‘You waited for them to leave and then attacked the longship.’
They exchanged glances. Raul looked up from under his scorched brows. ‘We were done in, wet to the bone and driven mad by the midges. Our kindling was damp, we had no idea how many Vikings were guarding the camp or where they were laid up. Flog me or dock me, Captain, but my only thought was to save our skins.’
Vallon eased back. ‘In those circumstances, I might have made the same decision.’ He grinned. ‘Something made you change your mind.’
Hero resumed his account. ‘We rowed across the mouth of the bay, plying our oars as if they were feathers. The longship lay only fifty yards from us and there didn’t seem to be anyone on board. We kept going and then Richard said, “We can’t skulk away like this. What will we tell Vallon?”’
Richard smiled sheepishly. Vallon stared at him.
Raul spat. ‘We all sort of looked at each other and then without a word we began pulling towards the ship. ’Course we hadn’t gone more than a few yards when an almighty shout went up from the shore and two guards who’d been sleeping on board sprang up. Three Vikings came running down from their posts on the hills. I took aim on one of the ship-guards. Twenty yards range. Couldn’t miss.’ Raul spat again. ‘Well, I did. The rain had made my bowstring limper than the pope’s dick.’
Richard sniggered into his palm.
‘We fought our way aboard,’ said Raul. ‘I dealt with one of the guards. Rorik and Bjarni finished off the other one. Skapti got killed in the scrap. He fell dead into the water, God keep him.’
Vallon nodded. He hadn’t the faintest idea who Skapti was.
‘By this time the shore sentries had nearly reached the bank. There was just time to cut the mooring and push off. Two of the Vikings ran into the water and we fended them off with oars. The other one stayed on shore blowing the alarm. While we were fighting off the two in the water, Hero and Richard set about raising a fire.’
‘I thought it would never light,’ said Hero. ‘There was an inch of water in the hull and the timbers were soaked from the rain. Luckily for us, the Vikings had refitted the sail. We drenched it in oil, piled all the faggots around the mast, and poured our compound over them. Even then it took an age for the fire to take hold. When it did catch, the flames shot halfway up the mast. The Vikings had left their oars in the ship. We gathered them up along with anything else that would burn and threw them on to the blaze.’
Raul continued the tale. ‘When the Vikings saw the fire, the one on shore launched their boat and the two in the water waded back to join him. Hero was shouting for us to get off, but the yard and sail had collapsed across the deck and there was a wall of fire between me and our boat. By now the three Vikings had nearly reached the ship. Captain, you know I’m no swimmer or I’d have jumped overboard. I held my breath, shut my eyes and ran through the flames. Tripped over a thwart. I thought I’d had it.’
‘He was smoking when he came out,’ Hero said.
‘We jumped into the boat and rowed as hard as we could. The Vikings didn’t chase us. They were too busy trying to save their ship.’
‘Did they succeed?’
‘Last I saw, it was burning like a torch.’
‘So it’s destroyed.’
‘As good as,’ Raul said. ‘Mast gone, sail gone, oars gone, shrouds gone. The keel’s probably no more than scorched, but the strakes amidships must be burned to cinders.’
‘We didn’t wait around,’ said Richard. ‘We knew the main Viking force would soon return and might pursue us in the ship’s boat. The thought of what they’d do if they caught us kept us from flagging even when our strength was spent.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘And here we are.’
Vallon gazed at them in wonder. ‘Here you are.’
Grief-stricken wails rose from the camp. Garrick had rowed Shearwater back to her mooring and the refugees ran down to the shore, clamouring for news. Vallon parted the crowd and walked towards the centre of the camp.
Caitlin knelt over Helgi’s body, rocking back and forth. Her maids and her brother’s followers stood behind her. Drogo frowned and waved Vallon back. He hesitated. Caitlin lifted her distraught face and caught sight of him. She ceased her lamentations and made a sound low in her throat. Seizing the sword lying on Helgi’s corpse, she ran at Vallon mouthing gibberish. Drogo and her retainers raced after her, but she reached Vallon before they could catch her and drew back the sword with both hands. He shot out a hand and grasped her wrists. She struggled and then she went limp and dropped the sword. Her eyes gushed tears. She sagged against him and he had to gather her close to stop her falling. He hadn’t held a woman for years and it was the strangest sensation to be holding to his chest a princess who wanted to kill him.
