Now I joined the others at the rail and stared as dumbfounded as they. Before us was a scene that might have been the gateway to purgatory itself. Towering columns and jagged shards of black rock rose from out of the cobalt-blue sea. Huge waves crashed against these pinnacles with such violence that spray was flung high into the air, so that it looked as if a pall of white smoke hung permanently above them. What I could see of the land itself was nothing more than a hunk of craggy black rock which jutted out into the sea, like a splintered jaw, without a single blade of grass or even a smudge of moss to soften it. The roaring waves hurled themselves into the cracks in the rock with such force that great plumes of foam exploded upwards and the white water streamed in waterfalls back down the stone and into the churning sea.
The air throbbed with the screams of seabirds. The gulls were much like those that used to drag me from my sleep in Belém with their raucous screeches, but others were some of the oddest-looking birds I’d ever seen, small black and white creatures with huge red, blue and yellow beaks covering most of their faces. The cook and a couple of the seamen were tossing weighted nets over the side trying to capture them as they bobbed about on the boiling foam as serenely as ducks on a village pond.
‘Dinner, if you can stomach it,’ the boatswain said glumly, as he joined me at the rail. ‘Still, you’ll be supping on shore soon and after a few weeks eating on this isle you’ll think that puffin and ship’s biscuit is the food of angels.’ He laughed, evidently relishing the misery he thought lay in store for us.
‘You’re surely not going to try to land here?’ I said, staring with horror at the fanged rocks and crashing seas.
The boatswain regarded me as if I was an imbecile. ‘You’d best pray we don’t get within spitting distance of that shore else it’ll be us that’s the dinner … for the fishes. No, the captain’s heading for a bay further round the cliffs, only a piss-poor village there but that suits the captain fine.’ The boatswain lowered his voice. ‘There’s a few little trifles he wants to unload.’ He tapped his nose and grinned.
It wasn’t until almost dusk that we finally sailed into a long, narrow inlet, dropping anchor in the ghastly embrace of steep black cliffs which circled us on three sides and threatened any minute to clasp their long, bony hands and crush us. The sides of the inlet, though jagged enough to be scalable, assuming you didn’t slice yourself to ribbons, were so high as to hide any glimpse of the land that lay beyond, and I guessed to hide the ship from anyone staring out to sea, unless he was perched right on the cliff edge. That’s if there was anyone living on that godforsaken lump of rock, which I seriously doubted. But someone had been there. A small strip of white sail cloth had been lowered down from the top of the cliff and was fluttering in the wind against the black rock. It would have been easy to mistake it for a gull, if you were not expecting it to be there. But the captain evidently was. He had promised a gold coin to the first man to spot the signal, a pledge guaranteed to miraculously sharpen any man’s eyesight.
A ruby-red sun was sinking into the sea, staining the water, as if blood was seeping from a corpse. Then out of the dazzling light, the dark outlines of two small fishing boats emerged from around the headland and made straight for us. As soon as they came close enough they tossed ropes to the ship and remained fastened up just long enough to be loaded with bales, boxes and barrels, all lowered down to them by the sailors, though not until after they had sent up several large bales of dried cod and a good heavy purse which the captain took himself off with the ship’s master to count. I grinned to myself thinking of Dona Flávia’s many chins wobbling in outrage had she been here to witness such nefarious goings-on. The old she-whale would probably have burst her corsets in sheer indignation. I was almost sorry she wasn’t there.
It was dark by the time the boats slipped away, and we stayed at our anchorage for the night. It was too dangerous to navigate round these murderous rocks in the dark. I tried to get Isabela alone, but she insisted on eating her meal with all three of us at the table and afterwards it was impossible to shake the other two off. It was almost as if they too were trying to find a way to get her to themselves, but none of us succeeded in that.
At dawn we weighed anchor and sailed on for more than half a day, before finally docking in a small harbour at the mouth of a broad, flat river valley. The sailors had scarcely fastened the mooring ropes before six men scrambled over the ship’s rail and bounded on to our deck without so much as a by-your-leave to the captain. For a moment I feared we’d been boarded by pirates, but seeing the sailors exchanging covert grins with one another, I gathered that they had been expecting this.
