stand there and watch the flames creep across the faggots of wood towards my father, as I had watched them slither towards Jorge.

I seized the edge of the linen cupboard, heaved with all my strength and felt it grate across the floor as I inched it away from the wall. Under a loose flag, my father had said.

‘What are you doing?’ my mother demanded.

‘The only thing I can do – I am going to the Northern lands to steal a pair of gyrfalcons.’





Belém, Portugal Ricardo



Passage hawk – a hawk captured during migration.



‘Move aside, you useless pail of piss. You think I’ve got all day?’

A man hefting a huge bale on his bare shoulder pushed past me, almost pitching me into the stinking water of the harbour. I turned to remonstrate with the fellow and then saw that the oaf was a good foot taller than me and as broad as an elephant’s backside. I concluded it wasn’t worth giving the man a lesson in manners; he wouldn’t have understood a word.

It was impossible to walk in a straight line along the waterfront. If you weren’t sidestepping mooring ropes and gangways, you were being shoved aside by lumbering herds of sweating, reeking peasants all rushing to and fro carrying boxes, kegs and bundles of produce. Moorish slaves ran along the street with long planks of wood balanced on their heads. Girls wove in and out with baskets of silver fish, and men with accents as thick as their breath threw sacks to one another across the gap between ship and shore with the ease of a dolphin tossing a fish.

I forced myself to slow my pace to that of a hobbled mule, but only succeeded in being buffeted from one side to the other like a football in a scrum of boys. But it wouldn’t do to arrive at Dona Lúcia’s house too early. She might think I was overeager for the money, and worse still, that I had nothing better to do than wait on her. I was supposed to be organizing the supplying of a ship. I would have a thousand tasks to do, better to arrive a little late. Not late enough to cause offence, but just enough to convince her I was a busy man.

I paused to gaze out across the harbour at the Torre de Belém, the fortified tower that lay just offshore. The waves lapped all around her base and the white stones of her battlements sparkled in the sunshine. Silvia always used to stop just here when we were out for a stroll, especially at night when the tower was lit up by a hundred lamps that shone down on the black water. She dreamt of being entertained in one of the Governor’s private rooms, which she had convinced herself were decked out like a palace. She thought it was the most romantic place in Belém. Was that where the bitch was now? Had she finally succeeded in snaring an officer or even the Governor himself and installed herself as their whore?

As I turned away, I saw two soldiers approaching. My heart began to race. Were they looking for me? I crouched down near a fish seller and feigned interest in a basket of mussels, trying to keep my face averted until they had passed by. The rheumy-eyed old man who sat on a low stool beside his basket grew quite animated at the prospect of making a sale and prised one of the shells open, thrusting the contents halfway up my nose to prove they were fresh. When, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the soldiers strolling away from me, I pushed the old man’s trembling hand away and strode on, his whines following me.

Then I suddenly saw her, Silvia, walking ahead of me along the waterfront, a scarlet bandanna wound through her mane of glossy black hair. She was swaying with that easy stride of hers that made her hips swing as if she was beginning a dance. I called to her, but she couldn’t hear me. I hurried after her, shoving my way through the crowd, ignoring the curses and insults as I elbowed people aside.

‘Silvia! Silvia!’

Her head turned slightly, but she walked on.

I barged into one old lady with such force that she staggered and would have fallen had the press of the crowd not been so great, but a cascade of bright oranges tumbled from her pannier and bounced on to the street. She screamed curses at me as she struggled to retrieve them from under the feet of the crowd, but I didn’t stop to help her. I pushed on through.

Silvia had vanished. I gazed frantically round and finally spotted the scarlet bandanna disappearing round the corner of a side street. Mercifully this street, though narrow, was less crowded and I sped after her, dodging round piles of pots and dishes that the shopkeepers had stacked out in the street. I had almost caught up with her.

I seized her arm. ‘Silvia, my angel, I’ve been –’

She gave a squawk of indignation and pulled her arm out of my grip, turning to face me. I felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over me. It wasn’t Silvia.

Muttering incoherent apologies, I backed away straight into a teetering stack of jars that wobbled alarmingly. Trying to right myself and steady the jars at the same time, I heard the girl’s mocking laughter behind me, but I did not turn around.

I walked a few paces around the corner and sank down on my haunches under the shade of an almond tree. I’d been so sure it was her, but even as I touched her I’d known it wasn’t. Where the hell was she? Surely someone must have seen her. Was she still in Belém?

