After several hours of walking, I was almost at the point of refusing to take another step when we heard laughter and raised voices carried towards us on the wind almost at the same time as we saw the men ahead of us on the track. All four of us hesitated and peered warily ahead to see what might be amusing them.
When you live by your wits in the streets of Belém or Lisbon, you learn to read a crowd. Not that this was a crowd – I could dimly make out three, maybe four, figures – but still it becomes second nature to peer round the door of a tavern or pause before entering a square. You sense, just by the way people are gathering, that trouble is bubbling up like foul water in a ditch. Then, unless you are itching to get your nose smashed or a dagger in your back, you know it’s time to slip quietly away before anyone notices you. I’m fond of my face and want to keep its features exactly as God made them.
But there are some men who have the brains of bulls. Wave anything in front of their squinty little eyes and they’ll charge at it, without even bothering to look to see if they are making straight for a spear. Vítor, instead of turning away, simply quickened his stride.
I ran a couple of steps and grabbed his arm, pulling him round.
‘This way,’ I whispered. ‘Quickly, take cover behind those rocks. If we cut across behind this rise we can avoid them and rejoin the track further up.’
Vítor jerked his arm away. ‘They’ve got hold of someone. It’s obvious they mean mischief,’ he added as a cry of pain cut through the bellows of raucous laughter that drifted back towards us.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘So let’s avoid a fight and go round them. We can’t afford any delays if we’re to catch up with Isabela. Besides, we don’t even know if they’re armed, and there are only three of us.’
But at that moment we heard a shout. It was a woman’s voice and she was yelling in our own tongue.
‘That is Isabela,’ our companion shouted.
In a trice he was throwing off his pack, and with his hand already drawing his dagger, he had sprinted past Vítor and me down the rough stony track with a bellow loud enough to make one of the men turn round. Vítor and I struggled to disengage our own packs, tossing them over the rocks on the edge of the track before we followed him.
Isabela was pinned down on the grass by three youths. One of them, his face covered with the red pimples of adolescence, was kneeling astride her, trying to yank up her skirts, and a second was standing on one of her wrists, holding her to the ground while she fought desperately with her free hand to fend off her attacker.
The third youth had wheeled round to face us, a short-bladed knife in his hand.
‘Let her go,’ I demanded.
‘Hvem er du?’
I’d no idea what he said, but there was no mistaking the insolent tone. I looked round for Hinrik, but the wretched little coward was nowhere to be seen. I only hoped he was hiding and hadn’t run off, not that I would blame him after the way Vítor had yelled at him.
A squeal from Isabela, as the bastard ground her wrist hard into the ground, recalled me to the point.
‘Leave her alone!’
‘Hun er Katolik.’ The youth pushed his cabbage face close to mine. ‘KATOLIK!’ He stepped back and jabbed the knife upwards.
‘Skrub af, gamle! Eller skal du ha’ taesk?’
I may not have understood the words, but I all too nearly got the point. I think, roughly translated, he was inviting me to leave before I got a knife between my ribs. The ill-mannered youth looked back at his friend who was kneeling astride the writhing Isabela and gestured impatiently at him with his blade.
‘Skynd dig nu, eller lad mig komme til.’
There’s one thing I’ve learned about fighting – if you really can’t avoid it, then make damn sure you get your blow in first. As the youth turned his knife and, more foolishly, his attention away from me, I grabbed his wrist and twisted. The knife flew out of his hand and at the same time I brought my knee up hard into his balls. It’s a girl’s trick, I know, but I make no apologies, for believe me it works most effectively and, unlike a punch, avoids any risk that your opponent will be able to deliver a counter-blow to your own jaw. He yelped as he sank slowly to his knees and rolled on to his side, clutching himself between the legs, his eyes screwed up in pain.
My two companions must have launched themselves at the two youths holding Isabela, for when I looked up I saw that the youth who had been standing on her arm was now crouching on the grass holding his face as the blood ran from between his fingers, whilst Vítor had grasped the lout who was straddling Isabela by his hair and was holding the point of his dagger at his throat. Isabela winced as she massaged her bruised wrist, but was unable to move because of the lad still kneeling astride her.
