The Russians scattered. ‘Varangians!’
‘No! Wait. Not Varangians.’
Wulfstan shouted in Russian and vaulted off the longship. The woodsmen stopped at a distance. Wulfstan called again, making beckoning gestures. The woodsmen skulked back, bowing and begging the travellers’ pardon. Wulfstan spoke a smattering of their language and established that they were frontiersmen who’d spent the summer trapping game and collecting honey and beeswax. They were on their way home by canoe to their village at the mouth of the Volkhov river, three days to the west.
Wayland emerged from the forest while the parties were negotiating. He took one look at the Russians and hurried up to a boy with a string of willow grouse slung around his neck. He flinched away when Wayland reached out for them. Wayland turned to Wulfstan. ‘Tell him I want to buy them.’
The boy’s father came over. He assessed Wayland’s desperate gaze and said something that made the other Russians laugh.
Wayland lurched round. ‘What did he say?’
‘You can have them for five squirrels,’ said Wulfstan.
‘I don’t have five squirrels. If I did, I wouldn’t need the grouse.’
Wulfstan grinned. ‘The backwoodsmen measure money in furs. Squirrels is their smallest unit of currency. Reckon a penny will buy all those grouse and a haunch of venison thrown in.’
For two silver pennies, Wayland purchased enough game to feed the falcons for three days.
Later, at the Russians’ camp, Richard traded fox skins for a sack of rye flour and two dripping honeycombs. That night the wanderers squeezed hugger-mugger into a cabin and ate bread for the first time in a month. The cooked dough was of the crudest manufacture — charred and gritty bannocks consumed in a smoke-filled hut chinked up with moss — yet all sank their heads in reverential silence when Father Hilbert said grace.
Civilised Rus began at Staraja Ladoga, a fortified town a few miles up the Volkhov river. Here they stopped briefly to take on supplies. South of the town the forest thinned into sandy heath dotted with steely ponds and clumps of pines and birches. Then the voyagers came to farmland, rowing past sturdy log cabins set in meadows where geese hissed and flapped and cockerels crowed. Between the farms were fine stands of oak and maple that rang with the sound of axes. Farmers straightened up from their toil to watch the longship pass. Many of them crossed themselves, perhaps remembering their grandparents’ tales of an olden time when the appearance of a dragon ship would have put the populace to flight. Their children had no such misgivings and chased the longship along the banks waving sticks. ‘Varangians! Varangians!’
Four days after leaving the lake they reached Novgorod. North of the city the river branched around a large island with a tollbooth at its tip. Here an armed and mounted delegation directed them towards the shore. Their leader, a man with a face pitted by smallpox, was elegantly turned out in an ankle-length fur coat fastened with silver buttons. He addressed the stinking rabble as if they were exarchs on a mission from Byzantium.
‘Welcome to Novgorod the Great,’ he said in Norse. ‘The hunters you met on the Svir sent news of your arrival. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Andrei Ivanov, steward to Lord Vasili, a boyar of the city and master of its guild of merchants.’ His eyes flickered about. ‘Who speaks for you?’
Hands pointed at Vallon.
‘The hunters said you travelled from the White Sea, but they didn’t know where you began your voyage.’
Vallon looked for Wayland. ‘You tell him.’
‘We sailed from England this spring and journeyed here by way of Iceland and Greenland.’
Andrei guffawed. ‘Listen, I’ve been in the shipping trade too long to be taken in by travellers’ tales.’
‘Believe what you like,’ said Wayland. ‘I’m English and so is that girl. Vallon our leader is a Frank. Those two are Normans. That lot are Icelanders. The rest are Vikings from Halogaland. If you doubt my word, ask the thin man with the tonsure. He’s a monk from Germany. Until a few weeks ago, we had another German with us. He was killed by Lapps in the forest.’
Andrei traded wondering looks with his escort, then took off his hat. ‘Forgive my scepticism. You’re the first travellers to reach Nov — gorod by such a roundabout route. What goods are you carrying?’
‘Walrus ivory, sea unicorn horns, eider down, sulphur, seal oil.’
‘The hunters said you had gyrfalcons?’
‘It’s true. I trapped them myself in Greenland’s northern hunting grounds.’
‘Please, if you don’t mind, I would like to see.’