Her voice bubbled through tears. ‘You promised to bring him back safe.’
‘I’m sorry. Take comfort in the knowledge that your brother died bravely, engaging the enemy with no regard for his own life.’
She batted her hands against his chest. ‘You threw his life away!’
Over her shoulder, Vallon saw Drogo striding up. ‘What lies have you been spreading?’ the Frank said.
‘No lies,’ said Drogo. ‘You knew the charge was pointless.’ He wrenched Caitlin from Vallon’s grip. ‘Get away from her.’
Caitlin’s maids took her by the arms and led her away. Vallon stood chest to chest with Drogo. ‘I should have known that you’d twist facts to your own end. Well, here’s another tale for you to distort. The longship is ashes and two more Vikings have gone to their doom.’
Drogo’s stubbled cheeks worked. He managed a stiff bow.
‘Don’t congratulate me,’ said Vallon. ‘It’s your brother who deserves the credit.’
He swung on his heels.
‘Vallon.’
Vallon wafted a blood-smeared hand. ‘Enough.’
Drogo caught up with him. ‘I grew close to Helgi. Last night, before we went into action, he asked me to act as Caitlin’s guardian should he be killed. I told him that I’d be honoured to accept. I pledged to protect her with my life.’
Vallon kept walking. ‘Very worthy and I’m sure you’ll honour your pledge. But how does it concern me?’
Drogo’s throat strained with emotions he couldn’t express. He jabbed a finger. ‘Just keep away from her. That’s all.’
Vallon had retreated to a quiet stretch of the riverbank before he fathomed Drogo’s meaning. Helgi must have dressed up the encounter at the lake to make it look like he — Vallon — was besotted with his sister. Drogo thought he was a rival for her affection. The Norman’s stupidity angered him. He turned and glowered.
Garrick was approaching, carrying a bowl and bread. ‘You haven’t broken your fast, sir.’
Vallon ate in silence, looking across the river.
‘What will we do now?’
‘We’ll set up camp on the far bank. It will take a couple of days to make the ship seaworthy. Wayland can use the time to gather food for the hawks. After that … ’ Vallon checked himself. He’d almost said, ‘We’ll go home.’ He smiled at Garrick. ‘We’ll continue our journey. Will you come with us to Constantinople?’
‘What would I do there, sir?’
‘Whatever you want. It’s the greatest city on earth.’
‘Cities don’t agree with me. I went to Lincoln once. All those people in one place made my head spin.’ He glanced shyly at Vallon. ‘I dream of buying ten acres in the place where I grew up. Live my life out and go to rest in the soil I sprang from, the place where my parents lie buried, the plot where my children sleep. I know it’s only a dream.’ He laughed. ‘That Daegmund wouldn’t be happy to see me back. He’d make life hot, I can tell you.’
Vallon gripped his arm. ‘You’ll have your ten acres. If that’s all I achieve by this endless wandering, I’ll be content.’
Garrick’s eyes found his, ducked away, face shadowing. ‘I can’t get quit of the sight of those women and what the Vikings did to them. They�
�re mother and daughter — only a girl. Can’t we save them, sir? I’d take up a weapon if you thought it would help.’
Vallon shook his head. ‘I can’t ask my company to make any more sacrifices. The season’s growing late and we have a great distance to travel. We must press on.’
He’d risen to his feet. Garrick remained seated with an expression of gentle melancholy. Vallon touched his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.’
XXXII
Wayland padded through the forest with Syth and the dog in ghostly attendance. To their right the horned moon laid a silver trackway across the river. From the Vikings’ camp on the opposite bank came a ceaseless chopping and hammering. Day and night they laboured to repair their longship. When Wayland had spied on them the day after the battle, he would have sworn that the hulk was unsalvageable, its mid-section burned to the waterline. Returning the next day, he’d found that they’d already started replacing the strakes and yesterday they’d made good the starboard timbers.
