A day of retching misery lay in store for everyone except Snorri and Syth. She’d been sailing since she could walk and darted about as blithely as a lark. Despite his own seasickness, Vallon didn’t spare himself or allow the others to shirk. Joints had shrunk during the ship’s lay-up and Wayland had to take his turn bailing out the hold and hammering tarred wool into the leaking seams. He shifted ballast to adjust the trim and helped brace the rigging. On Vallon’s orders, Raul and Snorri drilled everyone in the basics of seamanship. Wayland learned the rudiments of reefing and lowering the sail, how to use the tacking boom to keep the sail drawing when heading close to the wind.
He was still seasick in the evening and went to his rest without supper, dossing down amidships in his wet clothes. But for the warmth of the dog at his side, he wouldn’t have slept a wink. He woke in a seizure of shivering under a field of stars. The wind had turned, bringing sharp clear air from the east. The dog was gone. He sat up and whistled softly.
‘He’s down here with me.’
Wayland went to the edge of the hold. Syth had been given the aft half-deck for her sleeping quarters. Her eyes shone pale in the starlight.
She giggled. ‘He wanted somewhere warm.’
‘That’s all right. He can stay.’
‘You’re shivering. Why don’t you come down, too? I want to talk to you.’
Wayland glanced behind him. ‘No. I’ll be sick.’
Syth yawned. ‘Poor Wayland. Goodnight then.’
The night lay long before him. What was he going to do about Syth? The problem tugged like a hook in his gut. Of course she couldn’t accompany them on such a dangerous voyage, but where did that leave him? The last thing he wanted was to be stuck on an unfamiliar shore with a girl he hardly knew. He cringed when he recalled his ridiculous ultimatum to Vallon. That stuff about making a pledge. He hadn’t made any pledge. He’d been thinking of his sister — and Syth wasn’t his sister.
He watched the stars turn in their course and knew that he’d have to leave her behind. When he’d threatened to quit the expedition, he’d been speaking in French. Syth couldn’t have understood, so it wasn’t like he’d be breaking his word. She must realise that there was no place for her on the ship. It would be cruel to keep her here. He’d risked his life saving her from the Normans. She couldn’t expect more of him than that. The more he thought about it, the more he agreed with Vallon. Set the girl down at the earliest opportunity.
With this decision firmly lodged, Wayland rolled up in his blanket and turned on his side.
Waking into the new day, he felt like a man reborn. Vallon had let him lie late and the sun was level with the yardarm and shone warm on his face. His nausea was gone and his head clear. He sat up. Spray burst in rainbows over the bow. Water chattered along the hull. He watched the deck flex as Shearwater swooped over the swell. As Snorri had said, the ship was almost like a living thing. He rose and stood against the oak stempost that his grandfather might have touched. A school of dolphins rode escort, corkscrewing across the bow in chains of bubbles, two of them riding the pressure wave.
Feet padded on the deck. He turned and his grin died. Syth came dashing up with a bowl of porridge. She performed all her errands at a barefoot and almost soundless run. She’d hacked her hair short, which only emphasised her girlish features. The men’s clothes she wore wouldn’t have fooled anybody.
Wayland took the bowl. Syth bobbed her head, encouraging him to eat. He steeled himself.
‘We’ll be landing in the next day or two.’
Her lips were parted. Her wide eyes searched him. She looked like a child whose only wish is to please.
‘You’ll be going ashore.’
‘With you?’
‘No, of course not. I’m travelling to Iceland.’
Panic filled her eyes. She retreated a few paces. The dog was with her and it stared at Wayland.
‘We’ll give you money. You don’t have to go back to the fen. You could go to Norwich.’
‘I don’t want to go to Norwich. I want to stay with you.’
‘You can’t. We’ll be voyaging for months. Imagine being cooped up on a ship full of strange men.’
Syth looked back down the deck. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Well, I do.’
Her lips quivered. ‘I thought you liked me. Why else did you rescue me?’