I hadn’t dared go to her usual haunts the previous night in case Filipe or the fishermen had reported the body and named me as her killer. I’d spent the night a short way out of the town, huddled behind a small shrine, with precious little sleep. Most of the night was spent cursing that witch Silvia. It was she who’d dropped me into this pile of dung. As I tossed and turned on the stony ground, without even the solace of a flagon of wine to comfort me or soothe my grumbling belly, I bitterly imagined how Silvia was spending the night. She’d be laughing and drinking in a tavern, tearing great strips of hot roasted chicken off the bone with her sharp white teeth and rolling into a warm soft bed with her newest lover. I can tell you that long before the morning sun had finally stirred its fat arse and bothered to clamber over the horizon, I was actually wishing Silvia really was lying dead on the floor of that stinking fisherman’s hut.

But, although every instinct told me I should keep walking away from Belém, whatever the danger I was forced to return. One hungry night was enough to remind me that I could not afford to be on the road without a good sum of money in my pocket. Some men may survive sleeping rough and scrounging a crust or two where they can, but a man of my sensitivities needs good food in his belly, fine wine in his cup and a thick mattress beneath his bones. I could not bear to delay any longer. The sooner I had that money, the sooner I could get away from here.

The church bells were just sounding noon when I stood before Dona Lúcia’s gate, slapping the dust from my clothes and tugging on the bell rope.

‘No monkey today, Senhor?’ the black slave said as he opened the door. He looked mildly disappointed.

‘Pio is sick,’ I told him.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘But a rich man like you can afford to buy many monkeys. You will get another.’

If only that were true. Nevertheless I felt a bubble of pleasure rising up my spine, knowing that by the time he showed me out again I would indeed be as rich as he imagined me to be.

As I followed the slave through cool, dark reception rooms into the bright sunlight of the courtyard, I glimpsed Dona Lúcia’s enchanting little maid peering out from one of the doorways. She shook her head at me, making agitated flapping motions with her hand. I blew her a kiss and walked on. If she was hoping I would take her out on her next day off, she would be gravely disappointed. These girls are always dreaming of catching some wealthy, fond old man or a handsome young fellow who would set them up in a pretty little house where they could play at being mistress instead of maid. But adorable though the maid was, I was too cunning a fish to bite at that particular fly. She had served her purpose.

We did not turn, as I had expected, into the courtyard. Instead, the slave led me into a small room which was so crowded with chests, bowls, plates and huge clay jars that it put me in mind of a merchant’s shop. The shutters on the windows were fastened and the only light came from a star-shaped oil lamp attached to a chain that hung from the beam above the centre of a long wooden table. Five tiny flames burned at the end of each arm of the lamp.

Dona Lúcia was seated at the far end of the table, which was lined on either side by many high-backed chairs draped with white cloths, so that in the dim light it looked as if she had invited a host of ghosts to dinner. I bowed low and kissed her plump hand.

‘Dona Lúcia, how delightful to see you again. I swear you look even younger and more radiant than when I last saw you.’

‘Always the flatterer, Senhor Ricardo. But you should save your pretty words for your young sweetheart.’

I pressed my hand to my heart. ‘Alas, Dona Lúcia, now that I have had the pleasure of your company, any foolish young girl would seem insipid by comparison.’

The slave drew out a chair at the end of the table opposite the old widow and whisked the cloth from it. With a bow, he indicated that I should sit. Something under the table began growling and yapping alternately and I felt a wet nose snuffling around my ankles. I tried to resist the urge to boot it away.

‘Now stop that, my darling,’ Dona Lúcia cooed. ‘Leave the poor man alone.’

The revolting little dog waddled out from under the table and flopped down on the cool tiles. Dona Lúcia may not have grown any younger, but I swear that little beast of hers had grown fatter since my last visit.

‘Now tell me, Senhor Ricardo, how are your plans progressing for your voyage? This ship, what was its name?’

‘Santa Dorothea. Yes, she is ready to sail as soon as she can be provisioned and the sailors hired. The captain has a list of the crew he wants, the most experienced navigator, master, quartermaster and carpenter, as well as the toughest seamen. They have all been offered work on other ships, for they’re known to be the best, but the captain has persuaded them to wait until this evening before signing with another ship, on the promise of a generous advance on their wages if they make their mark upon our papers. But if I cannot pay them tonight …’ I spread my hands, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.

