The Falcons of Fire and Ice (42 page)

‘Such an idea never crossed my mind,’ I spluttered indignantly.

I was outraged. They had sent someone to watch me as if I couldn’t be trusted. This Jesuit had deceived me, lied to me, lied to us all. Map-maker, collector of curios, persecuted Lutheran. How could he sit there and blatantly tell us such tales, without so much as twitching his eyelid? I mean, surely you are supposed to be able to trust a priest to tell the truth.

Vítor, if that was his name, though doubtless he lied about that too, was studying me with disdain as if my face was some kind of fake document he was examining.

‘It would seem that my brothers were wise to send me to watch over you. You were sent here to arrange an accident for Isabela. But, though you’ve had countless opportunities to dispatch her, she is still very much alive and, if I am not mistaken, still determined to find those falcons. Worse still, I think you are beginning to fall in love with this girl.’

It was hearing those words –
you are beginning to fall in love
– that really made me smart, because for one brief moment I wondered if it might just be true. I had whispered the word tenderly and passionately to a hundred different women, especially my poor Silvia. But up to now the word
love
had been as empty as a discarded nutshell, just something to be tossed away with a thousand other casual phrases. Now, for the first time, the word seemed to contain a tiny kernel of something that I couldn’t quite identify. Could I be falling for the girl? No! It was pig’s dung. I was just suffering from the shock of finding out who Vítor was, that was all. Sweet Jesu, I certainly wasn’t going to tie myself up in all that nonsense with any woman. Lust always, but never love, that’s my motto.

Vítor glanced around again to reassure himself we were still alone. Then he took a step closer to me. ‘Isabela may appear to be a helpless, pretty little girl. I can see why men would want to protect her. But let me remind you again. She is not an innocent little virgin, she is a Marrano, a vile Jew, a heretic who is already condemned to the eternal fires of hell and you are sworn to send her down into those flames.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ I said coldly. ‘You’re now claiming to be a Catholic priest. And if that is true, you, a priest in holy orders, are telling me I must damn my own soul by committing murder.’

Vítor arched his brows as if in mild surprise that anyone should object to this. ‘You have already damned your soul with one murder. I hardly think another will make much difference. Besides, all sin may be forgiven, if confession is made of it in all contrition. The more so, if it is committed in defence of the Holy Church and to the greater glory of God. I could absolve you of the deed within the hour if you’re afraid you might die before you return to Portugal. I would willingly absolve you too of the murder of your lover, Silvia, if you were to confess to it. Indeed, many would say ridding the Church of one of her enemies might be considered apt penance for the crime you committed in lust and anger.’

‘How many times do I have to say it? I did not murder Silvia. No one did. She’s still alive. And if killing this girl is such a pious act,’ I spat, ‘I’d hate to deprive you of the opportunity of cleansing your own soul. Why don’t you kill her? You’ve come all this way. You may as well make certain. After all, if it’s so important to the Church that she dies, they might even make you a saint for doing it.’

Vítor folded his hands as a monk slides his hands into his sleeves. ‘I am a consecrated priest, a man of God. The Church cannot shed blood.’

‘But you can order others to do it for you,’ I said savagely.

But Vítor’s tone remained unnervingly calm. ‘The Church orders nothing. When the Church has assisted heretics to see the error of their ways and confess their wickedness, they are released to the State. It is the State who pronounces the death penalty on them and the State who executes them, as you are in grave danger of finding out at first hand.’

He spread his hands wide. ‘It’s entirely up to you whether or not you choose to kill the girl. I am only here to bear witness. My duty is to carry the news back and to assure the Grand Inquisitor that nothing and no one will remain to adversely influence the young king’s innocent mind and beguile him into undoing the holy work of cleansing Portugal when he comes of age. I am not ordering you to do anything. Alas, I don’t have that power, I am merely a priest.’ Vítor pressed his hand to his heart and humbly inclined his head. ‘It must be your choice, your decision. Like all priests, I am merely here to serve you. Think of me as your conscience, there to whisper softly in your ear when I see you on the verge of doing something foolish, something you will live to regret bitterly. I am here to remind you what your fate will be if you make the wrong decision and, of course, to see you return safely to Portugal, to face the consequences of any decision you make.