Not without pride, Wayland uncovered the cage holding the white haggard.
Andrei crouched to inspect the falcon. When he spoke, his tone was matter of fact. ‘My lord has a wealthy client who loves to follow the falcon’s flight. He’s a prince who pays handsomely for his pleasures. Even though this specimen looks like a feather duster, I’ll give you a price far higher than you could obtain in the marketplace.’
‘The falcons aren’t for sale.’
Andrei frowned. ‘Why bring them to Novgorod if not to sell them?’
‘We’re not stopping here. We’re just passing through on our way to Anatolia.’
‘Rum? You’re going to Rum?’
‘As soon as we’ve rested and purchased the necessities.’
Andrei laughed. ‘Novgorod is as far as you’ll get this year. Sell the falcons while they’re still healthy.’
‘I’m sorry. They’re already spoken for.’
Andrei backed off. ‘Do you have silver to pay for your stay in Novgorod?’
Wayland glanced at Richard. ‘We can pay our way.’
Andrei bowed to Vallon. ‘Then your comfort is assured. Our city has a quarter set aside for foreign merchants. You’ll find Novgorod a welcoming place. It even has a Roman church.’
Vallon bowed in turn. ‘Thank you. We’ll need three separate establishments. The Icelanders and Vikings aren’t here by my choosing.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Andrei. His escorts assisted him into the saddle. ‘You’re only five versts from Novgorod. About three miles.’ He spurred forward. ‘I’ll be waiting to welcome you.’
The longship rowed up the right-hand channel and soon the voyagers saw the city of Novgorod straddling both banks.
Richard whistled. ‘I never expected anything half so grand.’
The metropolis was constructed entirely of wood except for a great stone citadel and a church crowned with five cupolas on the west bank. The company rowed under a covered bridge wide enough to let cart traffic pass in both directions. On the other side Andrei waved to them from a wharf on the east bank. A gang of labourers stood ready. The voyagers rowed to shore and tied up.
‘Your lodgings are being prepared,’ Andrei told them. ‘My men will carry your cargo.’ He clapped his hands and the porters jumped into the boats and began loading the cargo into handcarts.
‘We don’t want him to find out too much of our business,’ Hero murmured to Vallon.
‘I suspect that before we go to our beds tonight, he’ll know our worth down to the last clipped penny.’
The steward led them up lanes paved with split logs and lined with stockaded houses. Most of the lots were about a hundred feet by fifty, but some were two or three times that size. Andrei stopped first at a gateway recessed in a paling fence. He opened the gate and pointed at a barn. ‘This is for your Norwegians. No luxuries. Just straw to sleep on and clean well water. My men will make sure that they have enough to eat and don’t disturb the peace.’
‘I’ll pay for your food and lodgings,’ Vallon told the Vikings. ‘Drink beer, but not to excess. If you get into trouble, don’t look to me for help. As for whores, you’ll have to make your own arrangements.’
Next they stopped at the Icelanders’ lodgings. ‘The house can sleep twelve if two share each bed,’ Andrei said. ‘The rest will have to sleep in the stables.’
Caitlin marched up to Vallon. ‘I’m not sha
ring a bed and I’m not sleeping in a house with strange men. And I’m not bedding down in a byre. I insist on separate quarters. I’ll pay from my own purse.’
Vallon shrugged at Andrei.
The steward gave an order and one of his men escorted Caitlin and her maids back down the road. ‘I can see that one’s used to having her own way,’ Andrei said. His brows arched in enquiry. ‘A lady of high birth?’
Vallon smiled. ‘A princess. In her own estimation.’
Andrei watched her stride away with her maids hurrying alongside. ‘Well, there are plenty of princes who’d be happy to make her their consort. I’ve never seen a woman so lusciously put together.’
When the Icelanders had disappeared into their compound, Drogo and Fulk stood outside looking at a loss. Vallon eyed them bleakly. ‘I suppose you’d better lodge with us.’