He crept into a grove of willows and peered up through the tracery. Two plump silhouettes sprouted from a branch twenty feet above the ground. He turned to Syth, laid a finger to his lips and worked his way round until both roosting grouse were outlined against the moon. He dropped to one knee and raised the miniature crossbow Raul had made for him. The bow was drawn, an untipped arrow slotted in the track. He aimed low to compensate for the spring of the bolt at such close range. He loosed. A solid thump and one of the grouse fell flapping in its death spasms on the forest floor. Its mate uttered a cluck of alarm and shifted along the branch. Wayland reloaded and took fresh aim.
Missed. The bolt clattered away through the boughs. The grouse shuffled almost to the tip. Wayland loaded another bolt. The branch bobbed under the weight of the grouse. Wayland tried to adjust to the rhythm. No good. He shut his eyes, took a breath, raised the bow and loosed as soon as the grouse came into his sights.
Phut.
Wayland blinked. The branch was bare. The dog ran in to retrieve. He massaged the back of his neck. ‘That’s enough for tonight.’
‘How many have we got?’
Wayland counted the bodies looped around his belt. ‘That makes seven.’
Syth clapped her hands. ‘Six for the falcons. One for us. I’ll cook it right now.’
While she roasted the game, Wayland stared vacantly into the flames. He was worn out by his never-ending duties — tending the falcons, finding food for them, spying on the Vikings …
He ate his share of the grouse in silence. Across the fire, Syth watched him with eyes full of questions. He knew she was troubled by his moody silences, the fact that he hadn’t taken her in his arms since leaving Iceland.
‘This is half raw,’ he said, tossing the remains to the dog.
‘I know you’re tired, so I cooked it as fast as I could.’
Wayland lay down and pulled up a blanket. Syth settled beside him, not quite touching. He could sense her unhappiness. He remembered the rows between his parents and his relief when they made up. He rolled over. ‘It’s not you that puts me out of heart. It’s thinking of what we have to go through.’
‘It’s not only that,’ she said. ‘You’re worried that you’re stuck with me for ever and ever.’ She snuggled close, her breath warm on his cheek. ‘I might get sick of you first.’
Wayland bolted awake. Syth and the dog came tearing out of the sallows.
‘Old Horny’s in the river!’
Wayland grabbed his bow. ‘Old Horny?’
‘Black with horns and cloven feet, big as a house.’
Her eyes were huge and the dog seemed to have been seized by a fit, jaws gnashing, flanks trembling. Excitement not terror. He peered towards the river. Grey trees were beginning to gather out of the dawn. He heard water purling through a shoal.
‘Stay here.’
He strung an arrow and worked towards the bank. Glancing back, he saw Syth creeping behind him with one hand clenched between her teeth. He gestured at her to go back.
She shook her head emphatically.
Wayland reached the edge of the thicket. Twenty yards from the bank stood a diabolical misshape backlit by the paling sky. He’d never seen such a monster. Several different creatures seemed to have gone into its making. Its dewlapped head had a trunk-like snout, jackass ears and a crown of antlers six feet across. A bull’s humped shoulders sloped down to a puny crupper tipped with an apology of a tail. All supported on knobbly legs that looked too spindly to bear its weight. It looked up, masticating slowly. Water dribbled from its muzzle. It breathed a soft snort and lowered its head again. Wayland wormed back to Syth.
‘It’s not the devil,’ he whispered.
‘What is it then?’
‘Some kind of deer.’
‘Old Horny can take any form he chooses. Once when I was in the fen, I saw a flittermouse that-’
Wayland pressed a hand over her mouth and opened his eyes wide in warning.
She nodded and he took his hand away. He raised his bow. Syth clutched at him.
‘You’re not going to kill it.’
‘We’ve nearly finished the horsemeat. A beast that big will feed us for a week. Stay here and don’t make a sound.’
The beast hadn’t moved. There was no wind to carry their scent and the current jostling down the shoal must have smothered their voices. The beast was standing almost head-on to him. Wayland waited for it to present its flank. He could make out the gleam of its eyes. It shifted its position and sighed. A melancholy misfit oppressed by its solitude. Wayland sighted behind the withers. Only a shot to the heart would bring down an animal that size.