‘Because the Normans would have killed you. That doesn’t mean I have to take care of you for ever. It’s not just me. Every one wants you off the ship. You get in the way. You’re a nuisance.’
‘How?’
Wayland struck off at a tangent. ‘The way you sing without knowing that you’re singing. It drives me mad.’
‘Raul likes it. He told me it reminds him of home.’
‘And the way you laugh over things that aren’t funny.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like yesterday, when Vallon was practising lowering the yard and it swung round and knocked him flat.’
‘That was funny.’
‘No, it wasn’t. He’d just finished spewing his guts out. You don’t laugh at the captain.’
Syth cast a look at her bare feet. She wiggled her toes. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t laugh or sing again.’
Wayland swallowed. ‘It makes no difference. You’re leaving.’
Syth’s face puckered, then she whirled and fled with the dog at her heels. Everyone had stopped work to watch. Vallon ordered them back to their duties. Wayland turned and clutched the stempost, a painful pressure in his chest.
‘Back to crusts and water,’ Vallon said, lobbing the remains of a cold and meagre supper over the side. Syth had taken to the hold with the dog and hadn’t been seen since her showdown with Wayland.
Vallon looked over the company. Everyone was assembled except for Snorri, who ate alone by the rudder. ‘Tomorrow we’ll try to grab a couple of extra hands. Snorri reckons we’ll sight land before daybreak. If this wind keeps up, we should reach the coast somewhere near the Humber estuary.’
‘Drogo will be expecting us,’ said Raul. ‘He’ll have posted lookouts all along the coast.’
Vallon nodded. ‘He knows we daren’t risk putting into a port. He must calculate that we’ll try to take on crew from a fishing village, so he’ll post guards in the larger ones and send flying pickets to keep watch on the others. Our best chance is to pick up a couple of men from an inland settlement not too far from the coast. Snorri knows several likely villages south of the Humber. We’ll creep in before it gets light.’ Vallon looked at Wayland and Raul. ‘Think you two can man — age on your own?’
Raul teased a scrap of gristle from between his teeth. ‘Snatch them, you said.’
‘I don’t imagine you’ll find volunteers.’
Shearwater rolled in the dying swell a mile from the coast. Seagulls floated in and out of the darkness overhead. England had shrunk to a black sliver under the starry sky. A void in the coastline marked the Humber estuary. Wayland could make out the end of a spit curving from its northern shore.
‘The village is about a mile inland,’ Snorri murmured. ‘The peasants will be in their fields before sunrise.’
Vallon turned. ‘Ready?’
Wayland nodded, his throat tight.
‘Don’t take any chances. We can always try again another day. We’ll stand out to sea for as long as we can. If you’re not back by nightfall, I’ll assume you’ve been captured.’
Wayland and Raul exchanged glances and picked up their weapons.
Snorri pawed Wayland’s arm. ‘Don’t forget the girl.’
Wayland glanced aft. Syth had emerged from the hold and was standing on the stern deck with the dog.
Vallon felt for his purse. ‘You’d better give her this.’
Wayland stared at the coins.
‘You told me you’d settled the matter,’ said Vallon.
‘I did. I mean, I thought I had.’
Syth stood nibbling her knuckles. The dog sat beside her, upright a
nd alert.
‘Then what are you waiting for?’
‘She doesn’t want to go.’
‘What she wants doesn’t matter. You’ve decided and that’s all there is to it.’
‘I was thinking-’
‘It’s too late for thinking. We don’t have all day. Fetch her.’
Wayland swung his head away. Vallon’s jaw tightened. ‘Raul, put the girl in the boat.’
Raul glanced at Wayland. ‘Captain-’
‘Raul,’ Vallon said very quietly. ‘Get the girl.’
With another look at Wayland, Raul began to walk towards Syth. Before he’d taken three steps, the dog was on its feet, a thunderous growl shaking its frame. Raul stopped. ‘I ain’t risking it, Captain. Only Wayland can get near the dog when it’s in that mood.’
Vallon mouthed a profanity, drew his sword and marched down the deck. The dog sprang forward with saliva strung between its jaws.
