The Falcons of Fire and Ice

by Karen Maitland

  Isabela stared from one to the other of us in horror. ‘But I thought … in the cave you tried to warn me … When were you going to kill me, Marcos? After I’d captured the birds for you?’ She lifted her head and stared at Vítor. ‘As for you, you must be a complete fool. You tell me he is here to murder me and then you think I’ll still care if you cut his throat. Go ahead, do it!’

  She turned and started to run.

  ‘But I think you will care when I kill the falcons.’ Vítor’s voice was colder than the river of ice.

  Isabela stopped dead, as if she’d been pierced by an arrow. She wheeled around and came racing back towards the falcons, but Vítor was closer to them than she was.

  He raised his dagger and brought the hilt of it down on the side of my head, at the same time releasing my arm. I toppled over and Vítor, in a couple of strides, placed himself between Isabela and the falcons, the point of the knife pressing into the breast of one of the birds.

  ‘Marcos is correct when he says the taking of a human life is forbidden to me. But it is written we have dominion over the animals and may kill them for our sport. It’s no sin to kill a bird, not even one as valuable as this creature. But it would be a pity to dispatch such powerful creatures too swiftly. I wonder how long they would live without wings. Shall we see?’

  ‘No!’ Isabela shouted. ‘Don’t harm them. I’ll go wherever you want me to, but let the birds live … release them, please. Let them go free! Please, please don’t hurt them because of me!’

  ‘As Marcos will tell you, I do not let anything go free.’

  ‘Then sell them,’ Isabela begged him. ‘They’ll fetch a huge price if they are unharmed. They are worthless to you dead.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Dead, they are worth a Portugal cleansed of all her heretics, a Portugal that is purified for God.’

  He seemed to consider the matter, clearly enjoying the abject fear that was written through every inch of Isabela’s frame as she waited for his decision.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. They are valuable creatures, and provided they never reach the little king’s hands they may help the Holy Church … Very well. I will spare them if you do exactly what I say, but one hint of resistance from you and I will carry out my threat.’

  Isabela swallowed hard and nodded. Vítor gestured with his dagger towards the ice. With her head held high, Isabela walked past him towards the frozen river, glancing back only once to reassure herself that he had moved away from the birds.

  Vítor pointed the dagger at me. ‘You, on your feet and follow her! I don’t want you releasing those birds while my back is turned. Besides, your work is not yet done, Senhor Cruz.’

  I clambered to my feet, my head throbbing from the blow and a lump the size of a hen’s egg rapidly swelling on my temple. As I stumbled along, still dazed, I clenched and unclenched my fist, trying to restore the feeling in my wrenched arm. I couldn’t work out why Vítor wanted Isabela to climb up on to the ice, but I knew that whatever plan he was hatching in that scrofulous little brain of his, it wasn’t going to be good for either of us.

  It took me several attempts and a couple of vicious jabs in the buttocks from Vítor’s dagger to clamber up on to the slippery melting ice. In my whole life I had never wanted to beat a man’s face to a pulp more than I longed to pulverize Vítor’s. We picked our way gingerly until we reached the drier, rougher ice. Isabela stopped and turned.

  ‘Which way?’ she asked in a tremulous voice.

  Vítor’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the frozen river ahead. ‘A little to your left, then keep walking.’

  Isabela did as she was told. Several times she glanced back as if she was praying that somehow we would have vanished, but we had not.

  If I paused or hesitated for more than a moment, I felt the point of the dagger prick into my back and heard Vítor’s growl to keep walking. While I kept trying to convince myself he wouldn’t kill me, his threat to mutilate the falcons reminded me that there are worse things a man might do with a knife than commit murder. The Inquisition was, after all, well versed in the art of crippling a man for life without actually taking that life even if their victims begged their tormentors to do so. And the thought of being left out here maimed, in agony and alone was enough to make me keep walking.

  The cold air rising up from the ice only increased my pounding headache, and my shoulder ached so much I was beginning to fear that one of the bones had indeed been cracked.