The men stood back to back in a little circle on deck, thick staves grasped tightly in their hands. They were ragged, sullen-looking fellows, but tall and tolerably well-favoured. All of them had light brown hair and eyes of such a similar shade of grey, I supposed them to be cousins at least, if not brothers. A few onlookers had gathered on the rickety wooden wharf, more it seemed because they had nothing better to do than because they had any real business concerned with our arrival.
For a few moments the sailors and the Icelanders simply eyed one another as if each side was daring the other to make the first move. Then a small man pushed his way through the little circle. He was so much shorter than the Icelanders, I hadn’t even noticed him board the ship behind them. In contrast to the dull browns and greys of the Icelanders’ coarse woollen clothing, this little clerk, for that is what I assumed him to be, resembled one of those ridiculous puffin birds, dressed in a black and orange doublet and massively padded breeches which only emphasized the scrawniness of the little legs that stuck out beneath them. The outfit was crowned with an over-sized green cap decorated with a huge bunch of lace, which he had to hold in place to prevent the sea breeze snatching it off like a mischievous schoolboy and tossing it into the water.
The captain gave an exaggerated bow, which seemed to please the little man, though from the sly grins of the seamen, it was plain they thought he was taking the piss.
‘Woher kommen Sie?’ the clerk demanded, but was met only with blank stares.
He decided to attempt another language. ‘Hv … ’ He coughed. The remainder of the word was plainly lodged in the back of his throat like a fishbone. ‘Hvadan ert pú?’
The captain shook his head. ‘We’ll be here all night at this rate. Where’s that brat Hinrik?’
The ship’s boy who had christened Dona Flávia with pudding on our first night aboard was dragged forward by the cook. He stood trembling as if he’d learned long ago that the only reason any officer might send for him was to thrash him.
The captain laid a hand on the cringing lad’s shoulder.
‘Did you understand what the man said? Is he speaking Icelandic, your tongue?’
The lad nodded cautiously.
‘Then tell us what he is saying, boy,’ the captain snapped, barely able to contain his exasperation.
‘He wants to know where we are coming from.’
‘Portugal,’ the captain said, looking at the clerk. ‘PORT … U … GAL. We are Portuguese,’ he added, his hand sweeping around the crew.
The clerk’s face flushed angrily, though whether it was the captain’s exaggerated tone or nationality he took offence at was impossible to say. He barked something at young Hinrik, who dutifully translated it.
‘He says, only ships from Hamburg can trade in this port.’
‘Port, is that what he calls it?’ The captain gave a wry glance at the few squalid little wooden and turf huts scattered haphazardly along the edge of the shore in such disarray it looked as if some drunken giant had hurled them about as he lurched past. None of the crew was bothering to disguise their amusement.
The clerk sensed the mockery and puffed his chest up like an enraged toad, and muttered furiously to Hinrik.
The lad nodded gravely. ‘He says, the port is new. Soon it will be as good as Lisbon … better.’
Nothing could quell the
bellow of laughter that erupted from the sailors.
Hinrik translated the clerk’s next furious diatribe.
‘He says, what business have you here? It is forbidden to land cargo or take on goods. Not even fish.’
‘Does this ship look like a stinking cod-boat?’ the captain said. ‘Tell that donkey’s arse that I’m here merely to discharge passengers. Once they are safely ashore, I intend to sail for the isle of Guernsey where they welcome any chance to trade, no matter whose colours the ship sails under.’
Whatever Hinrik said to the clerk seemed to send him into a fit of near apoplexy. His gaze darted wildly about the deck like a fly trapped in a bottle.
‘Passengers! What passengers, how many?’ he demanded through Hinrik.
The captain gestured vaguely to where the four of us stood, surrounded by our bundles. The clerk gave a little squeak and scurried over to us. Hinrik hurried after him, eager to be of service. He was plainly enjoying his newly acquired power.