‘But I hardly think my gentle counsel will be necessary. Can you imagine what might happen to you if you return to Portugal having deliberately aided a heretic to escape? I cannot believe that a man like you would willingly subject himself to weeks of agonizing pain and an ignominious death, simply to save a Jewess you barely know. Besides, when she returns to Portugal with or without those birds, eventually she will find herself burning on a pyre. The king might spare her this year, but she won’t have many years of liberty, that I promise you, for the Inquisition will not rest till every last Marrano is dead. Wouldn’t it be kinder, more merciful, to ensure she did not return to such a fate? An opportunity to dispatch the girl may arise sooner than you think, Cruz. I suggest you think over what I have said and prepare yourself to take full advantage of it.

‘And while you are making up your mind, Cruz, you should remember this – you may believe that you were ill-used in the tower of Belém, but I can assure you those who have fallen into the hands of the Inquisition would think your incarceration was a year spent in paradise compared to the tortures inflicted upon them. There is the
strappado
which dislocates their limbs, or the roasting of their larded feet over a fire, or the water poured over a cloth on their face, forcing it down their throat until they are convinced they are drowning. You see, the Inquisitors love their little games.

‘Can you imagine how cruelly that fragile young girl will suffer in the dungeons of the Inquisition before she dies? If you love her you would surely want a swift and unexpected death for her, so that she has no time to dread it. Silvia’s death was quick, wasn’t it? How long does it take to strangle a woman, Cruz?’

I was woken unceremoniously as several feet trod on me at once. I cursed and turned over, determined to burrow back into sleep, until I realized that everyone was scrambling out of the communal beds and pushing their feet into their shoes. The fire in the hall had died down to a faint ruby glow, and only two small dish-shaped oil lamps burned on the upright beams, which hardly gave enough light for me to see my own hand.

‘Is it morning already?’ I groaned.

‘Dogs outside are barking,’ Hinrik said.

‘What of it?’ I mumbled. ‘Dogs bark at their own shadows. Maybe they saw a fox.’

‘They are trained only to bark at men.’

Unnur hurried Isabela and her own daughters out of the hall ahead of her, pausing only to give her husband a brief but desperate hug. Fannar turned and addressed the three of us in low urgent tones.

‘Wait, Hinrik, come back and tell us what he’s saying,’ I called.

Hinrik had started to follow the women towards the hiding place in the store room. He hesitated, then reluctantly slunk over to us, his eyes wide with fear.

‘He says you have claimed the protection of his
badstofa
… It is his duty as a host to defend you … As guests, it will be no dishonour to you if you go with the women and hide, but if you wish to stay and fight as brothers …’

Seeing the grim exchange of glances between Fannar and Ari, the blood started to pound in my head and I felt my chest tighten. They were in earnest and they were afraid, which was nothing to what I was. For a moment or two I was sorely tempted to run after the women, but Ari began to hand out heavy staves and axes, and before I knew it I found myself grasping an axe. I was grateful for the stout wooden handle to hold on to, but in truth I had no more idea of how to wield an axe than shoe a horse. I just hoped I could swing it around a bit and do some damage to the right people, without chopping my own leg off in the process. But what would these unwelcome guests be armed with? We could already hear horses’ hooves clattering into the yard.

‘Komdu! Komdu!’ Ari whispered, beckoning frantically to us to follow him.

He led us out into the narrow passage and through a door on the opposite side to the store room. We crowded in and found ourselves standing in a cow byre, stinking of dung and piss, where half a dozen cows and a couple of calves lay on a thick layer of straw and dried bush twigs. The beasts rolled their eyes back and scrambled clumsily to their feet, lowing in agitation at the sudden appearance of five men in the middle of the night.

Ari motioned to me to help him lift a beam and lower it into two iron brackets either side of the door we’d come through, to brace it shut behind us. Then he whispered to Hinrik, gesturing to a low, wide door on the opposite side of the byre. All three of us pressed our heads close to Hinrik. He was shaking and cringing at each new sound that echoed from the courtyard.