  But finally Isabela stopped. ‘I can’t go any further. There’s a crevasse in front of me. It’s too wide to get across.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Vítor sounded almost pleased by the news. ‘And is it deep?’

  Isabela must have realized at the same moment I did why Vítor had brought us here. She clasped her hand to her mouth, looking terrified, but said nothing.

  ‘You, Cruz, take this length of line, which Isabela has so helpfully provided. Tie her hands behind her.’ Seeing me hesitate, he added, ‘I am sure she would want you to do it. She knows what will happen to her precious birds if you don’t co-operate.’

  Isabela stood still as I tied her as loosely as I dared. Her hands were trembling.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. But she gave no sign that she had heard me.

  Vítor pushed past us and peered down into the crevasse. It was deep, so deep that several men could have stood on one another’s shoulders and still not reached the top. The bottom was strewn with jagged shards of ice, but the sides were as clean and smooth as polished glass.

  He straightened up and gave a smile of satisfaction. ‘Do you recall the first night we spent on this island when that drunken peasant of a farmer was telling us his hunting stories? Now, what was it he said? Ah yes, I believe he told us how dangerous the rivers of ice could be. How if a man fell down into one of the crevasses, he would never be able to climb out again. It is a lesson you would do well to remember, Cruz. It is always wise to remain sober whilst others are in their cups, you never know what useful information you might acquire.

  ‘You’ve chosen your grave well, Isabela. God has been more merciful to you than a heretic deserves. The cold will probably kill you before you starve to death or die of any injuries you might sustain in the fall. I understand dying of cold is not an unpleasant death, just accept it. Don’t fight against the sleep and it will be over quickly. But while you wait down there for death, Isabela, I urge you to think of your sins and repent of your heresy. Use the time you have left well. Spend it in prayer to our Blessed Lord and the Holy Virgin, begging for their mercy. That is all the Church wants, all she has ever asked for, the full and humble repentance of heretics.’

  He turned from her, jabbing the point of his dagger at me.

  ‘Now is the time, Cruz, to fulfil the vow you made before my brothers, the oath you swore by the Virgin Mary and all the saints. Push the girl in. Do it and I will take you back to Portugal to live a life of luxury and pleasure. I will even generously divide the price I receive from the white falcons with you.’

  Isabela had shrunk back from the edge. Now she looked up at me, her mouth set bravely, but I could see, behind the defiance, the terror in her eyes. ‘Look after the white falcons, Marcos … don’t let him hurt them … they’re so beautiful.’

  I had expected her to plead for mercy. I would have been grovelling pathetically on my knees, but I should have known she would never beg for her own life.

  Vítor impatiently gestured with his dagger. ‘Do it, Cruz. You are making her suffer more by hesitating. Come now, quickly, put the girl out of her misery and be done with it.’

  ‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘I won’t kill her.’

  ‘I am not asking you to kill her. The ice will do that. Her death will not be on your soul … If you refuse, you will suffer more than you can ever imagine, but not before you’ve watched me mutilate those birds. She doesn’t want that, Cruz. She wants those birds saved. She wants to give her life for them, don’t you, Isabela? You want Cruz to p
ush you in so that your falcons will be spared. Just a little push, that’s all, just one.’

  He took a single step towards me, jabbing at me with his dagger. It was that tiny gesture that sealed it. Enraged, I grabbed his wrist and jerked, trying to make him drop the dagger. His feet slipped from under him, and before he could stop himself he had slid over the edge of the crevasse. His fingers locked around my hand as it grasped his, almost pulling me in with him. I fell to my knees and collapsed on to my belly, trying to cling to a rough peak of ice with my other hand to prevent myself sliding over the edge. I was holding him with my injured arm, his full weight dangling from my shoulder, which, already swollen, burned like fire. He was flailing about with his other hand, trying to grasp the edge of the crevasse, but his fingers kept slipping from the ice.

  ‘Pull me up, pull me up!’ he screamed.

