The Falcons of Fire and Ice

by Karen Maitland

  ‘These are ptarmigan.’

  ‘So that’s what they look like,’ I said. ‘They say there are great flocks of them in these mountains, but I haven’t seen a single one.’

  ‘You’ve seen many,’ Heidrun said. ‘But you haven’t known it. When the snows come they’ll turn white. A hillside may be covered with them, but they will not be seen. In summer they are the colour of the rocks and grey mountain grass. In autumn they look like rocks with a little frost upon them, as they do now.’

  Marcos eyed them hungrily. ‘Do they make good eating?’

  Heidrun laughed. ‘Yes, excellent, but I am afraid they will not be filling your belly. These are needed for hungrier beaks.’

  She handed the birds to me and I held them, one under each arm, their wings pressed closed so that they could not struggle. Their bodies were warm and my fingers sank into the soft feathers. Beneath the skin I could feel their tiny hearts beating fast.

  She nodded towards the basket. ‘You will find soft leather in there to fashion into jesses and lines. You know how to snare a falcon, Isabela?’

  ‘If we ever find one. I don’t know where to look. Eydis promised me that she would help me catch the falcons. She swore … and I believed her. I thought that was where she was leading us. But now …’

  ‘She will keep her promise,’ Heidrun said calmly. ‘Trust her in death as you did in life. Remember, the ptarmigan and the white falcon are sisters. Where one goes the other will always follow. Now I must leave you. Stay here until you have what you seek. You have a fire to warm you. There are fish in the lake and water in the streams. There is nothing more you need.’

  Her smile was gentle as she turned and walked away. I was sure I’d seen her before, not just in the cave, but somewhere else. I suddenly realized I had not thanked her and called after her. She raised one hand in acknowledgement that she had heard me. She did not look back. We watched the tall figure stride across the plain until our eyes lost sight of her, dazzled by the sun.

  Marcos stirred up the little fire, rubbing his hands, and eyed the two birds. ‘What are you going to do with them? Wring their necks and leave them out as bait?’

  ‘Falcons need live prey. Can you bring me the line from the basket?’

  Marcos reluctantly held the birds while I fastened a leg of each one to a length of line. He was not used to handling birds, anyone could see that. They flapped angrily in his hands, while he leaned his head so far back to avoid the wings that he almost toppled over.

  In spite of his help, I managed to tether both birds and sent him in search of stones that were weighty and rough enough to secure the ends of each line. Then I carried the birds and stones out to a flat patch of grass and set them down. The birds immediately crouched on the ground, staying so still that, had they been among rocks, I would immediately have lost sight of them. But after I had retreated, they cautiously rose and began to search among the vegetation for food.

  I returned to the fire and fashioned two nooses at the ends of the two remaining lengths of line, and laid them ready at hand.

  ‘So, what happens now?’ Marcos asked.

  I shrugged. ‘We wait and hope the falcons come.’

  My father had used this method of trapping when he knew falcons regularly hunted in a certain place, or when a captive bird was lost, but it was not one he used often. It depended too much on luck. It occurred to me then to wonder how Heidrun had known to bring exactly the things I would need. Doubtless Eydis had told her what I was looking for and she had fetched the things in the night. I wondered if she lived close by, though I didn’t recall passing any farmsteads, but then, they were so hard to see. Like the ptarmigan, their turf roofs blended perfectly into the hillside; you might walk within feet of them and not notice unless you saw the smoke rising from the hearths.

  Marcos and I sat either side of the fire, occasionally feeding it with the woody stems of plants as if it was a pet and we were giving it titbits. I continually scanned the bright blue sky, but the sun glinted off the ice so brilliantly that I was forced to keep looking away. Marcos kept looking at me, half opening his mouth as if he was on the verge of saying something, but didn’t know how to begin.

  If I did find a bird, would he try to take it from me? He told me he had come here to capture a bird to pay a debt, though he had no idea how to set about it. But once the bird was caught, would I be able to fend him off if he was determined to take it? He had rescued me from the bog and he had warned me about Vítor. But why had he helped me? Was it just to ensure I would stay alive long enough to capture a bird for him? And what would he do when I had?