The youth I had kneed was struggling to rise again, so I stamped as hard as I could on his foot, just to give him something else to whimper about, then helped Vítor drag his prisoner back off Isabela. I lifted her to her feet as she struggled to straighten her skirts. She wasn’t sobbing as most women would have been, but her face had blanched and she was breathing in noisy little rasps.
I’m no saint, as you have possibly deduced by now, but rape is the one crime I despise. Whether it was what the bastards had tried to do to her, or Isabela’s refusal to give way to tears, I don’t know, but I suddenly felt an overwhelming tenderness towards her. Not that I would have admitted that to anyone, you understand.
Vítor still held the kneeling youth tightly by the hair, but he moved the knife so that the point of the blade was pressing into the young man’s closed eyelid. A knife in the eyeball was a rather nasty touch, I thought, but nevertheless it was certainly effective for none of the youths was daring to move.
‘Collect up their knives,’ Vítor ordered.
I did so. Two were plain but serviceable. The third had an exquisitely carved bone handle and I discreetly slipped it into my belt under my cloak.
When I had led Isabela far enough away from the youths for them not to try to grab her again, Vítor released the man he was holding.
‘Take your two friends and go.’ He pointed out across the rough pasture in a direction which would take them well away from the track. ‘Go! Go!’
The three youths hesitated, their pride evidently smarting worse than any injury we’d inflicted. I could see they were itching to fight, but finally realizing we were armed and they were not, sense got the better of them and they limped off in the direction Vítor had indicated.
As they moved away, the youth whom I had kneed in the balls turned around, his face twisted in hatred.
‘Vi kommer igen, og naeste gang slaar vi dig ihjel!’ He drew his finger slowly and menacingly across his throat, and spat on the ground as if to seal the promise.
I watched them walk away, then turned to Vítor, grinning. ‘I may have misunderstood, of course, but I get the distinct feeling he wasn’t inviting us to share a flagon of wine with him. Now, you see, this is where it might have helped if you had told him you were a Lutheran pastor, Vítor, instead of threatening to put that poor fellow’s eye out with your knife. Do remind me to give you some lessons in diplomacy some time.’
Vítor scowled, but before he had time to reply Isabela came up to us. She was still nursing her wrist, which was grazed and bore the scarlet imprint of the man’s shoe. She did not look at any of us, but held her back very stiffly.
‘I would like to thank you all for your assistance,’ she said, as if she was some noblewoman about to toss us a coin apiece for moving some furniture for her. ‘But it was quite unnecessary to put yourselves in danger on my account.’
Her performance was magnificent. I could have kissed her!
She glanced over to where the three lads could still be seen in the distance. ‘Did they mean … do you think they will return?’
‘I’m sure they’ll try,’ I said, ‘and if they’re anything like the louts I’ve encountered before, they’ll probably bring a rabble of friends back with them. So I suggest we
collect our packs and get out of here … Hinrik! It’s safe, they’ve gone. You can come out now, you little canary.’
The top of a tousled head raised itself from behind a nearby rock, and gradually the rest of the lad emerged, somewhat sheepishly, and edged towards us, keeping, I noticed, well out of arm’s reach of Vítor. He studiously avoided looking at Isabela.
‘Did you hear what the youths were saying?’ I asked him.
The lad nodded. ‘They were Danes. I only know a little Danish … but I think … he is going to kill you.’
‘I think we’d managed to work that one out for ourselves. Anything else?’
The lad hung his head, then, barely raising his hand, pointed vaguely in the direction of Isabela.
‘Katolik – Catholic … That is why …’
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by – you’ve guessed it – Vítor, who cleared his voice as if he was about to deliver a sermon.
