The Falcons of Fire and Ice (35 page)

‘Hinrik, I’ve heard that the wild animals on this island are white as snow, because it is so cold. Is that true?’

The Icelanders stared open-mouthed at me as if amazed that I was addressing them. Hinrik thought for a moment, frowning, then answered without bothering to translate the question for the farmer.

‘Dogs … no, like dogs … foxes! They are white in winter. And great white bears, sometimes they come from Greenland on the ice. They must be hunted. White bears kill even a strong man with one blow.’

‘And birds, white birds, do they come here?’

Hinrik laughed. ‘Ptarmigan? Not down here, but up in the mountains there are more than there are gulls at the shore. Good eating, if you can catch them.’

‘I heard stories of a falcon, a white falcon. Is it true, does such a bird exist here?’

The boy shifted uneasily, then muttered something to the farmer. A long discussion followed and I could barely contain my impatience.

‘What’s he saying, Hinrik?’

‘He says where there are ptarmigan on the ground to eat there will always be white falcons in the sky above. They follow them. They are sisters. Strange sisters, for ptarmigan are worth nothing, but the falcons are worth sacks of gold. He says the Danes would sell their own wives and children for them. Two hundred white falcons they took last year. The hunters have to pay much money to the Danes for permission to capture the birds … He says how can a wild bird belong to any man? The falcons belong only to the sky. It is as crazy as a man saying he owns the fire in the mountains or the rain that falls.’

The farmer spoke again and whatever he said made Hinrik laugh. He turned to Marcos, Vítor and Fausto sitting beside him on the bed.

‘He says he hopes you have not come here to steal a white falcon. Last year, there was a boy from Bolungarvík. The Danes caught him with a sack. He swore inside was a white ptarmigan. But they opened the sack and pulled out a white falcon. The boy said he must have grabbed the wrong bird when the falcon attacked the ptarmigan. But they did not believe him. So …’

Hinrik put his hands round his throat in the manner of a noose. Lolling his tongue out and crossing his eyes, he made a gurgling sound which caused the farmer’s little son to giggle so much he almost tumbled off the bed.

My three companions laughingly assured him they would attempt no such crime, but Vítor’s smile faded rapidly and he stared at me, frowning as if he somehow knew why I had raised the question.

‘I was just asking,’ I said hastily, ‘because I’d love to see one of these birds flying. I’ve heard they are beautiful. Are there any nests in these parts?’

‘Not here, they nest in the north. When it is summer the hunters climb the rocks to take the chicks. Many men die. You know where a white falcon nests on a mountain, for the bones of the hunters lie at the bottom.’

The conversation drifted away to hunting. The woman fetched a leather bottle and poured a measure of thick liquid into beakers for each of the men. Whatever it was, they seemed to relish it much more than the
bland
and soon their eyes began to shine in the firelight and laughter came easily and grew louder, as they reclined and drank deeply whenever the woman refilled their beakers – all, that is, except Vítor, who had taken one sip and no more.

The more the farmer drank, the wilder his tales of his hunting prowess became. Through Hinrik, he regaled the men with stories about the wild horses he had captured, of the white bears he had fought and the foxes he had killed for their valuable pelts. He even told us that once, when he was a boy, he and his friends were tracking a huge fox which tried to escape them by crossing a great river of ice. This frozen river was criss-crossed by crevasses and ravines that were so deep and slippery that if a man tumbled into one he would never be able to clamber out again and would die of starvation, if he didn’t freeze first. His friends were too scared to venture on to the ice for they all knew of men who had fallen to their deaths down those treacherous crevasses, but the farmer was determined to get that fox, so he fearlessly went on alone to capture the beast and lived to tell the tale. He thumped his chest with pride as he recounted this story. He sounded just like the nobles at Sintra when they returned from their hunting, always full of impossible tales of courage and daring. I listened only because I was desperately hoping that when he’d drunk enough the farmer might speak again of the white falcons, but he didn’t.