I heard a dry cough behind me and the swish of a curtain being pulled aside. As I turned, a man stepped out from a doorway that, thanks to the infernally dim light of the room, I hadn’t even noticed. I half-rose from my chair, but he pushed me back down, his fingers digging into my shoulder as if to make it quite clear he was willing to exert more force should it be required. He settled himself on a chair next to mine. From the excellent cut of his clothes, the rich gold trim on his doublet and the silver-inlaid ebony sword sheath that dangled from his belt, I didn’t need introductions to tell me that this was no servant.

‘I understand from my aunt that I have the pleasure of addressing Senhor Ricardo da Moniz.’

But he did not look as if it was a pleasure, quite the opposite in fact. The tone of his voice was so cold it would have frozen a dragon’s breath. My stomach was churning and not just because I was ravenously hungry. Dona Lúcia hadn’t mentioned any nephew. The last thing I needed was some heir with an eye to his aunt’s fortune asking awkward questions. I could convince the old lady of anything, but this fellow didn’t look like a man who would be easily conned.

I took a deep breath. Hold your nerve, I admonished myself. Perhaps she’s told him what a good investment she has found and he wants a share of it. Play this right and you might yet prise both these oysters open and take two pearls instead of one.

I met his gaze and tried to smile confidently. ‘At your service, Senhor … ?’

He continued to stare hard at me, but did not supply a name.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet the nephew of such a charming lady. How truly fortunate you are indeed to have such a wise and noble woman as your aunt.’

I beamed at Dona Lúcia, but she seemed not to be listening and was engrossed in feeding a titbit to her revolting dog, which had lumbered back to her chair. My stomach growled. It was all I could do to stop myself wrenching the piece of cake from the dog’s jaws and devouring it myself.

‘Dona Lúcia has no doubt told you of the marvellous venture which she and I are to embark on?’

‘My aunt has told me of your conversation.’

‘Then,’ I said with a brightness I certainly did not feel, ‘I take it that she has invited you here to read and witness the contract between us. A very prudent precaution, if I may say so, Dona Lúcia. One cannot be too careful these days; there are so many rogues who try to take advantage of a woman alone. I am delighted that you have someone to safeguard your interests.’

I pulled a folded parchment from the inside of my jacket. My friend the clerk had done an excellent job, and the lettering with all its embellishments looked impressive enough to have been a royal proclamation. I loosened the ribbons that secured it and handed it to the man. He unfolded it, his eyes running rapidly down the page. A smile curled the corners of his mouth, but it was not a pleasant one.

‘Well drawn, well drawn indeed. You must give me the name of the man who wrote this for you. I would be most interested in seeing more of his work.’ He tossed the contract on to the table and leaned back in his chair, the tips of his fingers pressed together.

‘Since my aunt told me of your visit, I have been making a few inquiries of my own into this venture of yours. I thought at first this ship might be – how shall I put it? – as fanciful as this contract of yours. But I found that there is a Santa Dorothea in harbour and she is indeed bound for the isle of Goa, where, as you told my aunt, her captain is intending to buy many rich and rare treasures to sell in the markets of Lisbon.’

My stomach, which had been knotting itself tighter and tighter, suddenly relaxed.

Dona Lúcia smiled happily at the end of the table. ‘You see, Carlos, I told you this young man was to be trusted. I always say you can trust a man who loves animals. They always know, don’t you, my poppet?’ She held out another morsel of cake to the drooling dog. ‘Please forgive my nephew, Senhor Ricardo. He always thinks that someone is going to take advantage of his foolish old aunt.’

I bowed my head graciously. I could afford to be magnanimous now that the deal was almost sealed.

‘You’re fortunate to have such a devoted nephew whose only desire, I’m sure, is to protect you from the wickedness in this world, as I always endeavour to protect my own dear mother.’

My own dear mother would doubtless have said that it was the world that needed protection from me, but then she never had the faith in me that a mother should.

‘If your nephew is now assured that all is in order, perhaps he would care to witness our signatures, unless, of course, Senhor Carlos would like to join us in this little venture?’ I turned to him hopefully. ‘The rewards, as I’m sure your aunt has explained, are beyond anything a man might hope to gain by investing here. Chinese silks and dishes, for example, can be bought for a mere trifle in Goa, but sell them in Lisbon and you may name your price.’

‘I have no doubt at all about that, Senhor Ricardo. And doubtless the Santa Dorothea will come back loaded with such goods, and make a fortune for her backers, just as you say.’