‘Isabela, you must see from this incident that you cannot travel alone. We must stay together.’ Seeing Isabela about to protest, he added more firmly, ‘No traveller, man or woman, should cross this land alone. There are too many hazards of which the foreigner can know nothing. Remember the accident you had yesterday? If there hadn’t been someone on hand to help you, you would have most assuredly drowned.’
At the mention of the incident yesterday, Isabela darted a piercing glance at me, as if to say she knew full well it wasn’t an accident. But nevertheless, visibly shaken, she consented to walk with us, or rather, she didn’t refuse.
We continued along the track at a much slower pace than before. Isabela was plainly making for the mountains in pursuit of those birds of hers. With every step we took, I could see her scanning the hillsides and the air for them. I even found that I was beginning to do it, though I’d no idea what I was looking for, except that obviously it wasn’t those black things flapping about and cawing, which was all I could see.
I was certain that at the first chance she got, Isabela would slip away from us again, just like those wretched horses. I had to convince her that I would help her find what she was looking for. I’d convinced women before that I was madly in love with them or that I could make a fortune for them. It was all about trust, after all. Get someone to trust you, and you can persuade them of anything.
I watched Isabela striding ahead of me up the track, her eyes fixed on the sky. I sighed. I could make her trust me if I really wanted to. I’d done it a dozen times before and to women far more astute in the ways of the world than she was. So why every time I approached her did I find myself doing it with all the finesse and skill of a half-witted dung collector? Was it because I knew in the end there was only one reason for me to win her trust, and that was to get her alone and murder her?
Yet if I didn’t bring about her death, if she returned to Portugal with those birds, then I would be forced to spend the rest of my life in exile. I had a simple choice. I could either kill her and enjoy a life of luxury in my own homeland, or I could spare the life of this wretched girl who meant absolutely nothing to me, and drag out my remaining days in poverty and misery. There was no contest. Isabela had to die. So why was I making this so hard for myself?
Pull yourself together, Ricardo, and just do it! Do it and get it over with once and for all!
Eydis
Bating – when a hawk becomes angry or agitated, flapping its wings wildly and flinging itself off the perch or fist, often resulting in it hanging upside down from its straps or jesses.
‘I’ve brought what you wanted,’ Ari shudders, as he hands me a sack.
I will not open it in front of him. It would be cruel to make him look at it twice over. Time enough to prepare the head once he has gone.
‘I took it from …’ He gnaws at his lip. ‘I meant to take it from the mass grave where all the other foreign sailors had been buried, but I was afraid of arousing the anger of so many dead men, and strong men at that. I was afraid they’d drag me back down into the grave with them.’
Beneath her veil Valdis’s lips move and a mocking voice fills the cave.
It is lonely in the grave, Ari. It is dark in the cavern, pressed down by stench and decay. Your eyes are blinded in the endless night, Ari, in the endless night.
Ari shrinks back in terror.
‘Stop your ears against him, Ari. It is dangerous to listen to him. He will poison your mind with misery. The dead are jealous of the living and that makes them cruel.’ I try to pull him back to the purpose. ‘You said that you did not take this head from the sailors’ grave. Where then?’
Ari is still staring fearfully at the body of my sister, but finally he manages to wrest his attention back to me.
‘There was an old woman, died of the spring hunger for she’d no family to care for her. There was no marker on her grave, but I could still see the scar on the earth. I stole the sexton’s spade and used it to separate the head from the body. That was right, wasn’t it, Eydis? The corpse can’t rise if the spade that buried it is used to cut off the head, can it?’
‘You did well. But did anyone see you?’
Ari squats down, warming his hands over the flames of my cooking fire, although to me it feels warmer than ever in the cave.
‘No one, I’m sure of that. I took one of the farm dogs with me and I left him on the track that leads to the graveyard. He’s a good watchdog, he can hear a mouse running a mile away. I knew he’d bark at once if anyone approached. There was a moon, so I could see well enough to dig, and I only had to uncover one end of the grave, and then used my hands to feel for …’ He gives another convulsive shudder, pressing his fist to his mouth as if to stop himself retching. ‘Feeling is better than seeing. Once you’ve seen a thing, you cannot shut it out from your dreams … then I placed the dog’s skull in the grave, just like you said.
