The Rose Demon

arbalest and slipped out of the stockade. He kept to the coastline.

    Matthias was more pleased to be by himself than intent on spying out possible dangers. He sensed something was about to happen but accepted there was little he could do. He continued walking, keeping the sea to his right.

    When night fell he camped out in the open, finding a small cave on the edge of the trees overlooking the sea. Matthias collected some dried wood, struck a tinder and sat staring out into the darkness. That night he dreamt once more of Barn wick and, when he awoke, he felt stiff and slightly cold, for the fire had gone out. Matthias went to the cave mouth, stretched, then gasped. Last night the sea had been calm, the waves breaking like a dull thunder on the rocks of the coral reef below him. Now it shimmered in the early morning sun and seemed to be full of long, high-beached canoes streaming towards the shoreline. Matthias crouched, straining his eyes. He counted and reckoned there must be at least 60 canoes; each bore 20 to 30 Caniba warriors, their gaudy headdresses flapping in the morning breeze. They were moving past him, turning in towards the shore somewhere to the north. Others followed and Matthias realised this was not some raid but a war horde on the move. He hurried back and reached Natividad late in the afternoon and demanded a meeting with de Harana and Guitirres. Both men listened contemptuously.

    ‘They know Columbus has left,’ Matthias concluded. ‘The ships have gone. I think they had been invited here. The men must be brought back, the fortress prepared. With a stout defence we could drive them off.’

    ‘A stout defence could drive them off,’ Guitirres slurred. ‘I agree, Englishman, there’s nothing the natives fear more than Spanish steel or a bombard stone tearing them limb from limb. I am taking a troop of men out of the stockade tomorrow morning. De Harana here agrees the men need to be kept busy. We need supplies and the natives have said there’s gold.’ His eyes gleamed in their creases of fat. ‘There are mines further inland. We’ll pile the treasure so high the Captain General will have no need for a beacon when he returns.’

    Matthias protested but de Harana and Guitirres were adamant. They were bored: it might be months before Columbus returned and, like their Captain General, the officers were determined to return to Spain as wealthy men.

    The following morning Guitirres led forty of the men out. Matthias was ordered to accompany him. The Englishman’s heart sank at the lack of organisation. The troops straggled out in a line. They were even allowed to bring their native women, and he strongly suspected that many of the water bottles contained wine. No scouts or flankers were sent out ahead. Guitirres left just after dawn. Matthias kept to the rear of the column. Now and again he would leave the track and go off into the jungle. He found nothing to confirm his fears that the Caniba were following them.

    Just before noon they stopped at the mouth of a small valley, a pleasant open space, the land cultivated by a nearby village whose smoke they could glimpse. While the men rested, Matthias went ahead, following the small brook which wound its way along the valley floor. The fields were deserted. Matthias stopped and studied the dark line of the jungle on either side. He could see nothing untoward. The march continued. Matthias expected to be greeted by some of the villagers but the valley remained silent. Even Guitirres became slightly suspicious.

    ‘For the love of God!’ Matthias snarled. ‘At least send scouts out ahead!’

    Guitirres shrugged, glanced bleary-eyed, turned his back and went after his men. Matthias stopped by the brook, opened his jerkin and began bathing his face and neck with cool water. He heard a cry and glanced up. The column had stopped. From the line of trees on their right had appeared a long column of Caniba. Silent, menacing, they advanced down the slope towards the valley floor. More of them followed. The Spaniards gazed in as tonishment as this phalanx of warriors, so unlike the natives they’d met, marched slowly towards them. Their chiefs preceded them; warriors armed with clubs and axes, their headdresses adorned by the brilliant plumage of parrots and other wild birds. Matthias stood up, slipping a bolt into the arbalest. Guitirres was shouting orders but the men appeared stunned. Some of the Indian women were screaming, tugging at their