Hawk Quest

by Robert Lyndon

  Vallon looked up at Wayland, balanced on the yard thirty feet above deck. ‘Can you still see them?’

  ‘Yes. They’re holding the same course.’

  Snorri and Raul emerged from the hold. ‘Just a little leak,’ said Raul. ‘We plugged it. The girl’s keeping an eye on it.’

  Snorri took the tiller. They sailed on. A subterranean glow spread up from the east and the moon rose huge and tremulous, gold at first, paling to a marbled eggshell. The Norman ships appeared again like pale lanterns.

  ‘Will we beat them to the entrance?’ Vallon asked Snorri.

  ‘It’ll be ticklish close.’

  ‘You said that Shearwater can outsail any English mudskipper.’

  ‘Aye, but they’ve got a clear passage up the Lynn channel, while we got to steer round the Mare’s Tail.’

  ‘A sandbank?’

  ‘Girt big island more like. Three miles long and curves south.’

  ‘Forcing us towards the Norman fleet.’

  Snorri tittered, as he did when stressed. ‘Aye. Right into their path.’

  Wayland stayed aloft with instructions to keep an eye out for shoals. Raul reloaded his crossbow, standing with both feet on the arms and then, after inflating his chest, pulling up the string in one vein-popping effort. He claimed that it had a three hundred-pound draw and could shoot a bolt clear through two armoured soldiers. Vallon didn’t doubt it. In an idle moment, he’d tried to span the weapon and found that he could barely deflect the cord. Since their journey began, Raul had kept up a running debate with Wayland about who had the more deadly weapon, Raul insisting that the crossbow was more accurate and powerful, Wayland — when he could be bothered to reply — pointing out that he could loose six arrows for every dart that Raul shot.

  ‘Sandbank ahead,’ Wayland called.

  It broached the sea like the back of a half-submerged whale. Snorri steered the ship a few points to starboard, while Raul used a tacking boom fitted to the sail’s forward leech to keep it exposed to the full draw of the wind. Shearwater’s speed hardly lessened, but now they were angling towards the enemy. The Norman ships were pulling ahead. Vallon could see the headlands on each side of the Wash’s mouth and knew that the two leading ships would reach it first. Even if Shearwater evaded their initial attack, the manoeuvres would allow the other vessels to join the action. The nearest of them wasn’t more than a mile to starboard and Shearwater still hadn’t reached the end of the Mare’s Tail.

  Vallon tapped his foot without being aware of it. They still hadn’t cleared the sandbank and all but one of the Norman ships were showing their sterns. The laggard was square on to Shearwater, so close that Vallon could see figures moving along its side.

  ‘The leading ships are reefing sail,’ Raul shouted. ‘They’re going to lie in wait.’

  Vallon watched the slow convergence. The two leading Norman ships were separating and the others were moving to fill the gap. Vallon joined Snorri. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘We ain’t goin’ to smash through. Those ships are as big as Shearwater.’

  ‘Clear water ahead,’ Wayland cried.

  ‘We got one trick we can play,’ Snorri said. ‘Soon as we get round the Mare’s Tail, tack hard to port and run for a channel that’ll bring us out at the northern tip of the Wash. The Normans can’t turn into the wind. They’ll have to go round the far side of the bar.’

  Shearwater slid out from the end of the sandbank. Vallon saw that Snorri’s proposed course would shave the edge of the bay.

  ‘We got to decide quick,’ said Snorri.

  ‘Do it.’

  Snorri called out to Raul and leaned on the rudder. In the uncertain light the Normans didn’t spot the change of course, or perhaps they thought it was a feint. By the time they reacted and began to track across the bay, Shearwater was heading north, across the wind.

  The two leading Norman ships still had the advantage of sea room. As the coast drew closer, Vallon began to think that Snorri’s gambit had forced them into a corner. Ahead was a channel between coastal mudflats and a narrow bar of sand. One of the Norman ships was shadowing them less than half a mile downwind, while its partner took a more seaward route. Like dogs coursing a rabbit. They were nearly at the entrance of the channel. Once inside they would be committed. If the Norman ship reached the other end first, inter — ception was certain.