I could not afford to wait till summer to take an eyas from its nest like the hunters, though I knew that would be the easiest way to capture a bird and give me the best chance of bringing it back alive. It would be too late to save my father by then. I would have to try to trap a pair of adult birds as they searched for their prey. Follow the ptarmigan, like the falcons. But where would I find the ptarmigan? And how would I recognize them? I’d never seen one before – was it as small as a swallow or as large as a duck? But I dared not ask more. I had already shown too much interest.

I rose as cautiously as I could and slipped across to the passage. Vítor’s head jerked up.

‘I need to relieve myself,’ I muttered.

I felt my way down the damp, narrow passage. It took all my strength to heave the great wooden door open, but outside all was quiet. Not a spark of light showed anywhere in the cold, clinging blackness. If I took more than few steps from the house, I would never find it again. I edged along the rough stones of the wall, hoping that my eyes would accustom themselves to the darkness. If I could take one of the horses, while the men were all occupied inside, then I could put as much distance as I could between myself and them, before anyone realized I was gone. The horse would surely be able to find the track even if I couldn’t. I had no idea where our packs had been stored, but if I couldn’t find them I would have to go without them. This might be the only chance I got.

The wall seemed to go on for ever, but eventually I came to the end and I stared out into the darkness, listening for the crunch of horses’ hooves as they shifted in the coarse grass, straining to hear the snorting and whining they make when they smell a human approaching, but I could hear nothing except the wind stirring the dried stalks and the sharp, insistent cry of some bird or animal I didn’t recognize.

Perhaps the horses had been stabled in the byre at the other end of the house. I thought I had glimpsed one earlier. I groped my way back along the wall, trying to find the door which would tell me I had reached halfway along. Then suddenly my hand connected with something soft and warm. I stifled a cry as I stepped backwards.

‘Isabela, so there you are! Can’t see a bloody thing.’

The voice was slurred, but it was still recognizable. My stomach contracted. It was Fausto, the man who only a few hours ago had tried to kill me.

‘What do you want?’ I could hear my voice shaking.

‘You … looking for you. Wanted to speak to you alone. Tried earlier today … but you galloped off.’

If I yelled for help they’d never hear it deep inside that hillside. I tried to keep calm.

‘It’s cold. I’m going back inside. Whatever you have to say you can say it in there.’

‘You’re not going back inside.’ He stretched out his arm, barring the doorway.

I couldn’t push him aside. He was twice my weight and size. I could try to run. Once I was out there in the darkness, he’d never be able to find me, but suppose I stumbled into another bog? I shivered.

I fought to keep the panic from rising in my chest. ‘What do you want with me?’

‘Come with you, of course. I know you’ve no intention of going back in there. You’re going to look for them, aren’t you?’

‘What … look for what?’ I stammered.

‘White falcons.’ He lowered his voice to an exaggerated tipsy whisper, though there was no one to hear us. ‘That’s why you were asking the lad about them. First night on the ship when I told you about the eagles … could tell that you knew more about falconry than you were admitting. That’s why you came here, isn’t it?’

A wave of cold nausea rose in my throat. ‘I don’t know anything about birds … I came here to join my husband.’

He chuckled. ‘Come on, a husband who didn’t trouble to come to the ship to meet you? A husband who sent you no papers? If you were married to a Dane, you’d not have to leave here for the winter. I saw the look on your face when you heard you only have two weeks. There is no husband, is there? You can tell me.’

He attempted a clumsy pat on my shoulder. I shrank back.

‘We all have our little secrets, Isabela. Don’t you worry, I won’t breathe a word. Ssh!’ He leaned over me, pressing his finger to his lips. ‘Trust me, Isabela, I can help you get those birds. That farmer seems to think they’re worth a few escudos, and I’ll let you into a little secret of my own. I could do with a little gold right now.’

‘What happened to the diamonds? I thought you were planning to get rich finding those?’

‘There are no diamonds here.’

‘Then why come to Iceland?’

He deflated like a pierced bladder and slumped dejectedly against the wall. He was more dulled than actually drunk, his movements slow and clumsy. If he made a grab for me I might be able to dodge him. I tried to ease away from him a little, bracing myself to run as soon as he was off guard.

‘Planned to go to Canada to search for diamonds, but I was … had to leave Portugal in a hurry. Costs a lot to get passage to Canada. Long voyage. Couldn’t raise the money I needed in time.’