  My hold on the lump of ice was slipping as my fingers warmed the surface. I was almost crying from the pain in my shoulder as he thrashed about. I opened my fingers, but his grip on my wrist was too strong. He would not let go, he swung himself, and with one desperate lunge managed to grab Isabela’s ankle. She crashed to the ground and though she kicked and writhed, with her hands tied, she was unable to do anything to stop herself being pulled towards the edge.

  Blind terror somehow summoned up the last shred of strength I possessed. I let go of the ice and, drawing back my fist, punched him as hard as I could in the face. His nose burst into a torrent of blood. With a scream he fell backwards, as in the same instance I lunged at Isabela with my other hand, just as she slid over the edge. I caught the back of her gown and for an agonizing moment she swung there in empty space as we heard the thump of Vítor’s body hitting the bottom of the crevasse.

  I wriggled backwards on my belly, trying to feel for a lump of ice I could hook my foot around, and then I pulled. With her arms bound, there was no way Isabela could do anything to help herself, and after the punch I’d landed on Vítor my fingers were numb. All I could do was to keep sliding backwards on my stomach and try to haul Isabela up by the weight of my body.

  I heard her cry out as her shoulders and back ground hard against the ice as I tried to haul her over the edge. I knew being dragged up like that must be agony for her, but I couldn’t afford to stop. I felt the stitches in her gown begin to give way. It was now or never. I gave one huge jerk, and she landed on her back on the ice, sobbing and shaking. I crawled towards her, wrapping my arms around her and folding her into a tight embrace. I don’t know which of us was sobbing the louder, but if you ever repeat that to anyone, I shall deny every word.

  We didn’t attempt to return to the harbour where we had disembarked. It was, as I said to Isabela, a deliberate decision on my part. I told her that if we went back we would be recognized instantly by the officious little ink-head, who would have taken great delight in clapping us in irons for the winter. But the truth was, I actually had no idea where we were or how to get back to that port.

  Isabela claims it was her suggestion to follow the river from the lake to find the sea. I’d already decided that was the best course of action, but after all she’d been through, it was kinder to let her think she’d thought of it. Women like to have these little victories, it sweetens their mood.

  I’ll say this for the girl, she made sure we didn’t starve. She was good at setting snares. Me? I’ve never attempted to catch so much as a mouse. I knew, of course, that someone must catch and kill animals, I’d seen enough bloody carcasses hanging in butchers’ rows, but as far as I was concerned meat had always presented itself to me swimming in rich sauces and bearing no resemblance at all to the beast which gave it its name. Iceland seemed sadly lacking in rabbits or hares or any edible mammal, but the river provided ample duck, and now that we knew what we were looking for we saw that the hillsides were swarming with ptarmigan springing up like mushrooms in autumn. We shared this meat with the falcons, though somehow they always seemed to get the choice portions, while I had to make do with anything that was considered not good enough for them.

  I can’t say I cared much for the falcons. I was terrified that one lunge with those dagger-sharp beaks of theirs and they’d have my eye for supper. But in time I got used to carrying one on my arm, once Isabela had made a pad for me with a twist of cloth stuffed with moss, for their claws were like dragons’ talons.

  The first two nights Isabella removed the cloth bindings from their eyes and kept the birds constantly awake, to man them, as she put it. In other words, make the vicious little brutes tame and docile, and accustomed to the sight of us. I was amazed at how quickly they grew used to us. And while we still hooded them when we walked, at night their bright eyes watched us and they learned to take the raw bloody morsels she held out to them wrapped in a few feathers to help them digest the flesh.

  Once we reached the sea, the ptarmigan were replaced by seabirds and eider duck. Take it from me, gulls are not good eating. So I tried my hand at fishing and managed to hook a seal, which would have been a welcome catch had it not been dead, and not just dead, but rotting and putrid. Nevertheless, I spent many hours drying the parts of it I could salvage over a fire. Isabela begged me to throw away the stinking mess, but as I told her, it was the first thing I’d caught and I wasn’t going to part with it, despite her wrinkling her pretty little nose and protesting.