‘Don’t!’ Wayland shouted.
Vallon looked back, his face dark with rage. ‘Fetch the girl or I will.’
‘It’s no good. I can’t leave her. I was going to, but I can’t.’
‘Jesus wept. If you cared for her, you’d be the first to set her ashore.’
‘I know. I can’t explain.’
Vallon walked towards him, breathing heavily. ‘So we’re back where we started. If the girl leaves, we say goodbye to you.’
‘I don’t want to leave.’
Vallon’s breathing steadied. His features settled into calm. He glanced at the paling stars and put his sword back into its scabbard. ‘It will soon be light. You’d better go.’
Wayland took a step towards him. ‘Does that mean-’
‘Go!’
Snorri sprang at Vallon. ‘But ye promised!’
Vallon thrust him aside. Raul grabbed Wayland.
They pelted for the ship’s boat. As Raul cast off, the dog launched out from the ship and crashed into the boat. They began to pull for the shore. Looking back, Wayland saw Syth run to the bow and give him a dazzling smile and an ecstatic little wave.
They grated on to a shingle beach and dragged the boat above a tide-mark of matted kelp. After three days at sea, Wayland’s legs wobbled disconcertingly. He could just see the knarr’s outline. He ordered the dog to watch over the boat and they set off inland. Grey light filmed the grass. Their feet left black prints in the dew. By the time they reached the village common, hedgerow birds were chorusing.
A placid river bounded the fields. The village itself was tucked behind a line of elms. Nestling rooks made an appalling racket in the trees. Wayland sat against a willow. Raul carved a loaf and held out a wedge.
Wayland shook his head.
Raul didn’t take his eyes off him.
‘You needn’t bother,’ Wayland told him. ‘Anything you say, Vallon’s already said it.’
Raul began to chew. ‘I’ve known you since Walter dragged you out of the forest, and I never saw you do one sappy thing until that girl appeared. Never saw you so much as glance at a maid. Now look at you. Off your food. Can’t sleep. You’re smitten bad, my friend.’
Wayland eyed the trees turning from black to green. A rooster crowed. ‘I feel terrible.’
‘Only one cure. Dump her before it’s too late. You’ll soon get over it. She’s pretty enough, I grant you, but there’s always another girl in the next town. A youth as handsome as you won’t even have to pay for your pleasure.’
Wayland plucked at a clump of grass.
‘It ain’t like she’ll perish of want.’
‘I know. I’d made up my mind, but when it came to it, I didn’t have the heart.’
Raul stopped chewing and seemed to study Wayland in a new light. He tapped him on the wrist with his crust. ‘She’s bewitched you.’
Wayland was prepared to believe anything. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Know it. Only a witch could have made you jump into the sea in front of a Norman army. She’s put a spell on the dog, too. Look at the way it follows her like a lamb. And her eyes — weird.’
Wayland threw the grass stems away. The sun had risen behind them. A delicate rack of clouds was taking shape in the heavens. A cuckoo called sleepily from a distant covert.
Raul leaned back and crossed his hands over his belly. ‘I knew a man who fell in love with a witch. Most beautiful creature he’d ever seen — fair like your Syth, but with a bit more flesh on her. Anyway, this gorgeous creature took the man to her bed and granted him every delight he could wish for. At last his pleasure was done and he lay back with his love in his arms. You know what happened then?’
‘What?’
Raul sat upright. ‘Right before his eyes, her face began to slide off her skull and her flesh fell away from her ribs. Instead of holding a beauty to his bosom, he was clutching a corpse full of worms and maggots.’
Wayland stared at him in horror.
Raul brushed crumbs from his mouth. ‘Yonder comes one.’
Wayland tore his gaze away. A pale and ragged urchin wandered in their direction, gazing around as if the world were full of wonders. He went into a strip of sprouting rye and clapped his hands. A few buntings flew into the nearest hedgerow. After several more desultory claps, the boy peeped furtively around before shifting a couple of boundary stones on his family’s strip. Then he wandered over to the hedge and began to work his way along it, peering into the branches for nests.