‘But I knew if they saw the ground had been disturbed they’d dig the body up, and then they’d see the head was missing. They’d question everyone. So when I filled the hole in again, I scattered some scraps of meat over it and let the dog loose to hunt for them. If they notice the fresh soil, they’ll see all the paw marks and think it was just a stray dog or fox churning up the earth, digging for bones.’
‘You are a bright lad, and a brave one.’
I am impressed at his resourcefulness. I know how much I have asked of him. He has risked his life to bring me what I asked and not many men twice his age would have the stomach to open a grave.
He gestures towards the sack. ‘Are you sure this will keep the nightstalker’s corpse from dying?’
‘It is the only thing that can.’
‘And his spirit will return to his body as soon as it has healed?’
Valdis’s head swivels sharply towards him. ‘Eydis has been lying to you, Ari. She knows I won’t go back into that corpse. She hasn’t the knowledge or the power to make me return. Why would I go back? We all know why she is so anxious to have me return to that body, because the moment I do, she will attempt to destroy me. Not that she would be able to, but I don’t intend to let her try. Don’t you see, you risked your life for nothing, you stupid little boy? All you’ve done is useless. Did you really think a woman could master me? She didn’t raise me from among the dead. No one may command me.’
Ari has risen to his feet. He is staggering back away from Valdis, his arms raised protectively in front of his face as if every word the mocking voice utters is a hammer blow.
‘Go!’ I shout at Ari. ‘Get out of here now!’
Ari turns his face to me, a mask of fear and anguish. ‘I can’t … I don’t know what to do … I can’t leave you alone with that. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I should have left him to die on the road. I should have left him floating in the sea. I’m sorry … so sorry.’
‘Ari, you must trust me. It will come right. But now you must go from here and leave me to work.’
‘Yes, go, Ari, go!’ the voice mocks. ‘And when you return you will see I have master
ed her. It will be my voice coming from her lips. You will see, little Ari. You will see what mischief you have done, what terror you have unleashed, and there will be nothing you can do to stop it. Every day my spirit grows stronger and soon I will spew out over this land, like a river of molten lava. Think about that, little Ari. Think about all those who I will destroy. Where should I start, do you think? With your mother, your sister?’
‘Get out of here, Ari,’ I shout at him. ‘You must trust me.’
He runs, clambering up the rocks and out through the slit with such haste, a shower of stones clatters back down into the passage. But the mocking laughter pursues him.
I stir the embers in the fire and add several pats of dried dung from the heap. I need a good steady heat for the next three days; the flesh and skull must dry out completely before I can grind them into powder. Though I am desperate to finish this as quickly as possible, it is not a task that can be rushed.
I worry that the head might have little flesh on it now, if the woman died last spring. Gingerly I peel back the edges of the sack. Long grey hair still clings to her pate. The head stinks and oozes with the slime of decay, but enough flesh still adheres to the skull to prepare the physic I need.
‘Forgive me, Mother, that I disturb your rest. Forgive me, Mother, that I take your bone. Forgive me, Mother, that I steal your flesh. I take from the dead, to return to the dead one who should not have been called forth.’
I lower the head as reverently as I can into a clay pot and cover it with a thick layer of hay torn from my pallet, then set it close to the glowing embers, so that the heat will warm the pot and mummify the contents. The head must dry, but not burn.
A shriek of laughter erupts from my sister’s lips. ‘You’re wasting your time, Eydis, Eydis.’
His voice grows more powerful as he becomes accustomed to my sister’s mouth. Her tongue moves as if it is his own. His foul breath vibrates in her throat. But it is my feet which tread on Fannar’s mutilated corpse; my reflection I see in Ari’s horrified eyes as I lumber towards him. The monstrous shadow falling across the threshold of a thousand dwellings. The screams that tear my soul into a million burning shreds. The awful, chilling silence.
The Falcons of Fire and Ice Page 28