The Falcons of Fire and Ice

by Karen Maitland

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘The locals say this is the last.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Eydis

  Sails – the wings of a falcon.

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

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

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

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

  The green thread of spring to give her hope.

  The red thread of blood to lend her our strength.

  Rowan, protect her.

  Fern, defend her.

  Salt, now bind us to her!

  Historical Notes

  Portugal

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Iceland

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

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

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

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

  Huguenots

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