He picked up the contract. I felt that same glorious shiver of excitement rise up through my body that I always did when I knew a fighting cock I had backed was about to be declared the winner.

‘There is only one small problem, Senhor Ricardo. It seems that the Santa Dorothea is already crewed and provisioned, but not, it seems, by you, rather by a group of merchants represented by one Henry Vasco. In fact, the captain has never heard of you, Senhor Ricardo. Now, how do you account for that?’

He shifted his weight in the chair, leaning forward, his hand inching towards the hilt of his sword.

‘What’s this?’ Dona Lúcia said sharply, ignoring the whining dog.

I tried to keep a relaxed smile on my face. ‘Of course he hasn’t heard of me. As you say, Vasco is representing me and my fellow merchants. That way there can be no possibility of Dona Lúcia’s name being involved. As I assured your aunt at the beginning, I guarantee discretion. It would be vulgar to link a noblewoman’s name with base commerce.’

Carlos’s eyes narrowed. ‘You have just told my aunt that you needed the money today to secure the services of the experienced crew. Yet I have been told they are already signed up and are aboard.’

‘Because I swore to them that I would have their money tonight. They trust me as a gentleman.’

‘Is that so? A gentleman?’ A cold smile slid across Carlos’s mouth. ‘Well, as luck would have it this Henry Vasco is coming to Belém this very day to deliver some cargo to be shipped to Goa. Why don’t you and I pay him a visit? I’m sure he will be delighted to see an old acquaintance such as yourself.’

I rose with as much dignity and control as I could. ‘That will be delightful, Senhor Carlos, shall we say seven this evening? Now, dear lady, I must beg you to excuse me. I have some urgent matters to attend to.’ I bowed. ‘Till this evening, Senhor Carlos.’

I began to back towards the door, but Carlos was already on his feet with his drawn sword in his hand, the tip of the blade pointed exactly at my heart as if he could see it thumping in my chest.

‘I’m afraid your business will have to wait, Senhor Ricardo. I have a mind to pay my respects to this friend of yours immediately.’

He took a step closer. I backed away and collided with a heavy wooden chest.

‘Come now, Senhor,’ I said. ‘Sure … surely you would not be so ill-mannered as to draw a blade in the presence of a lady? If you are so eager for me to come now, you have just to say the word and I will be only too delighted to accompany you. There’s no need to use force, I assure you.’

All the time I was speaking my hands were groping behind me over the chest, trying to find something I could use to defend myself. My fingers closed on a cold, heavy object. With one swift movement I hurled it at Carlos.

The statue of the saint hit him on the nose and he staggered backwards. Dona Lúcia screamed and the dog started barking, but I didn’t stay to watch. I turned on my heels and ran through the archway into the passage beyond, making for what I hoped was the door to the street. But I must have turned the wrong way, for I found myself facing a staircase that led upwards. I started to retrace my steps, then I heard Carlos bellowing above the yapping of the dog.

‘Guard the doors, damn you, don’t let him escape.’

Footsteps were hurrying in my direction. There was only one way to go. I scrambled up the stairs and just managed to flatten myself into an alcove at the top as servants rushed through the hallway below. My heart was thumping so loudly I was sure it was echoing off the walls.

‘Search the house! I want him found!’ Carlos bellowed. I could tell his temper had definitely not been improved by that bang to the nose.

Something warm and soft touched my hand. I jumped, barely suppressing a squeal. Dona Lúcia’s maid pressed her fingers to my lips. She peered cautiously over the rail of the stairs. I didn’t need to look. I could hear crashes and shouts as the slaves and servants searched every conceivable hiding place below, and the excited barks of that nasty little dog as it waddled round behind them.

The maid tugged urgently on my arm and pulled me across the passageway into a room, locking the door behind us. I found myself standing in a sumptuous bedchamber. The floor was tiled in a delicate mosaic of jewel-bright flowers, fish and frolicking dolphins. Images of saints and innumerable depictions of the Virgin Mary smiled serenely down at me from all the walls. A silk rug lay to one side of an enormous bed, which was piled high with cushions and draped in light gauze hangings, whilst on a carved black table a silver mirror was drowning beneath an ocean of delicate glass phials, gilded bottles, ivory combs and silver brushes.

‘The mistress’s bedchamber,’ the maid whispered, though I could see that plainly enough for myself. ‘Hers and that dog’s.’ She picked up one of the silver-backed hairbrushes. ‘That’s his, the spoilt little brute. She brushes him with this, but she won’t even give me so much as a wooden comb for my hair.’