  Marcos shifted his position for the umpteenth time. ‘How long have we been here? My belly is beginning to grumble again. She said there were fish in the lake. I suppose she means us to use one of the lines, though I don’t know what we’re going to use as a hook, never mind bait. Can you catch fish as well as –’

  ‘Quiet,’ I whispered. Shielding my eyes, I stared up into the blinding blue sky.

  Krery-krery-krery.

  There it was again. ‘White falcons,’ I breathed.

  ‘Where?’ Marcos said, struggling to his feet.

  I grabbed him and pulled him down.

  ‘Keep down and stay still. I can’t see them but I can hear them.’

  Krery-krery-krery.

  I turned in the direction of the sound. Two white specks were soaring down over the river of ice towards the ptarmigan.

  ‘Stay here,’ I whispered.

  The ptarmigan had seen them too. They ran to the lengths of the line, trying to take cover in the rocks, but they were jerked back. The falcons circled above, crying out to each other. The ptarmigan froze, pressing themselves into the ground trying to hide, but though they would have been invisible against the rocks, out there in the open against the golden sedges and green mosses, they could be clearly seen.

  The falcons folded their wings and stooped down in a long dive, turning upwards at the last minute to strike the ptarmigan with such force I could hear the thumps across the silent plain. They both rose in the air, the limp bodies of their prey dangling from their claws, beating their wings fiercely as they tried to lift both bird and stone to fly off with them. I saw the lines slipping on the stones and thought they were going to slide off, but they held and the falcons dropped to the ground again. They mantled their prey with their wings, covering the bodies of the ptarmigan, protecting them from any other bird that might swoop down to steal it. They lifted their heads, their huge dark eyes watching for danger. Finally, when they were satisfied they were alone, they began to tear the feathers from the warm bodies of the birds, and stab at the flesh beneath.

  I watched them gulp down strips of the steaming bloody meat. Then, gripping the nooses and tingling with anticipation, I rose and strode towards the falcons.

  With a cry of alarm the birds rose up into the air, circling high into the sky. Careful not to touch the bloody carcasses of the ptarmigan, I laid a noose around each bird, pegged it with a piece of woody plant stem and retreated back behind the rock, the other end of the line in my hands. I should have used a wooden peg, but there wasn’t a tree to be seen anywhere. I just prayed the tough stems would be strong enough to pull against.

  ‘What on earth did you do that for?’ Marcos spluttered. ‘I thought you said you knew how to catch them. If you’d just crept up on them quietly, instead of blundering in with all the stealth of a charging bull, you might have caught them. You’ve driven them off now. What you need –’

  ‘Quiet,’ I snapped. ‘Stay absolutely still and wait.’

  I watched the birds making wide sweeps in the sky, coasting on their wings on the currents of air rising from the land, their heads down, watching, waiting until all was quiet again. I was so tense, I kept forgetting to breathe, until the pain in my chest reminded me to draw breath. Would they stay? If they had killed and fed not long ago, they wouldn’t bother. They would have taken those two ptarmigan from pure instinct, drive
n to kill because they had seen them running, trying to hide. But if they weren’t really hungry they would simply fly off again. I waited, my eyes fixed on the birds. Were the circles becoming wider, were they climbing higher, would the next turn or flip of their wings carry them out of the valley?

  The larger of the two, the female, began to descend towards the carcass. She landed on the ground and sauntered over, her head turning this way and that, before she stood over her prey again. Finally, she began to feed. Part of me was screaming, pull the noose now, if you don’t you’ll lose her! But I knew that as soon as the falcon felt herself caught she would scream and struggle, and her mate would fly off at once. But at least I’d have one.

  The jerkin, the male falcon, was flying lower. Land! I kept willing it. Land, before the other takes wing again. How hungry was it? How full was its crop? I couldn’t take the risk of losing both of them. I had to do it now. My fingers were already tightening on the line when at that moment the jerkin landed. He too looked warily around before approaching his own carcass. I held my breath. Then he put his beak down and tore a lump of flesh from his prey.