He knew he’d hit his mark from the hollow sound the arrow made as it struck. The beast grunted and plunged forward, its hooves throwing up spray. The dog hurled itself into the water.
‘Leave it, fool!’
Wayland drew another arrow and set off along the bank in pursuit. The beast was galloping towards a spit choked with willows and birches. It had almost reached it when it stumbled and sank down on its front knees. The dog whimpered and paddled faster. The beast groaned and regained its feet. It staggered forward and then stopped again, legs splayed, head drooping. Deaf to Wayland’s commands, the dog surged up and sank its jaws into a hind leg, aiming for the hamstring. Spray exploded and the dog went sailing through the air to land fifteen feet away.
‘I told you!’
The beast swung its head towards him. Gouts of blood poured from its mouth. It gave a sorrowing grunt and then it settled on its hindquarters and flopped over.
There was a ringing in Wayland’s ears. The dog swam up to the carcass, apparently uninjured. He puffed out his cheeks and turned. Syth was standing a few feet away, staring in awe. He drew his knife.
‘I’d better check that it’s dead.’
It lay on its side, blood darkening the water around it. He looked into its eye and saw his reflection, growing duller with each passing moment.
The dog was watching him with a sheepish expression. He kicked out at it. ‘You’re lucky it didn’t break your back.’
He dragged the beast into the shallows and tethered it by a line to a tree. Syth walked around it, studying it from all angles, but she wouldn’t come within touching distance.
‘Run back to camp and tell Raul to bring the boat.’
She turned and bounded away, her limbs whirling in the way that always made him smile.
‘Better make that two boats.’
She ran on the spot and then darted off, the dog racing after her. Wayland looked again at the beast and his smile died. He ran a hand through his hair.
The new-risen sun lay like a chalice in a hollow on the horizon. He lay down with his hands behind his head. Above him, birch leaves winked like gold coins. He felt like a murderer.
The sun was shining in his eyes when he woke. He rose yawning and peered towards the Viking camp. The sounds of labour had stopped. The Vikings had dragged the longship out of the water
to continue their repairs, and from here it was hidden by the curve of the bay.
He was about to turn away when a jerky movement caught his attention. Up over the trees fringing the bay rose a pale spar. Wayland grimaced. A mast swinging upright.
A creature in the forest gave a pained scream. The cry came again, from further off. He scanned the trees behind him. There were bears and wolves in the forest. He’d seen their spoor.
When he looked across the river again, the dragon ship was gliding out into the bay, its new timbers in bald contrast to the rest of the hull. Oars stroked and then rested. Even if it wasn’t fit to take to the open sea, the Vikings could use it to block the company’s escape. The oars dipped again and the longship reversed back into its lair. After a while the hammering and tapping started up again.
Wayland looked upriver and saw the two boats approaching. When Raul saw the beast he pushed his hat high up his scalded brow.
‘How many arrows did it take?’
‘One. Do you know what it is?’
‘Elk. I’ve seen them on the Baltic coast. Good eating. Smoked, it will keep us fed until we reach Norway.’ He noticed the grouse at the base of the tree. ‘And you’ve got grub for the falcons.’
‘It isn’t enough.’
‘Kill some more tonight.’
Wayland shook his head. ‘The Vikings have repaired the longship. They’ve even made a new mast.’
Raul scanned the enemy shore. ‘A mast ain’t no use without a sail.’
‘It doesn’t matter. They still control the river.’
The company slept on Shearwater out in mid-river — a precaution against its capture by Drogo and Helgi’s men. Come sunrise next morning, her crew brought her in close to the Icelanders’ camp, dropping anchor in five feet of water. The refugees jostled on the bank with their provisions and the few trade goods they’d saved. Vallon lifted a hand.
‘Before you board, some rules. First, all food goes into a common store.’
Voices rose in dissent and a few individuals clutched their bundles to their chests.
‘It’s up to you. Keep your own food, go your own way. Richard’s in charge of the stores and will make sure everybody receives fair shares. You can appoint one of your own people to help him.’
Hawk Quest Page 44