‘I can’t hide in here,’ I said, aghast. ‘If I’m found in her bedchamber, that nephew of hers is going to run me through on the spot.’

She gave a little giggle. ‘I think he’s planning to do that anyway.’

‘I’m glad you find it amusing,’ I snapped. ‘But it’s my life hanging by a fingernail. How am I going to get out of here?’

Instead of answering, she moved closer and, standing on tiptoe, she slid her hand around my neck and pulled me down towards her, kissing me full and passionately. I put my arms around her, feeling the warmth of her hot little body against my legs. There was a familiar stirring in my groin and she nuzzled in to me. For a few blissful moments, I entirely forgot that I was being pursued and could think of nothing else except the delightful little creature in my arms. Well, to be more truthful I wasn’t actually capable of thinking at all, I had just given myself up to the thrill surging through me.

But my cock went as limp as a drowned kitten as soon as I heard the furious shouts outside the door of the chamber.

‘Quickly,’ the maid said, pulling me across the room. She thrust me out on to a narrow stone balcony. ‘You’ll have to climb. Go on,’ she urged.

I stared down into the courtyard below. ‘I can’t go down there.’

Several of the servants were peering hopefully behind the pots of the miniature orange and lemon trees as if I might somehow be concealed behind them.

‘Not down, stupid, up. You’ll have to get up on the roof. If you stand on the balustrade then you’ll be able to heave yourself up. Once you’re up there you can cross to one of the roofs of the other houses and climb down to the street.’

‘I’ll break my neck.’

The girl shrugged. ‘If he catches you, he’ll probably cut your head off anyway.’

‘There must be some other –’

I broke off as someone rattled the door of the bedchamber. Now here was an interesting choice – death by falling from a roof or death at the hands of an apoplectic, sword-wielding maniac. Which, I wondered, was the more attractive proposition?

I clambered on top of the balustrade, praying that none of the servants below would look up. I tried to swing myself up on to the roof above, but was fearful of bringing the tiles clattering down.

‘Wait, you’ll never do it like that,’ the maid whispered. She grasped the balustrade to steady herself. ‘Stand on my shoulder.’

I wasn’t at all sure she could bear my weight, but there wasn’t time to debate the matter. I placed one foot on her little shoulder and pushed hard. She gave a gasp, but managed to keep standing until I had pulled myself up on to the roof.

The girl instantly vanished back into the chamber, closing the shutters to the balcony behind her. For a few minutes I just lay there, too terrified to move in case I rolled off the steep slope of the roof. The tiles were painfully hot from baking under the fierce sun, but even the pain of that couldn’t induce me to stir until I heard a thunderous hammering at the door of the chamber.

‘Are you in there, Ricardo? You’ll have to come out sometime. You’re trapped. There’s no way you can escape. Now, open this door and give yourself up, and I won’t kill you, but if you don’t, I’ll break the door down and cut you into dog meat.’

The strange thing about fear is how readily you overcome it when threatened by something even more terrifying. If I had been too frightened to move up to that point, I suddenly found myself positively eager to crawl across a roof even a cat would refuse to venture upon. Trying hard to resist the temptation to look down, I inched my way along the tiles until I came to the side of the building and with a monumental effort dragged myself over the ridge tiles and round the corner. At this point, a low palisade ran along the side of the roof and I gratefully crawled behind it and lay there, panting and shaking. On this side, the roof overlooked one of the narrow streets. The palisade was too low to shield me completely, if someone should chance to look up as they sauntered along, but it was the only cover I had and at least it would stop me slipping off.

I don’t how long I lay there with the sun scorching my back and the hot tiles blistering my hands, sweat pouring down my face and my throat so dry I would have gladly drunk a barrel of horse piss, before I finally heard Carlos and some of the servants heading off down the streets away from the house. They had evidently realized I was not inside and had decided to search the streets for me. Carlos was bound to report the incident. In fact, he’d probably already sent a servant to summon help. It wouldn’t be long before the place was crawling with soldiers.

Trying not to raise my head too high, I examined the building next door. It had a balcony on the upper storey with a high wall around it. The doors to the room that opened out on to the balcony were tightly fastened, and the catches were rusty. It looked as if they had not been opened for some time, for leaves and other wind-blown debris had accumulated behind the wall. If I could get down there I could safely hide on the balcony in the shade and wait until dark. Anything would be better than being grilled alive on this roof.