Andrei’s final stop was at a stockade enclosing a handsome house and outbuildings that included a bathhouse, stables and caretaker’s cottage. Knotwork carvings decorated the gables. Calling out, Andrei ran up steps to a porch leading to a lobby. A raised door gave entry to a communal hall where a team of peasant women were whisking the plank floor under the supervision of the caretaker and his wife. All the domestics made servile bows at Andrei’s entrance. He appeared not to notice them. Half a dozen sleeping benches lined the walls and a domed clay stove belched smoke in a corner diagonally opposite the door. There was no chimney and the only ventilation was provided by a roof hatch and tiny slotted windows. Andrei spoke sharply to the caretaker. He in turn barked an order and one of the drudges knelt by the stove and tried to fan it into flame.
Andrei pushed open another door into a chamber furnished with a single cot, a table and a bench. An icon of the Virgin with Child hung in the right-hand corner. ‘This is for you,’ he told Vallon. ‘It’s small, but you might be grateful for the privacy.’
‘To a man who’s known only cold ground for bed and empty sky for a roof, it’s a palace.’
‘Lord Vasili reserves the property for his special guests. He requests that you do him the honour of feasting with him the day after tomorrow.’ Andrei smiled. ‘Bring the Icelandic princess and her attendants. A degree of formality is in order, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re presentable.’
Anyone walking through the compound next morning would have sworn that the house was untenanted. Inside, the voyagers sprawled like dead men, Drogo and Fulk curled up together on a shelf above the stove, both of them still dressed in their foul garments. Even Wayland didn’t stir until after dark and he had to ask the caretaker what day it was before shuffling out to feed the falcons.
Next day the caretaker rounded up the male guests and shepherded them into the bania, while his wife took Syth off to Caitlin’s lodgings. He made them strip off in the lobby, and as they shed their clothes a servant gathered them up and threw them outside to be burned.
‘Hey,’ Hero called. ‘Those are the only garments we possess.’
The caretaker chivvied them into the steam room. They sat naked on low benches, sweat carving pale tracks down their filthy skin. When their bodies were passably clean, the caretaker handed out bundles of birch twigs and showed them how to scourge each other’s backs. Then he drove them out into the courtyard where servants threw buckets of cold water over them before herding them back into the bania. After three sessions of the steam-and ice-water treatment, the company ran back into the lobby to find clean clothes waiting. Servants handed each man a plain linen shirt cut square at the collar, a pair of loose-fitting trousers, and leather shoes that tied above the ankles. ‘A gift from Lord Vasili,’ said the caretaker.
‘What does he want in return?’ Hero whispered to Vallon.
Another surprise awaited them when they returned to the house. In their absence the hall had been converted to an emporium where half a dozen tailors and furriers had laid out woollen or silk caftans and pantaloons, robes and capes of marten, bear, wolf and squirrel, sable and beaver. There were jewellers, too, displaying wares of silver, enamel and cloisonne.
Vallon looked at the finery and then he looked at Hero. ‘There’s your answer. We can hardly refuse to buy and I’ll wager Vasili takes a generous commission.’
But he blenched when the outfitters told them the prices of the garments. ‘We can’t afford that sort of money.’
‘We can’t insult Vasili by turning up in his hand-outs,’ said Hero.
Richard rescued the situation. He took his treasurer’s role seriously and kept himself informed on matters relating to currency and exchange. From the Vikings he’d learned that central Asia was the traditional source of their silver. In the last fifty years the Asian silver mines had become exhausted, leading to a debasement of the currency. Most of the coinage circulating in Rus had a silver content of only one part in ten.
‘Our English pennies contain nine parts of silver,’ Richard said. ‘So the answer’s simple. Offer one-eighth the tailors’ asking price.’
It wasn’t that easy, of course, but Richard held firm and the merchants eventually slashed their prices by more than half.
While Vallon was looking through the clothes, he saw Drogo standing awkward and aloof. ‘You and Fulk had better choose something.’
‘I told you I don’t want your charity.’
‘You’ve accepted enough of it already.’
‘Then I won’t take more.’
‘Don’t be so stiff-necked. Consider it payment for services rendered.’
Drogo gave a curt nod. ‘What about Caitlin and the other women?’
Hero looked up. ‘Let her pay for her clothes out of the money she stole from the old woman.’
Drogo’s temper flared. ‘Apologise for that slander.’
‘It’s true,’ Richard said. ‘I heard her make the accusation.’
‘A malicious slur. Caitlin was keeping the money safe.’