  Shearwater took the inshore passage. The Norman ship with a lead of perhaps two hundred yards kept to the other side of the bar. Vallon could hear its commander shouting instructions. On Shearwater there was silence. Wayland kept lowering his bow and brushing his sleeve across his mouth.

  ‘I think we’re gaining on them,’ said Hero.

  Anxious minutes went by before Vallon dared to believe that he was right. They pulled level, the two ships sailing up different sides of the sandbank like shadows of each other. The Normans crowded the side, roaring a challenge.

  ‘Definitely gaining,’ Hero said.

  The soldiers saw it, too, and their cries turned to wails of frustration. Out to sea they’d enjoyed the better of the wind, but in the lee of the coast, Shearwater was the more efficient vessel.

  Yard by yard Shearwater increased her lead. When she slid out from the channel she was a bowshot ahead of her pursuer, only two bowshots from the shore. So close that Vallon could see a light in a coastal settlement.

  Snorri cavorted. ‘They won’t catch us now.’

  Vallon went aft, touching each man’s arm in passing. ‘Well done,’ he murmured. ‘Well done.’

  Raul punched the air. ‘Fate spares the undoomed warrior.’

  They headed into open sea. Vallon watched until the sails behind them were very small before turning.

  ‘Everyone stand down. Fill your bellies and get some rest.’ As Wayland walked past, Vallon reached out and caught him by the sleeve. ‘Not you.’

  Wayland stood before him mute and defiant. His actions had been unforgivable. Vallon had hanged men for lesser offences. He had to make an example. God knows, discipline was lax enough as it was. If he let Wayland’s insubordination go unpunished, every man would take it as licence to do as he pleased. All this Vallon knew, and at the same time he recognised that he couldn’t afford to lose the falconer. He and the rest of the rabble were all Vallon had. The constraints on what punishment he could mete out made him even angrier.

  ‘You endangered all our lives by going back for the girl. If we weren’t so short-handed, I’d have left you to be killed.’

  ‘I thank you for your mercy. We both thank you.’

  ‘Never mind that. The girl can’t stay. A pet has no place on this ship.’

  Wayland sucked in his cheeks and stared past him.

  ‘We’ll put her ashore when we next make land.’

  ‘She doesn’t have anywhere to go. Her family’s dead.’

  Vallon thumped the gunwale. ‘We’re not a refuge for orphans. The girl goes.’

  Wayland swallowed and lifted his gaze.

  ‘If you care about her, you must see that it’s for her own good. Think of the risks if she stays.’

  ‘She’s not afraid of the voyage. Her father was a fisherman.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the perils of the sea. A woman on a ship full of men is a recipe for disaster. You know how Raul behaves when he’s taken a skinful.’

  ‘Raul wouldn’t dare touch her.’

  ‘You see. You’re already contemplating the challenge.’ Vallon sank back. ‘We’ll be taking on more hands and I’m not in a position to pick and choose. Doubtless we’ll end up with some men of base character. I’ve seen the madness that infects soldiers when a woman is set loose in their company. God knows, I’ve buried enough of them.’

  ‘The dog will kill anyone who lays a finger on her.’

  ‘Is that supposed to reassure me?’

  Wayland lapsed back into silence.

  Vallon leaned back. ‘Then there’s Snorri.’

  Wayland met his eyes. ‘What about h
im?’

  ‘Don’t pretend there isn’t bad blood between him and the girl. I care nothing for his superstitions, but we rely on his cooperation.’

  Wayland gave a contemptuous smile. ‘He’ll betray us with or without the girl.’

  Vallon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Explain yourself.’

  ‘His wits have grown soft. He talks to himself without knowing it. He plans to rob us.’

  Vallon shifted on his seat. ‘Well, I’ll deal with that problem in due course.’ His voice hardened. ‘It changes nothing. The girl goes.’

  Wayland looked at his feet. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Vallon softened his tone. ‘I’m sure your motives were kind, and by good fortune your rashness didn’t result in our ruin. We’ll set the girl down adequately provided for. The money will come from your share of the profits. That will be your punishment and you must agree that it’s milder than you deserve.’

  Wayland lifted his eyes. ‘I meant, I’m sorry I can’t remain in your service.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you intend to go with her.’