There was nothing for it but to move quickly and pray no one would look up. I grabbed the palisade and dragged myself over the tiles until I reached the point where I was directly above the balcony of the neighbouring house. Then, praying to every saint I could name and to all those I couldn’t, I jumped down.

For once the saints must have taken pity on me for I landed on the wall of the balcony, teetered precariously between life and death, then managed to fall the right way and tumbled down inside. There I lay bruised and winded, not daring to move in case someone inside the house had heard me. But no one came running or flung open the shutters, so I eased myself into a sitting position in the blessed shade and breathed a great sigh of relief.

I’d made it! I’d escaped! All I had to do now was wait until dark, then climb down into the street below, leaving that arrogant, pompous jackanapes Carlos chasing himself up his own tight little arsehole. I grinned to myself at the thought that even now he was pounding around the sweltering streets working himself into a raging sweat, while all the time I was lying cool and relaxed just above his head.

The exhaustion of the chase and the sleepless night before it had taken its toll and I must finally have drifted off into a doze, because I was jerked awake by a clamour of voices below in the street.

‘We may as well call off the search here and start to cast our nets wider, Senhor Carlos. The villain will be long gone from this area by now.’

‘No!’ Carlos roared. ‘I stationed men on the end of every street leading out of this quarter and I tell you he’s still in this warren somewhere. I want that scoundrel found.’

I shrank down beneath the wall as low as I could get.

I could hear them banging on doors, questioning people up and down the street, but all denied seeing anything, though they promised to report it at once if they did. Carlos’s voice was growing more distant as they moved further up the street. I released my breath. My mind was racing, trying to work out an escape route which would avoid the lookouts Carlos had posted. If I could slip through a house and emerge on a different street, then …

There was a chattering just above me. For a moment I thought it must be birds quarrelling on the roof, but then something black and white scampered along the top of the balcony wall. I twisted round. My little monkey, Pio, was standing on the wall just above my head, squeaking in ecstasy at having found me.

‘Where the hell did you come from?’ I whispered.

His chattering grew more noisy and excited.

‘Be quiet, Pio! Shush!’ I implored him.

He was standing up on his hind legs on top of the wall, waving his arms about.

‘Pio, come here. Good boy, that’s right, come to your master.’

I lunged at him and he bounded away along the wall, uttering high-pitched screeches of rage at my attempts to grab him.

‘Go, get away! Go! Go!’ I flapped at him frantically.

Picking up twigs that lay scattered on the balcony, I hurled them at the enraged little demon, trying to make him flee to the roof top, but he refused to budge. His screams intensified. I made another grab for him, but he neatly evaded my hand, and as I turned to try again, the doors on the balcony crashed open and I found myself staring up into the coldly triumphant face of Carlos.

‘I thought the creature would find you. They say masters become like their pets, so I should have guessed you’d be clambering over roofs like a monkey.’

I scrambled to my feet and swung my leg over the wall.

‘You can certainly jump if you want to, Senhor Ricardo,’ he said with an icy smile. ‘But I really wouldn’t recommend it. If you look down you’ll see the soldiers are waiting directly below with their pikes and swords. So your landing won’t exactly be comfortable.’

He gestured towards the door leading back into the house. ‘Please be so good as to step this way. I’m afraid, Senhor Ricardo, or whatever your real name is, your days of charming naive old ladies out of their money are about to come to an end … a very painful end.’





Iceland Eydis



Jesses – short leather thongs permanently attached to the legs of a hawk to allow the bird to be held securely by the falconer or fastened to a perch.



‘I’ve brought you the herbs you asked for.’ The lad squats opposite me on the warm rock floor.

He is the same young man who helped the crofter, Fannar, bring the injured man to me.

‘Does he live?’ he asks.

‘He is not dead.’

The body of the man lies between us, like a loaf of bread placed between a guest and his host on a table. Something given, something taken, something shared, which forms an unbreakable bond between strangers. But though he is the pledge between us, neither of us looks at the man.

‘Fannar is not coming?’

The lad frowns. ‘The priest has come to hear confessions and to administer the sacraments of Mass. He’s in Fannar’s hall even now. Fannar sent me to his neighbours to tell them to come, for who knows when Father Jon will be able to return … or even if he will ever return. Fannar said to tell them they must come quickly for the priest must be away before first light. It’s too dangerous for him to remain on the farmstead more than a few hours. Fannar will guide him out of the valley before dawn.’

