Other members of the crew joined in, making tart observations on what they hoped to do before they left the Canaries. They told Matthias that he should hire the service of a good whore because the women of the Great Khan were too small for Spaniards and not able to cater for their sexual needs.
Matthias half-listened. Staring round the moon-dappled deck, he idly wondered which of these men did not possess their own soul. Was the Rose Demon amongst them? So far he had encountered nothing to provoke any suspicions and he wondered about the old stories he had read in Oxford — could demons cross vast expanses of water? And, if they did reach lands across the Western Seas, would Matthias find peace? A sanctuary from the forces which had pursued him for most of his life?
Six days after leaving Palos, the
The rest of the day was spent in bringing the ships alongside each other in the harbour. The Pinzon brothers came over to confer with Columbus whilst the crew waited to see what orders would be given. At last, late in the afternoon, Columbus announced that the
Matthias found Gomera a restful place: its white, gleaming buildings, small, cool wine shops, gardens and vineyards and the great, green expanse of the island stretching up to the rim of an extinct volcano. The islanders were an easy, careless, merry group of people who welcomed the ships and the gossip they brought.
They landed at Gomera on 12 August. Matthias spent the first few days wandering round the 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 Sebastian and he could make out the
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 Sebastian. 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,’ she smiled, ‘I come and go as I wish.’
‘And your companion? The man who always escorts you?’
‘Oh, he’s with you, Matthias. He’s on board the
‘Who are you?’ Matthias asked. ‘You say your name is Morgana.’
‘I am a servant of the Master,’ she replied, her smile fading as she sipped the white wine Matthias had poured. ‘I go where he tells me. I do what he orders. I have a special charge for you.’
‘I can see that,’ Matthias replied tartly. ‘I am hounded like a dog from one place to another. Snatched up, imprisoned, bullied and threatened. If you are the breeze, Morgana, I am a dry leaf with no life of my own.’
‘Are you?’ she teased back. ‘Are you really, Matthias? Tell me how different you are from any of the men who serve on the
‘Other people know why they live. They have a purpose.’
‘Some do,’ she replied. ‘But so have you, Matthias.’ She leant across the table and squeezed his hand.
‘Am I his son?’ Matthias asked abruptly.
Her face softened. ‘You are the Beloved, Matthias. You are his Beloved. He wants you. He wants your love. He wants you to accept him for what he is.’
‘And how long must I wait?’
‘Love is about waiting, Matthias. Haven’t you realised that? There is a time and a place for love to be consummated, to be returned, to be agreed upon. It will come!’
‘And what happens if I go?’ Matthias asked. ‘What happens if I flee?’
‘What will be, shall be and a man’s fate is written upon his forehead.’ Morgana glanced round the room. ‘Here we are on the island of Gomera. If you wish, Matthias, you could travel back to Sutton Courteny, and sit in the fields and listen to the nightingales sing. There are many ways of travelling back home. Various paths, strange routes but, in the end, the journey will be about your heart’s desire. Matthias, you carry your world within you. You can fly to the dark side of the moon, free from Torquemada, of all those who pursue you — but never free of yourself.’
Matthias heard a commotion on the far side of the room. A group of young men who had been playing noisily were now looking across at him, arguing loudly amongst themselves. They dismissed him with disdain, their