Raul stood impatiently. ‘Where are the rest of the sluggards?’
A bell began to chime.
Raul slapped his knee. ‘Fools that we are! It’s Sunday. Every one’s in church.’ He gave a wicked chuckle. ‘So much the better.’
They marched up a lane lined by cruck houses with garden plots in front and enclosures at the back. Milch cows eyed them dreamily, hanks of lush spring grass clamped in their jaws. Blossom-time had arrived and the apple trees and quinces were smothered in white and pink sprays. Children fetching water or fodder fled squealing from the raiders, stopping at a safe distance to watch them through splayed fingers. They fell in behind, the bolder youngsters throwing out their chests and swinging their limbs in parody of Raul’s gait. By the time Wayland and Raul reached the church, they had a sizeable following.
Through a screen of dark yews, Wayland saw a stone nave and a square tower with triangular arcades and pointed windows. Sheep grazed in the graveyard. The raiders leaned their weapons outside the heavy oak door.
‘Don’t you think we should wait until mass is over?’ Wayland said.
‘Leave it to me. Remember, we’re dealing with shit-shovellers who’ve never travelled further than the local market. No point puzzling their pates with talk of Iceland and the Road to the Greeks.’
Clawing off his cap, Raul stepped through the door. Wayland ducked in after him, sketching the sign of the cross. Sunbeams splaying through the windows lit a congregation divided each side of the aisle, some lounging against the pillars, a few standing upright, most squatting on the rush-covered floor. Many appeared to be asleep. Two rustics at the back observed the strangers’ entrance and nudged their neighbours, the warning rippling out until the whole congregation stood upright and staring. Raul put a finger to his lips. Only the priest at the altar remained unaware of their presence. Eyes closed, head tilted back, he continued reciting the mass in a barely audible murmur. Wayland’s gaze lifted towards the shadowed vault. His eyes drifted to a wall painting of the Last Judgement showing Christ on his throne, the righteous winged as angels to his right, the sinners naked and fearful on his left, below them the damned being pitched into the cauldron and everlasting fire. He thought of his family in their unmarked graves.
The droning stopped. The priest advanced to the door of the rood screen and contemplated his flock with irritation. ‘On his last visit,’ he said, ‘your temporal lord summoned me with a complaint about this parish. He’s sorely vexed by the sin of sloth into which many of you have fallen.’
Raul nudged Wayland. ‘Damned if
he ain’t going to start preachify — ing. Keep an eye out.’ The German stomped up the aisle.
The priest started back in alarm. ‘Who are you?’
‘Step aside. I’ll deliver your sermon and save time as well as souls.’ Raul turned.
‘Sloth,’ he said, letting the word fill the nave. ‘Sloth is the enemy of enterprise and the leech of profit. Me and my comrade are delegated by our captain to recruit two or three fellows to join us on a voyage of enterprise. We’re looking for men of strength and resolution, preferably stalwarts who’ve seen battle and have crewed on a ship. We chose this parish because we heard it bred right brave men.’
Watching from the door, Wayland shook his head. With his outlandish sidelock, matted beard and rancid jerkin, Raul looked like the flotsam of some defeated barbarian horde. Close to, he smelled like a polecat.
Raul jingled coins. ‘A halfpenny for each day you serve, including rest days and holy days. Plus,’ he said, holding up a finger as if in benediction, ‘full keep. You won’t have to spend a penny of your wages on bed and board.’ He did his disappearing trick with a coin. ‘And even that ain’t all. Any gain we make by trade is divvied up. Fair shares for all. Ain’t that right, Wayland?’
The congregation turned and gawped.
‘You’ll be well paid and well treated.’
‘Hear that? The word of an Englishman.’ Raul gave a toothy smile. ‘Obviously, we ain’t taking just anyone. We’re picky. But for two or three who ain’t afraid of honest toil, here’s the chance to raise yourselves up.’
The congregation exchanged nods and conjectures. Wayland began to think that Raul might pull it off.
Hawk Quest Page 23