The lad nervously fingers the ties on his leather jerkin. ‘I did offer to guide the priest myself. I’m not a coward!’ he adds vehemently, his eyes flashing from under his heavy fringe of red-gold hair.

It is plain that he still feels shame over his failure to defend the foreigner from the Danes.

He scowls down at his grimy fingernails. ‘But Fannar wouldn’t let me do it. He said he knew the land better, could show the priest a pass over the mountains that’s hidden from view. I think he only wanted to protect me, though, in case the priest is caught. But I don’t need protecting! I know ravens are everywhere watching us, but I’m not afraid.’ He thrusts his chin out as if defying the Lutherans to come and take him.

Fannar is wise not to entrust the task to him. The boy is desperate for a chance to show he is no coward and might deliberately take risks to prove himself, which will put not only him but the priest too in danger, for the ravens are indeed watching everyone. Although every man, woman and child is officially a Lutheran now by order of the Danish king, still many like Fannar practise the old Catholic faith in secret. And the black-clad Lutherans have eyes everywhere, trying to catch those hidden priests still celebrating the forbidden Mass, as well as the ordinary men and women who shield them.

Fannar is taking a huge risk by inviting others to come to confession. How is he to know for certain which of his friends or neighbours is not simply pretending to be Lutheran as he is, but has in his heart really converted to the Protestant faith and might betray him? Even those who have no love for the Lutherans might be persuaded to spy for them, if they are offered enough gold.

‘Fannar must trust you, Ari.’

The lad looks startled. ‘Did Fannar tell you my name?’

‘Fannar trusts you,’ I repeat, ‘and yet you did not tell him the truth about this man.’

Ari’s cheeks flush, but he mutinously thrusts out his lower lip. ‘I told him what I saw.’

‘That some Danes beat him.’

‘It was the truth.’ He scowls as if challenging me to dispute it.

‘But you let Fannar believe you didn’t know the man, that he was a stranger to you. And Fannar is a good soul. No matter if it was a friend or stranger, human or beast, if Fannar saw any living creature hurt or hungry he would try to help, even if it meant sharing his last loaf of bread or cutting his only blanket in two. You, I think, are much like him, and if that man had been a stranger, you would have helped him just as Fannar would. But there is something more here. Something I think you will not admit even to yourself.’

I pause to watch him. Although I am veiled, still he refuses to look at me, but stares sullenly at the pool of hot water bubbling up through the rocks. He is not going to admit anything without a deal of persuasion.

‘If this man really was a stranger to you, Ari, you would have looked at his face with curiosity that first day you brought him here, but you didn’t. I thought then that you were sickened by the sight of blood, but that wasn’t what was upsetting you, was it? Then again tonight when you came in, any other man’s gaze would have been drawn at once to him as soon as they entered, to see if his wounds were healing and if his eyes had opened, but yours was not. You know this man and you are afraid of him. Why?’

Ari scrambles to his feet. ‘I have to go. Fannar will have need of me to keep watch.’

‘Ari, tell me. We need to know. There is danger, grave danger, hovering around this man, that we can sense, but we cannot yet see the shape of it.’

The boy hesitates. He stares into the clear waters of the pool, the flames of the burning torch rippling over his face so that he dissolves and re-forms in a hundred different masks.

‘I should have left him to die on the track, I know I should. But I couldn’t just walk away. What if I’d been mistaken? Do you think it’s better to let an innocent man die rather than risk saving a man who should not live? I didn’t know what to do, Eydis, and I still don’t.’

‘Tell us the truth, Ari. We have to understand what we are dealing with. You must help us. If you don’t, you could be putting everyone in danger.’

But he stubbornly shakes his head. ‘No, I must be sure first. When he wakes then I will know.’

‘And what will you do then, Ari?’

He covers his head with his arms as if trying to shield himself from a great boulder that is about to crash down on him. Then he turns and scrambles over the rocks towards the entrance of the cave. I hear the shower of small stones rattling behind him as he hastily climbs back up and out through the slit.

The cave seals itself again in silence, save for the gentle bubbling and gurgling of the pool. I look down at the man. At his temple a tiny pulse flickers beneath the skin like the wingbeat of a moth. That is the only sign of life in him. Since they brought him here, he has not moved nor opened his eyes, but beneath her veil my dead sister, Valdis, turns her head towards me and laughs, a dreadful mocking laugh, and the walls of the cave tremble.