The Rose Demon

sleet, dying leaves and iron-grey skies. Matthias was still perplexed, unable to establish what was so special about this place: why the Rose Demon and his followers such as Morgana had been so determined that he come here.

Even the Captain General now suspected that, perhaps, he had not reached the Indies. He took careful note of the fruits, trees, birds and creatures they discovered. Some of these were killed and dried for passage back to Spain but the Captain General still cherished dreams of casks of silver.

They eventually reached Colba, which Columbus renamed Cuba: high mountains soaring up to the sky, strange palm trees. The natives were similar to those they had met earlier, bringing out beds made out of netting, small gold figurines, harpoons and fruit. They listened patiently to Columbus’ interminable questions about Golden Cathay, nodding and pointing, as the others had, further south. All of them were friendly and showed no fear of Columbus and his party until the word ‘Caniba’ was used. In Cuba the daughter of a chieftain came aboard. De Torres questioned her closely. ‘The Caniba,’ de Torres explained, having listened carefully to the young woman, ‘live further to the south.’ He paused as the young woman chattered again. ‘They paint their faces red and have cords tied along their legs and arms,’ de Torres translated. ‘They come in long canoes and raid these islands. They take the people and use their flesh as meat: small babies they regard as a delicacy. They show no mercy or compassion.’

Columbus, seated on a chair with the girl at his feet, told de Torres to tell the girl that she need not fear. He, with his bombards, would destroy the Caniba. The young woman listened attentively. Her soft, gentle face, however, remained concerned. She replied slowly, carefully using her fingers to paint pictures in the air.

‘You cannot kill them,’ de Torres explained to Columbus and the rest. ‘They are as many as the grains in the sand. They fear no one.’

A few days later they reached the island of Bohio. Its young cacique or chieftain, who called himself Cuacagnari, showed Columbus and his party some of the terrors of the Caniba. The chieftain, a young man of no more than twenty summers, met them on the beach bringing gifts of fruit and the juice of mastic trees which Columbus recognised as valuable and hoped to take back to Spain. The conversation followed the line of others, de Torres translating. Columbus described the glory of Spain, the power of Ferdinand and Isabella, the strength of their bombards and again asked where was Cathay or Cipango? The cacique listened attentively and again, to Columbus’ exasperation, pointed further south. However, he made signs with his hands that they should go no further. He, too, talked of Caniba and brought forward three of his subjects: these had several ugly wounds on their arms and legs, as if a dog had taken great bites out of them though the flesh had healed well. The cacique explained how these people had been captured by the Caniba. They had begun to eat them alive but then they had escaped. Columbus and his party stared in disbelief. When they returned to their ships, the Captain General and the Pinzon brothers debated whether they should sail further south or change tack. A dispute broke out and the following day, without taking his leave, Martin Pinzon and the Pinta crew slipped their moorings and left, determined to make their own discoveries. Columbus continued his journey. One morning, towards the end of November, he came to a small island. He fired a bombard for he knew that the news of their arrival had spread the length and breadth of the archipelago. The natives would be expecting him and invariably flocked down to the beach. This time there was no such reception: the beach was empty, the trees, a long, dark forbidding line.

‘Fitzosbert! Baldini!’ Columbus ordered. ‘Take the boat and go ashore!’

Two of the sailors were ordered to go with them as an escort. All four were armed with crossbows, swords and daggers. The boat was beached, the two sailors left on guard. Matthias with Baldini entered the dark line of trees. Matthias was now used to such forests, with their palm trees very similar to those he had seen on the Canaries, gaily coloured birds, strange smells, the chattering clatter of the jungle around him. They found a trackway, Baldini going first. Now and again they’d stop to leave a mark to ensure they did not get lost. They must have journeyed for some time, and the deeper they went into the jungle, the more concerned Matthias became. He suspected they were being watched: he was sure he had seen dark figures slip through the jungle on either side of him.

‘I think we should return.’ Matthias stopped.

He armed his crossbow. At the same time came the thud of a bombard from the Santa Maria, a prearranged signal that something was wrong. Matthias, not waiting for Baldini’s agreement, turned and ran back along the trackway. He stopped and looked over his shoulder: Baldini was following him. Matthias also glimpsed something else, a flash of red amongst the trees.

‘We are being followed!’ he shouted, and ran on.

Because he was on the trackway, he was certain they could move faster than their pursuers. Matthias, drenched in sweat, kept looking to the right and left, fearful lest the pursuers encircle them and cut off their escape. At last he turned a bend and saw the beach stretching out before them. He glimpsed the Santa Maria. The two sailors had pushed the boat back into the shallows and were waiting for them. He turned to urge Baldini to run faster but the young Spaniard had stopped, chest heaving. He was smiling, staring strangely at Matthias.

‘Come on!’ Matthias urged.

‘Why, Creatura bona atque parva?’ The words sounded so strange in this exotic, humid, strange-smelling jungle: a far cry from the greenery of Gloucestershire, the cool darkness of the church at Tenebral. ‘These are our friends, Matthias. These are my subjects. I will die to become one of them but you have nothing to fear.’

Matthias heard a shout from behind him. He turned and stared in horror. Two natives had stepped on to the track, blocking his way. Matthias had never seen such fierceness: tall men, darker-skinned than the natives he had met, with cords wrapped high along the calves of their legs. Each carried a club or axe. Their faces reminded him of ghouls, red ochre round the eyes, the cheeks and mouth smeared in white: blue and gold cockatoo feathers pushed into their cropped, matted hair. Matthias took a step forward. Both men were looking past him, eyes on Baldini as if they recognised him.

‘Caniba!’ Matthias spat out the word.

The leader stepped forward, mouth open, teeth like that of a dog, sharp and jagged. Matthias brought the crossbow up and fired, the shaft hit the man full in the chest. The other leapt forward. Matthias struck him with the crossbow and burst into a run, down the sun-dappled forest path. Behind him he heard a cry, a howl, long and blood-chilling.

The forest became alive with sound. Matthias turned to his left. Dark shapes were now running through the trees but, because of the undergrowth, not as fast as him. He reached the beach. Matthias heard the crash of a bombard, saw a puff of smoke and a stone ball crashed into the jungle behind him. He was now running for the boat. A terrible scream echoed from the forest behind him. He did not know whether it was Baldini or one of his pursuers. His chest ached, his legs felt heavy. He reached the shoreline, the water was cold as he splashed out, arms extended and he was hoisted aboard. One of the sailors was screaming. Matthias heard the twang of a crossbow, oars splashing and the boat pulled away.

Matthias stumbled to his knees and gasped in astonishment. The entire beach was filling with Caniba, armed with spears and clubs, their coloured, jaunty headdresses bobbing in the breeze. These surged down to the water line, shouting their war cries, waving spears and clubs. Matthias kept still as the oarsmen cursed him. The boat was small and narrow and there was a danger that it would be upset.

‘To the left!’ one of them shouted.

Matthias looked over. Canoes were now being brought down to the water line but, at last, the sailors were out of danger. The boat bobbed against the side of the Santa Maria even as Matthias heard the Captain General order the bombards to be fired again. The three men climbed over the rails: the boat was secured, the anchor raised and the Santa Maria turned for the open sea.

35

A few weeks later, on Christmas Eve, Matthias crouched at the foot of the mast, feeling the Santa Maria rock gently beneath him. The night was silent. Matthias slipped in and out of