  ‘You said I could leave once you’d set sail.’

  Vallon gestured in the direction of the coast. ‘The girl’s stolen your wits. That isn’t your native country. You won’t find anything there except poverty and death. You’re an outlaw with a price on your head. Someone will turn you in. Even if you get away from the coast, you have no land and no one to protect you. At best you’ll end up a bondman guiding a plough. Is that what you want?’

  Wayland’s eyes flashed. ‘I’ll find a forest where we’ll live as well as any lord and lady.’

  ‘Rubbish. When you ran wild, you ran alone. Think what it will mean to saddle yourself with a girl. You’re only — what? — seventeen? Too young to tie yourself down.’

  Wayland didn’t answer. Vallon had been speaking in a heightened whisper, aware that Snorri was straining to overhear. He beckoned Wayland closer. ‘Our relationship has been thorny. You haven’t shown me the respect that’s due. No, don’t interrupt. I speak from experience, not vanity. Every enterprise must have a leader. From the outset you’ve only submitted to my authority when it suited you. I would have let you go your own way long ago if I hadn’t seen in you some admirable qualities. You’re brave, resourceful, sharp-witted. Learn to submit to your superiors and you could have a bright future.’

  Wayland kept his face down.

  ‘I thought you wanted to trap gyrfalcons.’

  Wayland raised his head. ‘I do. That’s why I joined you.’

  ‘Then don’t throw the opportunity away. Only once in a lifetime can a man follow a dream.’

  Wayland’s voice choked. ‘I can’t abandon her. I made a pledge.’

  ‘Of marriage?’

  ‘Not that.’

  ‘What then?’

  The dog came pattering down the deck. Wayland cuffed it and it lay down with its eyes fixed on Vallon’s face. He crossed his arms.

  ‘So that’s your final word. If the girl goes, you go too.’

  Wayland composed himself. ‘Yes.’

  Vallon gave a slow expiring sigh and looked across the moon’s silvery track. The land was out of sight. All horizons were empty. He rubbed his forehead.

  ‘Bring her to me.’

  ‘You won’t frighten her?’

  ‘Just fetch her.’

  When Wayland had gone, Vallon contemplated how low his stock had fallen. Only two years ago he’d commanded armies. With a wave of an arm he’d brought squadrons sweeping into action. He’d ridden into towns at the head of his troops and seen the shuttered dread of citizens who knew he wielded the power of life or death. He’d doomed deserters and cowards to the rope without a moment’s thought. Now he was reduced to negotiating with a peasant over his sweetheart.

  Syth moved so softly that he didn’t hear her approach until her shadow fell over him. Taller than he’d expected, slim as a reed, with eyes like a cat’s, something fey in her aspect. He almost reached out and touched her to see if she was real.

  ‘So you’re the dove who’s lured my haggard away.’

  She darted a glance at Wayland.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Syth.’

  Vallon stared out to sea. ‘The Normans know we haven’t quit these shores for good. They’ll be hunting us up and down the coast. We daren’t put ashore for several days — long enough for you to come to your senses. In the meantime, the girl must crop her hair and wear men’s clothes. She sleeps alone and you’ll keep a chaste distance at all times. While she’s with us, she might as well earn her keep. Can she cook and sew? Does she have any other talents?’

  Wayland translated Vallon’s conditions. The girl’s hands went to her hair.

  ‘She won’t be any trouble,’ Wayland said.

  Vallon waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Go and get something to eat.’

  Wayland hesitated. ‘What about you, sir?’

  Vallon pulled his cloak about him. ‘Just get out of my sight.’

  XVI

  Hero picked his way towards the bow. He’d checked on Vallon several times during the night, covering him with fleeces and blankets as the wind freshened. Now he stood before the shapeless heap and cleared his throat. When that didn’t wake the Frank, he reached out and gave a tentative prod.

  Vallon reared up.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed, sir. It’s only me. I’ve brought you some pottage. Eat it while it’s warm.’

  Vallon groaned and felt his ribs. ‘I feel as if I’ve been broken on the wheel.’ He supped from the bowl, his eyes switching back and forth. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Not long before dawn. We’ve been running east all night.’

  Vallon grunted and resumed eating. ‘This is better than the slops Raul serves up.’

