Paul Doherty - The Rose Demon

‘Columbus,’ he declared, ‘is a dreamer, a Genoese. He claims to have secret maps and has been begging their Majesties and Holy Mother Church to fund an expedition across the great unknown Western Ocean. He really believes that, by sailing west, he can find a shorter route to the country of the Great Khan and so open up a lucrative trade in spices and gold, but the man’s a fool!’

‘Is there anything to the west?’ Matthias asked. He recalled Abbot Benedict’s reference to the Beautiful Islands.

‘There are stories of islands populated by strange people and mythical beasts.’

‘What do you believe, Miguel?’

‘I don’t think the world’s flat,’ Miguel retorted. ‘Everyone knows it’s a sphere, otherwise, when you walked along a road,’ he smiled triumphantly, ‘you wouldn’t see the spire of a church rise up on the horizon.’ His smile faded. ‘Some people believe Columbus is a sorcerer.’

Matthias deliberately stifled a yawn as this funny, rather nervous servant of Torquemada tried to bring the conversation to more topical matters.

At night Matthias was more circumspect. He dreamt scenes from his past and was fearful lest he talk in his sleep and thus provide fresh information for the silent watchers. In the middle of June, however, Torquemada came to visit him. The Inquisitor General was booted and spurred, ready to leave: his attitude to Matthias was one of bored indifference. He handed his English captive a purse of silver.

‘In a few days,’ he declared, after giving his final benediction, ‘you will be released. Soldiers will take you to the port of Palos.’ He shrugged. ‘After that, you are on your own!’ He was about to leave but turned, one hand on the door. ‘Of course, you might desert but that would be very foolish. If you are caught, and it would not be hard to hunt for an Englishman in southern Spain, we would certainly meet again. Goodbye, Englishman!’ And he slammed the door unceremoniously behind him.

Two weeks later an officer of the Santa Hermanda arrived late in the evening and announced that, tomorrow morning, they would leave. Matthias was to pack and be ready. Matthias was overjoyed but his happiness was soon marred by the long, bone-racking journey under a scorching sun to the small fishing port of Palos. There Matthias had been handed over to Columbus’ business partners and Spanish captains, the Pinzon brothers. They were tactful, but cold and distant. Matthias recognised the subtlety of Torquemada. Both men saw him as a mercenary, a creature of the Inquisition.

Columbus himself, who now had the title of Captain General, was even more cold and forbidding. The Genoese was tall, thickset, open-faced, with eyes heavy-lidded under a high, sweeping brow. In many ways he reminded Matthias of Torquemada: a man absorbed by dreams. When the Pinzon brothers introduced Matthias, Columbus hardly raised his eyes from the charts spread out on the table before him. He limply clasped Matthias’ hand, said that he should expect no favours, and then dismissed him.

Matthias moved against the ship’s rail. He’d also been given clear instructions about his conduct on board ship: the rigging of the sails, the navigation, duties on board were not for him. In the event of any enemy attack he would man the light cannon, four-inch bombards which fired a stone ball, or take one of the crossbows. Matthias chewed on his lip and watched the sailors scurrying like monkeys around the deck. Bare-footed, dressed in drab hose and ragged linen shirts, all were born sailors. They moved with the lightness of a cat despite the pitching deck and the constant sea spray which drenched everything from the huge square sail bearing a resplendent red cross to the small bumboat slung along the side. Matthias hardly knew any of the crew. He’d met the royal representative Escobedo, whilst the barber surgeon, a converted Jew, Louis de Torres, was amiable enough. The rest of the crew, however, regarded him as a foreigner.

‘Don’t worry,’ de Torres had confided. ‘I’m here to patch their wounds and, because I am fluent in many tongues, I’m to be Columbus’ interpreter for the Great Khan.’ He winked, a sign that he no more believed Columbus would meet such a great king than, indeed, any other of the crew did.

‘Columbus is a dreamer,’ de Torres hissed, ‘and every man Jack on board our three ships is only here because they have come from Palos. If it hadn’t been for the Pinzon brothers, Columbus would have had to paddle his own boat out into the unknown.’

Nonetheless, despite all this, Matthias had been pleased to be free of Torquemada. The Pinzon brothers kept an eye on him but he’d been allowed to wander the taverns and wine shops which lined the busy quayside. Matthias had caught the excitement caused by Columbus’ projected voyage. Many were doubtful, though, secretly, they nursed dreams of finding golden cities and mines rich with silver. Matthias had also kept his ears open for any strange occurrences. He still wondered if it really had been Morgana he’d glimpsed in Granada.

In the end, the days passed in humdrum fashion until on 1 August Matthias had been given his orders that, the next time he boarded the Santa Maria , it would be no exercise. He was to check the bombards and ensure that the strings of the crossbows were still dry. Columbus was determined to catch the easterly winds and sail out into the unknown.

‘Fitzosbert! Fitzosbert!’

Matthias broke from his reverie. De Torres was standing on the steps of the forecastle beckoning him over.

‘The Captain General wishes to see you.’

Matthias looked at the small, monkey-faced man, his friendly eyes and ever-smiling mouth. De Torres scratched his close-cropped hair.

‘He’s in a temper,’ he whispered. ‘He’s never in the best of moods so watch what you say.’

Columbus’ cabin was no more than a dark panelled closet under the stern castle. A small pallet bed in one corner, a collapsible table, a chair and two stools. Columbus was sitting, studying the charts spread over his lap. He was dressed in a light blue shirt, open at the neck. He’d kicked his boots off and his bare feet tapped impatiently on the wooden floor.

‘Sit down! Sit down! Sit down!’ Columbus wiped the sweat from his brow. He rolled the charts up and gently tapped Matthias on the cheek, forcing his head sideways. ‘The Pinzon brothers noticed that!’

‘Noticed what?’ Matthias replied.

‘The rope marks on your neck!’

Matthias nursed the small scar left by the rough handling of Emloe’s men on the Winchelsea road.

‘Are you a felon, Englishman? A gallows bird?’

‘I’m a soldier,’ Matthias replied bleakly. He regarded his life as a closed book, especially to this Genoese who studied him in such a hostile manner.

‘I know nothing of you.’ Columbus leant forward. ‘You seem to have an honest face. I received the letter from the Inquisition that you were to come, be part of the crew with the specific duties of master-at-arms. However, you are not on my manifest and I shall not mention you in my log. Most of the crew here are seamen from Palos, about two or three are from gaols elsewhere: people whom the authorities in Spain want as far away from them as possible. You are one of these. I am Captain General. I have the power of life and death over everyone in this fleet. You will carry out my orders and that’s all I care about. I don’t give a fig about your past or why you are really here. If we return to Spain, Torquemada wishes to meet you again. I expect you to obey my orders. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir!’

‘Good. Your duties are light. Remember: don’t try to climb the rigging or mast, you’ll only go overboard. I haven’t got time for a search. However, you can be part of the forward watch. Each man does four hours every day, sometimes in the morning, sometimes at night. I expect you to be awake when I do my rounds.’