The clerk’s Icelandic guard glanced at one another and promptly wandered off to engage certain of the sailors in furtive conversation. They were soon pulling small wrapped packages from beneath their clothes, clearly bent on engaging in their own little scraps of illicit trade while their master’s attention was otherwise engaged. Barter is a language all its own that needs no translator.
‘You,’ the clerk pointed at Vítor. ‘You look like a merchant. You cannot trade here. It is not permitted,’ he said through Hinrik, as if we might have missed that point.
Vítor hesitated, then took a pace towards Hinrik and spoke in a low voice with several anxious glances towards the captain, who was in deep conversation with one of the Icelanders.
‘I have something to tell this man, but you must swear on your life that you will not repeat what I say to the captain or any of the men. This is only for the clerk’s ears. Understand?’
The boy nodded excitedly.
Vítor leaned closer still. ‘Tell him I am a Lutheran pastor.’
Hinrik looked startled, but he did as he was told.
The clerk drew back and gaped at him, open-mouthed. ‘A Lutheran … from Portugal?’ He could hardly have been more incredulous if Vítor had announced he was the ambassador from the lost African kingdom of Prester John.
‘There are a number of Lutherans in Portugal,’ Vítor said. ‘But they have to remain hidden for fear of the Inquisition, who has declared them, that is to say, declared us, heretics.’
Hinrik grinned. ‘He says you dress too brightly to be a Lutheran pastor.’
Since Vítor was clad in a tediously plain dark-green doublet, I thought the observation a trifle unnecessary coming from a man who was done up like the carnival king. But Vítor was as quick-witted and pert as a town whore for he already had an answer for that one.
‘In order to escape the country, I had to look like a Catholic. The captain would never have given me passage if he’d known the truth – that I was fleeing for my life. I’ve come here to seek sanctuary.’
All of us were gaping at Vítor with as much astonishment as the little clerk. Could this possibly be true, or was it as fanciful as his tale about looking for sea monks? I’d never believed that one.
The clerk, still staring boggle-eyed at him, seemed to recall his duty and spoke earnestly to the lad.
‘He says, why don’t you go to Denmark or Germany where you would make a good living. In Iceland …’ Hinrik trailed off and looked questioningly at the clerk, but the man was evidently unable to think of a single reason why anyone would seek refuge on the isle.
Vítor bowed his head. ‘I long to serve God by spreading his word to those who have yet to hear it. I understand that there are many in Iceland who are not yet convinced of the truth which Luther preached.’
‘They are not,’ the clerk said with evident feeling. He glowered over at the people still staring curiously from the quayside. ‘You will find no shortage of God’s work to be done here, though I would not wager a dried cod’s head on any of them having the wit to understand it.’
Hinrik glowered furiously at the clerk as he translated these words, but the clerk seemed blithely unaware that he was insulting the lad.
‘You are also Lutherans?’ the clerk demanded, glancing round the rest of us.
We shuffled and shrugged as if we didn’t believe in anything much, certainly nothing we’d cause trouble over, which in my case was certainly true. I’d had quite enough of churches and priests in my youth. I’d been bored by the former, and beaten by the latter. Now I believed in leaving God to get on with His own affairs, and I devoutly prayed He would extend the same courtesy to me.
The clerk peered at Isabela. She looked terrified, and I wondered what she was going to tell him.
‘Whose woman is she?’
I’d taken one pace forward, and I was just on the point of claiming her when Vítor leapt in.
‘She’s mine, my wife.’
The clerk did not appear to notice the darts of outrage all three of us shot towards Vítor. I saw Isabela open her mouth and for a moment I was sure she was going to deny it with the same fury she had displayed in the cottage before she went running off. But she seemed to think better of it.
The clerk nodded. ‘Good for a pastor to have a wife with him to tend to his needs. These Icelandic girls who hire themselves out as servants cannot be trusted to have the running of a house. They need watching every minute.’
