The Rose Demon

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,