‘He … he says crouch down. Keep very still and quiet. When he opens that far door … we must … must push the
kýr
out and creep out between them so they hide us.’

Outside in the yard, men were calling to one another as they dismounted and yelling at the dogs which were still barking. Then came a thundering at the main door, as if someone was pounding on it with the pommel of a sword. I gripped my axe more tightly and glanced at Ari, but he motioned us to keep still.

We heard the grate of the door as it opened, a man barking questions and the lower tones of Fannar answering. There was a thump as if someone had been shoved hard against a door, followed by the clanging of metal and more shouts as the men pushed their way down the narrow passage. The great hall must have run directly behind the byre, for though noise was muffled by the earth wall, there came the sickening sounds of wooden panels being ripped off, beds being torn apart and objects being hurled aside. The men were tearing the place apart.

Someone rattled the handle of the byre door which led into the passage, then barged against it, but it held.

Ari’s head swivelled towards the opposite door. He held up his hand, signalling to us to wait. We crouched rigid. Hinrik was grasping a stave in both hands, his eyes closed, but his lips were moving soundlessly as if he was muttering some desperate prayer over and over again. For once, I was almost tempted to pray too, except that the name of every saint I’d ever known seemed to have vanished from my head. My palms were so slippery with sweat that I was sure the axe was going to slide from my grasp the moment I stood up. Then we heard the men fumbling with the latch on the outside door and moments later it swung open.

Ari leapt to his feet, shrieking and waving his arms like a man possessed. The cattle, with bellows of fear, reared and turned, charging at the open doorway. It was probably as well we couldn’t move as quickly as the beasts for we would have been crushed between them in their panic to squeeze out through the gap. One of the men standing outside was knocked over by the first animal and we heard his screams as the others’ sharp hooves trampled over him. The second man managed to jump back in time as the cows thundered past him.

We ran after them. Ari swept his cudgel sideways as he burst out of the doorway and succeeded in catching the second man full in the face. He crumpled to his knees, falling across his companion who was lying bleeding in the dirt, moaning helplessly as he tried in vain to lever himself up on crushed and broken limbs.

Ari began to run towards the back of the farmstead, but as we rounded the corner, two men sprang towards us from the darkness, swords flashing. Hinrik raised his stave, but the sight of the sword seemed to unnerve him completely. He dropped the stick and fled.

One of the Danes came straight for me. He raised his sword and swept it down. I dodged back, but the blade passed so close to my face I felt the wind of it as it whistled by. I lifted the axe high in both hands, but in that same instant I knew I had made a terrible mistake for I’d left my body completely unprotected. As if in the slowness of a dream I watched the point of his blade thrusting towards my chest and I could do nothing to defend myself. Then, just as the swordsman lunged forward, his leading foot slipped from under him in a patch of cow shit, and he landed on the ground with a cry of pain as his legs splayed wide. It was nothing to the scream he gave moments later as my axe blade sank into his skull. Scalding blood splattered on to my hands and face.

I glanced down. The other Dane was also lying there bleeding into the mud, though which of the others had killed him I had no idea. I briefly contemplated trying to wrench the axe out of the man’s head, but almost vomited at the thought, so I snatched the sword from his still twitching fingers and fled into the darkness.

We ran a little way off and took shelter behind some low bushes. Some of the Danes were carrying burning torches and by their light we could see the dark figures of men milling around the farmstead and hear them bellowing to one another. But it was too dark to make out their numbers. The cries and shouts redoubled. Someone, it could have been Fannar, was running from the house. I only glimpsed him for a moment or two before he vanished into the darkness.

Then we heard a familiar but desperate cry. I could make out the slender outline of a lad struggling between two Danes who were dragging him towards one of the horses.

‘They’ve got Hinrik,’ I whispered.

‘If he stays calm he might be able to convince them that he is just a simple farmhand,’ Vítor said.

‘I don’t think there’s much chance of him staying calm.’