  It was vital I pulled both lines together and at the same pace. I tried, but the noose closed around the foot of the female just moments before the male. She let out a scream of indignation and the male’s head snapped upwards; his wings flapped, but I just managed to tug the noose tight before his feet left the ground. Both birds toppled over, screeching and flapping wildly as they struggled on the ground.

  Now I had to get to them before they hurt themselves and I couldn’t trust Marcos to handle them. I snatched up the withy basket.

  ‘Quickly,’ I yelled at Marcos. ‘Your shirt, give me your shirt.’

  I will say this for him, he pulled it off without a word of protest.

  I ran to the male, who was nearest, and dropped the shirt over the head of the struggling bird to quieten him. Then I raced towards the female. Scooping her up by her legs, I struggled to close her wings between my arm and chest and hold her still while I slipped the noose from her. She did not submit willingly, and I was terrified that one of her feet would fasten on me, for once they lock into flesh, nothing but killing the bird can force them loose. But I finally managed to lay her on her back in the basket and close the lid.

  I walked back and wrapped the male tightly in Marcos’s shirt. I removed the line and marched back with the two birds.

  Marcos was shivering, but grinning so broadly, I thought his mouth would split.

  ‘You did it! You caught them.’ He looked down and his grin faded rapidly. ‘But you’re hurt.’

  Both my arms were bleeding profusely from long gashes where talons and beaks had slashed me. My heart had been pumping so fiercely, and I had been so terrified of losing or injuring the birds, I hadn’t even felt the pain, though I felt the fierce sting of it now.

  ‘You’ll have to bandage those wounds,’ Marcos said, looking vaguely sick.

  It was just as well Marcos was not a physician, for he was remarkably squeamish about the sight of blood.

  ‘That will have to wait. I need to get the leather jesses on them so that I can tether them. I’ve no needle to sew the eyelids shut, or hoods, so I’ll have to cover their heads with strips of cloth. We must keep them calm, else they will bate and harm themselves.’

  Marcos, regarding the deep gashes in my arm, flatly refused to hold the birds, but under my direction he succeeded in tying the soft strips of leather to their legs and tore the bottom of his shirt for makeshift hoods which I finally succeeded in getting on the birds, though not without a few more cuts to my hands.

  I tied the lines to the jesses and fastened them round the rocks, settling the birds there to perch, where they stood quietly enough. As soon as the birds were calm, Marcos insisted on going off to wet his ragged shirt in water to wash my cuts for they were bleeding and stinging ferociously.

  Now that I had the birds safe, I found my legs had suddenly lost the power to hold me up. I was trembling violently. I sank down on to the ground. I had done it. I had really done it! I’d captured the falcons. My father would be released. He would come home safe and well. I could picture him now walking towards me, holding out his arms to me, the joy and amazement on his face that the miracle had happened. It was over. It was all over!

  I crouched on the damp ground, waiting for Marcos to return, unable to tear my gaze from the falcons. They were a truly magnificent pair. The plumage on the underside of the birds was white with delicate markings of dark brown, as if someone had drawn on them in ink with a quill, and the plumage on the backs was as yet dark brown. They were just what I had hoped for. Both sore birds, in the first year of their lives, not yet in the full adult livery they would attain after their first moult next summer when the dark feathers would turn white. They had many years of hunting and breeding in front of them, if I could only manage to get them back alive.

  Food – that was the important thing. They must be fed regularly. The ptarmigan they had killed would serve for the next couple of days, for they would surely keep fresh in this cold, especially if I packed them in a little of that ice. As soon as Marcos returned, I would send him to retrieve them, as long as I could persuade him not to roast them for his own supper. Perhaps we might spare the guts for Marcos to use as bait for fishing. Not the hearts and livers though, they must be fed to the falcons.

  ‘Move away from those birds, Isabela,’ a man’s voice growled behind me.

  I sprang to my feet. Marcos was on his knees, the point of a dagger at his throat, one arm twisted up painfully behind his back. Standing behind him, holding the hilt of the knife in his clenched fist, was Vítor. His clothes were torn and there was a dark patch of dried blood on his forehead, and a livid purple bruise on his cheek, but his expression was grim and determined.