  ‘The girl made it. She seems to have made a complete recovery. She’s a strange thing.’

  Vallon’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. He shrugged and continued eating. ‘Has everyone found a place to sleep?’

  ‘We’re still feeling our way. We’ll organise things better by daylight.’

  Vallon handed back his bowl and leaned against the stempost with his face to the stars.

  Hero turned the bowl in his hands. ‘Do you think Drogo will leave us in peace now?’

  Vallon gave a jagged laugh. ‘We’re a bone in his gullet. He won’t rest until he’s spat it out.’ Vallon squinted at Hero. ‘You heard his denunciation of me.’

  ‘I paid no attention to his slanders.’

  ‘He spoke the bald truth.’ Vallon shifted to make space. ‘Sit down. A long road stretches ahead and you may as well know what sort of man is taking you down it.’

  Hero was trembling. Vallon pulled a blanket over him. For a time they just sat there, the ship rocking through the waves, Snorri half-asleep at the rudder, the rest of the company pitched in heaps on the deck.

  ‘I won’t weary you with a long history,’ said Vallon. ‘My family were minor nobles holding a small grant of land from Guillaume, Duke of Aquitaine and Count of Poitiers. I was a page at his court and fought my first battle under his banner at the age of seventeen. I acquitted myself well and rose in rank. My promotion to captain before I was twenty caused resentment among some knights of nobler birth. I began my campaigning in Spain nine years ago, when I was twenty-one.’

  Hero must have betrayed surprise.

  ‘You thought I was older,’ said Vallon. ‘You’ll soon discover what stamped these lines on my face. Back to the Spanish expedition. The pope had called for a crusade against the Moors. Guillaume was one of several Frankish nobles who answered the summons. After joining our Spanish allies, the army besieged the town of Barbastro in the Muslim kingdom of Lerida. They took the town after forty days and massacred or enslaved its inhabitants. I took no part in the bloodshed — only because I’d been sent to guard against a counter-attack from Zaragoza. The ruler of that state was the King of Lerida’s brother, Emir al-Muqtadir. Remember that name.

  ‘At B
arbastro the crusade ended. Those who’d taken part in the assault went home laden with booty and slaves. I returned no richer than when I’d left Aquitaine. The following year I married a girl I’d known since childhood. She was five years younger than me. It was an advantageous match, bringing with it a useful dowry.’

  ‘Was she beautiful?’

  Vallon drew back to see Hero’s face. ‘Yes, she was.’ He seemed to lose his thread. ‘Anyway, although my first journey into Spain hadn’t enriched me, I’d seen enough to know that the country offered opportunities for a poor knight. The Moorish empire had fragmented into a score of warring states. I sought leave from Guillaume to return to Spain as a knight for hire. At his suggestion, I took service with King Ferdinand of Castile and Leon. My first action under Ferdinand was a punitive expedition against al-Muqtadir of Zaragoza. The Emir had retaken Barbastro and killed the Frankish and Spanish garrison. Until then he’d been a Castilian tributary; in fact Ferdinand and al-Muqtadir had fought as allies against Castile’s rivals. Emboldened by his success at Barbastro, the Emir broke off relations with Castile. Our expedition against him was inconclusive, and within a year Ferdinand was dead. His empire was divided between his three sons. I transferred my allegiance to the eldest, Sancho II of Castile.

  ‘Two years later we laid Zaragoza under siege for a second time. This campaign was successful and al-Muqtadir sued for peace, paying a large ransom and swearing tribute to Sancho. The alliance was important because by this time Castile was fighting a war on three fronts — against Aragon to the east, and against Leon and Galicia to the west and north.

  ‘For the next three years I fought against Sancho’s enemies. After each campaigning season, I returned home to Aquitaine. My marriage was happy and bore three children. The youngest was still unborn when I made my final journey into Spain. With me was a nephew of the duke, a youth called Roland. Guillaume had put him under my wing to learn the arts of war. I knew the youth. His estate lay a day’s ride from mine and he was a frequent visitor. Roland was nineteen, uncommonly handsome, a fine singer and dancer, every inch the courtly noble. In short, nature had bestowed on him all the talents that I lack.’