‘Why did you need to leave so quickly?’

‘Killed a man.’

He must have heard my gasp of fear.

‘Not murder, nothing like that.’ He seized my arm so suddenly I didn’t have a chance to pull away. ‘It was an accident … swear to you.’ He drew a deep breath and shook his head as if trying to clear the mist from his thoughts. ‘So happy that night. Can’t believe it all changed in the time it takes to draw breath … festival for Our Lady of Light in Sampaio. My friends and I, we just went to celebrate, same as everyone else. After the procession, people were drinking and eating in the streets. All the women were dressed in their prettiest dresses. My friend started talking to a girl, flirting with her. Everyone does it. It’s what festivals are for. Bit of harmless fun, that’s all. But her fiancé saw them together. He got jealous and shoved my friend away.

‘You know how it is, punches were thrown. All the lads started to take sides and join in. It was just fists at first. Then I saw one man draw a knife and come up behind my friend. I threw myself at him. There was a struggle. The next thing I knew a young man was lying on the ground, blood pouring from his guts. I was horrified. I started to back away, but someone yelled that I’d done it, and when I looked down, I saw my own hand was covered in blood. I ran then. I got away, but later I discovered the young man had died and, worse still, he was the son of a noble. His father was determined that he would settle for nothing less than the blood of the man who killed his son. No choice. Had to get passage on the very first ship I could find.’

After the events of that afternoon I found it only too easy to believe that Fausto had killed a man, but I did not believe it was an accident, any more than him kicking my horse had been.

Fausto was still gripping my arm. My fear spun into anger.

‘So you didn’t intend to come to Iceland to look for diamonds. That story you told us on board the ship about India and the eagles carrying up the diamonds from the ravine, that was a lie too, wasn’t it?’

‘No!’ he said hotly. ‘It’s completely true, I swear.’ He shuffled uncomfortably. ‘But it wasn’t exactly my story … a merchant told it to me. But I do know all about diamonds. I worked for a jeweller who set precious stones into necklaces, earrings, brooches and buckles for the wealthy. My master taught me how to read a stone, to assess its colour and weight, how to look for flaws and determine when and where it was cut. I can tell you what any stone is worth. If I can reach Canada, I can find diamonds. I can make a fortune. I just have to find the money to get there.

‘And if those birds are as valuable as that farmer seems to think … Look, this is a dangerous place for a woman alone. You can’t do this by yourself. But I can take care of you. We can find those birds together and I can help you sell them. That’s something I do know about, persuading men to buy … and there’s something else … something I must tell you. You see, the truth is –’

‘The truth is what, Senhor Fausto?’

Fausto spun round. The figure standing in darkness behind him raised the little fish-oil lamp, shielding the fragile flame from the wind with his hand. Although the light was feeble, it deepened the hollows under his cheekbones and made caverns of his dark eyes, so that his head looked like a pale skull suspended in the darkness.

‘Vítor!’ Fausto snapped. ‘What the devil do you mean, sneaking around eavesdropping on private conversations?’

‘I merely chanced to overhear your last remark, Fausto. I was, in fact, in search of the young lady. She had been gone so long I feared she might have met with an accident or was unable to find her way back. It was foolish of you to venture out here without a lamp, Isabela. The ground is treacherous enough by day, but at night you could blunder into any kind of peril and no one would hear your cries for help.’

He reached his arm round Fausto and extended his hand to me.

‘Come, let me escort you safely back inside into the warm.’

I hesitated, not knowing which of the two men I feared more at that moment, but at least if Vítor was taking me back inside, he could not be intending to harm me, for now at any rate – not even he would be stupid enough to attempt to do so in front of a witness. Reluctantly I placed my hand on his and allowed myself to be drawn past Fausto.

Vítor’s thin, spidery fingers were even colder than my own. He glanced back over his shoulder as we squeezed down the musty passageway.

‘Isabela, let me offer you a word of caution. You would be well advised not to trust Senhor Fausto. I fear that he and the truth are not well acquainted. Such men wear a cloak of courtesy which often conceals a dagger of malice. You should try to avoid him as much as you can until we are able to rid ourselves of him.’