  Even her laughing protest was a sign that relations between us were thawing. The fact that I had, in all modesty, saved her life, did make her trust me a little, though I could tell at first she was still extremely wary of me. I suppose it was only to be expected. When a woman learns you’ve crossed several seas with the express intention of murdering her, it’s only natural she should be a tad reserved in your presence, a little jumpy when you get too close.

  But I did not attempt to explain what that bastard Vítor had told her. That’s another lesson I learned early in life, never offer excuses until they are asked for, it makes you look guilty. But finally, one night as we sat shivering around a tiny fire, roasting a plump little duck, she asked me if what Vítor had said was true. Of course, I told her the whole story … well, most of the story … some of the story … Look, I admitted my name was Cruz, what more do you expect? One should never distress a lady with the truth.

  I stared into the flames with an affecting sigh. ‘It’s with a heavy heart I have to tell you that I put you in grave danger, Isabela. The truth is, there are those of us in Portugal who are seeking to overthrow the Inquisition, even perhaps the throne itself if we must. We have helped some to escape the clutches of the Inquisition; we steal records and sometimes even assassinate key members of the familiaries, making it appear as an accident so as not to arouse suspicion. It is dangerous work.’

  I stole a glance at Isabela. Her eyes were wide and she sat motionless, obviously completely enthralled

  ‘There was one man,’ I continued, ‘a lawyer, who was responsible for reporting many innocent people. We couldn’t allow him to continue, but we couldn’t simply lie in wait to stab or strangle him. They would have turned the town upside down searching for his killers, so I volunteered to break into his house one night. I had to climb over the roofs of several houses like a monkey, leaping across the gaps between them. Several times servants heard me on the roof and I flattened myself in the shadows as they wandered round peering upwards, but at last I reached his house and mercifully the shutter was open for it was a warm night.

  ‘I flipped over the edge of the roof and swung myself in. I almost landed on top of him and his wife as they lay in bed. As it was, I trod on the tail of their dratted cat, which screeched as if I had tried to kill it. Its cry woke the man’s wife, so I had to fling myself into a chest to hide while she got up and put the cat out. I lay in that chest until I could hear them both snoring, then I tiptoed out and poured a few drops of poison into the man’s open mouth as he slept. His coughing and wheezing woke his wife, but the poison was fast acting. I managed to slip out of the window again when she went run
ning down the stairs squealing for someone to come to help her husband who was having a fit. I tell you, I came pretty close to getting caught that night.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ Isabela breathed. ‘That is such a brave thing to do.’ It was obvious she was impressed.

  ‘Alas, you will not think me so very brave,’ I said, ‘after I confess to you what I must. You see, I was assigned to follow Vítor on this voyage. Of course, I knew from the beginning that he was a Jesuit priest working for the Inquisition, but we didn’t know what his purpose was in making the voyage. Perhaps I should have dispatched him while we were still at sea, but we needed to know what he had come here to do. It was only at Fannar’s house that I discovered that his purpose was to prevent you from returning home. When Ari first took us to the cave, I tried to kill Vítor then, but I confess that I failed. You see, I’m accustomed to working with poisons. I’m not skilled with a knife. Blood, you see – it always was my weakness. But my cowardice put your life in terrible danger. Can you ever forgive me, Isabela?’

  She put her hand on my arm and squeezed it. ‘You twice saved my life. Deeds say more about a man’s heart than his words. Although … I did enjoy the story.’ She turned her face away, and I could have almost sworn she was struggling not to laugh.

  It was odd though, of all the many stories I have told about myself that was the only one that I had ever really wanted to be true. Maybe there was some point in my life when if I had taken a different path I could have been that man, that hero, fighting for a cause … All right, I know, just who am I kidding? You’d no more believe that of me than if I said I could have been a saint if only my parents hadn’t named me Cruz!