The Rose Demon

seaside port. He then went out into the countryside to view the great dragon trees. Huge, red-barked, with strangely arranged branches, these produced a red-coloured resin highly prized as a medicine.

    Matthias mixed with the crew, but after a while he grew tired of days and evenings spent in the tavernas carousing and quarrelling with whores. He took to journeying out, going for long walks, climbing the escarpment of rocky ridges and sitting under the cool shade of the trees. Below him sprawled San Sebastián and he could make out the Santa Maria and Niña , their sails unhooked, as Columbus changed the rigging, eager to catch every breeze once he had set sail into the unknown ocean.

    Matthias listened to de Torres or the little fisherman, Frederico Totonaz: their constant chatter about their families, beloved ones, girlfriends, as well as whispers about Columbus being mad, that he was a secret Jew and how he possessed secret information on what would happen across the great ocean. Would they sail into nothingness? And, if there was land, would the women be comely and welcoming? Matthias compared their concerns to his own life. He felt no attraction towards women - sometimes a desire to empty himself, to stroke smooth flesh, to bury his face in a woman’s hair - but then he’d think of Rosamund and his desire would fade. Only now and again, particularly in the last weeks of his imprisonment in Granada, had Matthias confronted the problem which clouded his soul. Was he the son of Parson Osbert or the offspring of a demon? Was that possible? If it was, was his soul lost and damned before he was ever born? But, if that was the case, why these constant confrontations? What was at stake? What was the issue?

    On the Feast of the Assumption 1492, Matthias sat on the hillside and stared down at Columbus’ ships. Despite his coldness, Matthias felt a kinship with the Genoese. The Captain General was an outsider, a stranger, a man driven by a burning ambition. On the voyage from Palos, Matthias had listened to the crew and watched the admiral of the Western Ocean. Columbus was driven by one thought and one thought only: to find out a new route to the Indies, to bring back the treasures of Cathay and Cipango and lay them at the feet of Ferdinand and Isabella. Matthias moved deeper into the shade of a dragon tree. And what would happen if they ever did return? Matthias was totally determined not to fall into the hands of Torquemada yet it seemed that no royal protection could save him from the Inquisition. And what happened if the voyage went wrong? Would Matthias be blamed? Bundled off into some dungeon to be tortured and quietly garrotted? Matthias shifted uneasily. Should he continue this journey? Columbus was determined to sail as soon as all was ready. Matthias knew from the gossip that other ships sailed to and from Gomera. He could travel back to Lisbon, beyond the arm of the Inquisition, and then into France, perhaps Italy?

    Matthias rose and made his way slowly down the hill. So immersed in his thoughts, he was oblivious to the warbling of the birds and the beautiful variegated butterflies which moved in clouds from one bunch of flowers to another. He entered the back streets of San Sebastián. It was still early in the afternoon. He felt thirsty so he called into a small taverna. He bought a jug of chilled wine and sat in the corner sipping at it, wondering what to do. He was lost in his own thoughts: sometimes he was back at Barnwick, or waiting on the ridge at East Stoke.

    He felt a soft touch on his hand and became aware of a cloying, lingering perfume. He looked up. Morgana was sitting opposite him, her red hair like a gorgeous cloud on either side of her beautiful face, green eyes smiling. She proffered her empty cup.

    ‘Are you going to drink alone?’

    Matthias stared at this exquisite witch-woman. Her dress was a low-cut, clinging simple gown fringed with gold: it emphasised her beautiful slender neck and rich lustrous breasts. Matthias noticed the green earrings which hung from either lobe, small balls of flashing light. He filled her cup and glanced round the taverna. The other customers were looking at him curiously.

    ‘Just ignore them, Matthias,’ Morgana murmured, her green eyes more catlike than ever. She lowered her head and dabbed at the sweat between her breasts. Her eyes never left his.

    ‘Where do you come from?’ Matthias asked. ‘How did you get here?’

    ‘Like the breeze,’