  ‘Turn around and start walking towards the ice, Isabela. Slowly! Just keep walking steadily. Don’t even think of running or I will cut Marcos’s throat and then I will track you down. Do falcons eat human flesh? I imagine they would eat anything if it was bloody enough, wouldn’t they?’

  Ricardo

  Bind – when a hawk seizes its prey in the air and holds on to it.

  I don’t know why I hadn’t heard the little weasel coming. I’d never have let a man creep up on me like that in a town. You walk though a crowded street or sit in a tavern and you’re constantly alert to any movement behind you – the cutpurse moving in, the hired muscle sent by the man wanting revenge – you can’t afford to relax your guard for a moment. Vítor would never have taken me in the street, but that howling purgatory of empty space had sucked out even the wits I was born with.

  I was just bending down to wet a torn scrap of my shirt in the lake and the next thing I knew there was a knife pricking my ribs and his odious voice whispering in my ear. He marched me back to Isabela, my arm twisted so far up my back, I was praying neither of us would stumble for one sudden jerk would have snapped it.

  When Isabela turned, her face blanched as she saw us. ‘Vítor … but I thought you were dead!’

  She wasn’t the only one. Why is it that filthy little cockroaches always survive, when everything else is wiped out?

  ‘What you mean, Isabela, is you left me for dead,’ Vítor said. ‘But God watches over his faithful servants. I was rendered unconscious by my fall from the rocks, and when I came round, I was alone, but at least the steam was no longer filling the passageway. The ledge at the top of the shaft had fallen away, but I was able to carry a flat shard of rock up to the top of the pile of boulders and wedge it upright. Standing on that gave me just enough height to claw my way out. I eventually found Fannar and his family making for shelter. I thought you’d be with them. They were overjoyed to see me and naturally they were only too willing to point out the direction you had taken … But we’ve wasted enough time on this touching reunion. Isabela, I believe I told you to start walking towards the ice.’

  He pressed the blade deeper into my throat until I was
too afraid to breathe in case it pierced the skin.

  Isabela flinched. ‘I’ll walk anywhere you want, but please don’t hurt him.’

  If I hadn’t been so humiliated, not to mention shit-scared, I might have been flattered by her concern, but as it was, I could only echo her words in my head – Yes, please don’t hurt me!

  Unfortunately, that plea from Isabela seemed only to encourage Vítor to do just that. He jerked my arm more viciously up my back until the agony made white lights explode in front of my eyes. I could tell you, of course, that I didn’t utter so much as a whimper of pain, but I suspect you know me too well by now to believe that. Isabela’s face convulsed in sympathy.

  ‘I’m going!’ she said. ‘Don’t …’

  She broke off, obviously realizing that another plea for mercy would only encourage him to more torture. It’s refreshing to find a man who so thoroughly enjoys his work, don’t you think? Inflicting pain, yes, he loved that, but we both knew he wouldn’t want murder on his conscience. Wasn’t this exactly why I’d been sent here? He couldn’t kill anyone himself. I was gritting my teeth against the agony of my arm, but now I tried to force my jaws apart.

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Isabela. He won’t kill me. He’s a priest, a Jesuit. He can’t commit murder. Don’t do what he says.’

  I squealed as he jerked my arm so savagely, I was sure I was going to pass out.

  ‘So you’ve decided to start telling the truth, have you, Marcos? Very well then, let’s give Isabela a little more of it, shall we? Do you know why Marcos is here, Isabela? He is a hired villain, a murderer. His real name is Cruz and he was sent to kill you. The king’s advisors have no intention of letting you return to Portugal with those birds. You will die here, and when you fail to return the young king will be persuaded to execute your father. He will hate you and all your kind so bitterly that this time he will be only too eager to light the bonfire with his own little hands. And once he’s lit one fire, he will learn to enjoy the thrill of lighting more, until every heretic in Portugal is burning. This man you know as Marcos is not your protector, he is your assassin.’