He added more, but Hinrik was sulking and folded his lips, refusing to translate what I assume were even greater insults concerning the character of his countrymen.
Without even the courtesy of asking permission, the clerk began a thorough search of our bundles, even Vítor’s, for anything he feared we might be trying to trade. He was so intent on his task that he remained entirely oblivious to what was furtively changing hands between his own men and the sailors.
Hinrik, seizing his chance, clutched at Vítor’s sleeve. ‘Take me with you. I hate this ship. The captain is a wicked man. I am a Lutheran, just like you, a good Lutheran. That is why they beat me on the ship every day.’
‘Don’t lie to me, boy,’ Vítor said, firmly pushing the lad’s hand away. ‘You only get beaten when you’re lazy and clumsy, and from what I’ve observed, any punishment you’ve received has been richly deserved.’
Hinrik was not in the least abashed. ‘But you need me to tell you what people are saying and you need me to tell them what you want.’
‘He has a point,’ I said. ‘That popinjay of a clerk could have been asking us to marry his daughter for all the sense I could make of his gibberish. If they all talk like him, we’ll probably end up buying a three-legged donkey when we wanted a plump roast chicken.’
‘I seem to recall the cook saying the captain bought the boy from his father,’ Vítor said. ‘He will surely demand recompense to release the lad.’
Hinrik was looking beseechingly from one to other of us. ‘I cost almost nothing to buy. And I can do everything for you. Fetch water, cook.’
‘Don’t push it, lad,’ I grinned. ‘I’ve seen you round a cooking pot, remember? If we let you anywhere near it we’ll be poisoned, burned and scalded to death all in one night.’ I fished out a few coins. ‘I’m willing to offer that as my share for the boy. What do you say, shall we take the lad?’
After dithering like a couple of novice nuns, the other two men handed over an equal sum each and I went off to negotiate with the captain. Although he plainly wanted rid of the lad, he knew his value to us, and demanded an outrageous price.
I stalked away, making it plain that we had lost interest in the whole deal, but Isabela, bless her tender little female heart, pressed some money into my hand, though I suspected she could ill-afford it.
‘We must buy his freedom. He’s so wretched being at sea. It’s a prison to him. This is his home. He should be here. Please try to persuade the captain to let him go.’
I allowed myself to be coaxed into returning, although I
had every intention of doing so anyway. For it had already occurred to me that Hinrik might be just the solution I needed to solve a far more urgent problem than mere language. After some hard bargaining with the captain I negotiated a price which meant that, what with the sum Isabela had forced on me, my share wasn’t needed, nor was half of Vítor’s … although I may have forgotten to mention that little detail to the others.
The clerk seemed determined to draw the search out for as long as possible, leaving every item in disarray on the deck, so that we were forced to repack them all over again. But finally, even he was satisfied, and with a stark warning not to sell so much as a single button, he herded us, together with a jubilant Hinrik, towards the gangplank.
Then, just as we were about to step ashore, he said something in an unnecessarily loud voice, a broad smirk on his scrawny face. He prodded Hinrik to translate.
The boy looked positively alarmed and it took several more prods before he would open his mouth.
‘He says … he says he cannot stop you going ashore, but it is not worth you bothering. He says … you should sail back with this ship and return next year … but you won’t, will you?’ the boy added desperately.
I was already so infuriated by the lengthy search that it was all I could do to stop myself putting my boot up the clerk’s arse and pitching him headfirst overboard.
‘Why,’ I inquired through gritted teeth, ‘do you imagine we’d journey all this way simply to turn around again and depart with the ship the moment we land? Do you honestly think we’ve spent weeks on a lousy, stinking ship, eating pigswill, and risking life and limb in storms, gales and every other horror the accursed sea can throw at us for the good of our health? Why the hell should we leave just when we’ve arrived?’
I suspected by the brevity of his speech that the boy only translated the last part of what I said, but it was evidently enough, for the clerk smirked triumphantly as if he had been so hoping we were going to ask him that question.
The Falcons of Fire and Ice Page 22