‘Shut up,’ Vallon ordered. ‘All of you. We’ve come through hell and you’re squabbling about clothes.’ He rubbed his brow. ‘Wayland, get down to the women’s house and tell them they can choose new clothes at my expense. Richard, you go with him to negotiate a fair price. Oh, Wayland, tell the princess to show some restraint.’
They ran down the lane to Caitlin’s lodgings and found the women fresh from the bania, trying on costumes laid out by a bevy of seamstresses. One of Caitlin’s maids screamed and nudged a breast back into hiding.
Wayland blushed. ‘Oh, you’ve already started.’
Caitlin laughed. ‘Don’t worry. We’re just playing at dressing up. Even the cheapest outfit is beyond our means.’
‘Vallon said he’d pay.’
Caitlin’s face lit up. ‘Really?’
‘With me doing the bargaining,’ said Richard.
Syth put her hands around Wayland’s waist. Her breasts stirred under a sleeveless linen dress. ‘Do you mean it? Can I have a gown?’
‘You look lovely as you are.’
She nudged him with her shoulder. ‘Don’t be a goose. This is what peasants wear.’ She pulled his face down and spoke into his ear. ‘Just for once I’d like to dress like a lady. It won’t be long before I’m back in tunic and breeches.’
‘We’re making progress,’ Richard called. ‘A quarter off the prices already.’
‘Go on then,’ Wayland said.
One of the costumiers advanced on Syth displaying a misty blue gown with long sleeves edged with beaver.
‘What do you think?’ Syth asked.
‘It’s nice. It suits you.’
‘Can’t you do better than that?’
Wayland felt trapped. ‘It goes with your eyes.’
The assistant moved him aside with her hip and held up another dress in a light turquoise silk. Syth draped it against herself. ‘This one is tighter fitting. It will show my figure better.’
‘Whatever you decide.’
‘Wayland, you’re not even looking.’
One of Caitlin’s handmaids laughed.
&nbs
p; ‘A third off and we haven’t reached bottom,’ Richard announced.
Syth decided on the turquoise gown. She took from the assistant a padlock-shaped pendant enamelled with a pair of lovebirds. ‘This would set it off beautifully.’
‘I don’t know, Syth.’
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s just that … after Raul’s death … the dog … it doesn’t seem right somehow.’
Syth handed the pendant back and looked down, a tear trembling on her lashes.
Caitlin pulled Wayland aside. ‘You really know how to make a maid happy, don’t you? Let her be a lady for one night. Isn’t she worth it?’
Wayland stared at her. He nodded and turned back to Syth. He took the pendant from the assistant. ‘I’ll pay for it myself.’ He coughed. ‘My first gift.’
Syth wiped her eyes, then leaned forward and gave him the lightest of kisses. ‘Not the first.’
He was at the door when he remembered the rider to Vallon’s message. Three dressers heaped with luxurious garments had homed in on Caitlin and others were waiting. ‘Vallon said …’
Caitlin gave him an imperious look. ‘Yes?’
Richard swung round, fired up by haggling. ‘We’re down to bargain prices.’
‘Don’t go mad,’ said Wayland, and fled to peals of laughter.
Watchmen were doing their rounds as Andrei escorted the guests in their finery to his master’s city mansion. An avenue of torches lit the way to the entrance of the house, where Lord Vasili stood in welcome — a spruce dark man of about fifty with a gold incisor and a trim beard flecked with grey. His clothes bespoke understated wealth — a grey caftan of shot silk with gold brocade cuffs, over it a dark-blue robe with a belt of gold and enamel. He greeted his guests in Norse, but when Hero was presented, he switched to Greek and Arabic, lamenting his inability to turn an elegant phrase in either language. After each introduction, each solicitous enquiry, Vasili’s steward directed the guest to his or her place at a banqueting table lit by a soft blaze of candles.
He seated Vallon and Hero at Vasili’s right and left respectively, with the other male guests opposite and the ladies grouped at one end of the table. Two retainers circulated with drinks and appetisers and the guests found that they could choose from beer, kvas and four different brews of mead. A train of servants entered with the main meal and the diners gasped. There was a roast sucking pig, platters of game, pies and pastries, jellied pike and salmon, pots of caviar and sour cream, half a dozen kinds of bread, including wheaten loaves made with grain from the south and a special bake flavoured with honey and poppy seed.
Hawk Quest Page 52