The Rose Demon

happened. It was as if the world had forgotten him. Now and again a physician would call to ensure all was well. If it hadn’t been for the servant Miguel, Matthias would have spent most of his time either talking to himself or reading the different works of piety Torquemada’s officers delivered to his room. Miguel had been his saviour. An Inquisition spy and certainly Torquemada’s creature, nevertheless he had a sardonic view of the world and kept Matthias informed of events in the city and beyond.

    By the end of February Miguel had become Matthias’ teacher: first in the basic elements of the Spanish tongue then, as Matthias grew more proficient, correcting his use of the language until Matthias found he was able to think in Spanish. Matthias noticed how Miguel, time and again, would deftly turn the conversation to the matters on which Matthias had been tried. Matthias, however, maintained every aspect of orthodoxy. He took the Sacrament on Sunday and Holy Days in a small side chapel. He deliberately showed little interest in Miguel’s stories about witchcraft and demons in Spain. It was like a game of chess. Miguel would turn the conversation one way and Matthias would expertly turn it back. The subject which really preoccupied him as the weeks passed was Columbus. Who was he? What were his plans? Miguel would always clap his hands and shake his head.

    ‘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