Drogo stopped waving. ‘It’s too dark. They can’t see us.’
‘Light a torch,’ said Vallon.
The ship was lost in darkness by the time they kindled the damp tow into flame. Wayland held it above his head.
‘They won’t stop for a torch,’ Drogo said.
‘Shout,’ Vallon said.
They waved the torch and called into the darkness until their voices grew hoarse.
Hero pointed. ‘Over there!’
A spark shone somewhere to port. The light grew and another joined it. Then a third. The torches drew closer until at last Hero could see by their light the faces of the men who held them. He could make out the ship’s profile. An oddly shaped vessel with a very high stem, broad in the beam and broadest aft. One of the torchbearers stood on the foredeck and when the wind fanned his flame, Hero glimpsed an eye painted on the bow and a name in Greek. Planetes — ‘The Wanderer’.
‘Who are you?’ a voice called. ‘What happened?’
‘Shipwrecked merchants,’ Hero shouted. ‘We were on our way from Kiev to Constantinople when our ship sank. We’ve been adrift for five days and our food and water are almost gone. There are women with us. For love of the Queen of Heaven, save us.’
The torches clumped together. From the mariners’ gestures, it was clear that some of them were for leaving the castaways adrift.
‘Let’s take a closer look at you,’ the voice called.
Four rough-looking men and a boy peered down from the deck as they came alongside. ‘Who are those two?’ the captain demanded, pointing at Vallon and Drogo.
‘Soldiers on their way to join the Varangian Guard.’
‘I’m not taking armed men on my ship. Hand over their weapons. You don’t look like pirates, but you don’t look like honest merchants either.’
When they surrendered their arms, the mariners pulled them aboard and led them forward past a hold containing a score of horses tethered in stalls. The ship was a battered tramp stinking of bilge-water and old cargoes of oil and fish. Her skipper was as ugly as sin, with an enormous hooked nose and hair like a bunch of dead serpents dangling from his bald pate. Bardas, he was called. He didn’t know what to make of his passengers, but the sight of Caitlin holding Syth and stroking her hair seemed to stir in him some spirit of gruff compassion.
‘Don’t move from the bow. I’ll bring you food as soon as I can.’
The crew retired to a sunken and roofed galley in the stern. In a little while the captain and two of his men returned with water and a stew of beans and some bread. Hero asked him where he was bound. They were five days out of Varna, Bardas said, carrying horses to the Greek garrison at Cherson on the Krym peninsula, a day’s sail to the east.
‘Will we find a ship to take us to Constantinople?’
Bardas shook his head. ‘Not this side of Christmas. A few days before we sailed, a freighter from Trebizond arrived at the capital with its crew dying of plague. The authorities are placing all vessels from the east in a month’s isolation at the mouth of the Bosporus. Nobody’s voyaging to Constantinople unless they have to.’
Vallon laughed when Hero relayed the news. ‘So the Russians did us a favour by deserting. Let’s see if we can turn it to further advantage.’ He stared towards the firelit galley. ‘You said we had about twenty pounds of silver left.’
‘More like fifteen.’
‘Drogo, the horses you bought in Novgorod cost about two pounds each.’
‘I was cheated. They weren’t worth half that.’
Vallon stroked his mouth. ‘You know what? We might reach our destination after all.’
‘You mean, go on into Anatolia?’ Hero said. ‘There’s no longer any point. The ransom hawks are dead.’
‘It’s not about the ransom. If we sail to Cherson, we could be stuck there for months. You’ve seen how the natives fleece us. By the time we reach Constantinople, we’ll be lucky if we still have shirts on our backs. On the other hand … ’ Vallon paused. ‘We could reach the Emir Suleyman’s camp within a fortnight if we persuaded Bardas to land us on the Anatolian coast.’ Vallon looked around. ‘I won’t force anyone to join me against their will. Anyone who wants to go to Cherson, say so.’
Nobody spoke for some time. They were all weak and demoralised. At last Hero put up a hand. ‘I’ll come with you. I know it won’t achieve anything except the satisfaction of reaching our goal. I’ll do it for Richard’s sake.’
Wayland looked at Syth. ‘It will be a hard journey. We have to consider the child.’
‘Wayland, I’m not going to give birth in the next month. If you want to go, just say so.’
‘Are you sure?’
Syth rolled her eyes at Vallon. ‘We’re coming.’
‘So am I,’ said Caitlin.
Drogo’s face set. ‘Do I have a say?’
‘No, you stay on the ship. I’ll leave you with enough silver to keep body and soul together.’
With the die cast, Hero grew animated. ‘How are we going to persuade Bardas to take us to Anatolia?’
‘Wait for an opportunity to catch him on his own. Tell him I want to discuss a business proposition in private.’
Wayland looked dubious. ‘They have our weapons. Once they know we’re sitting on a pot of silver, what’s to stop them cutting our throats?’
It must have been close to midnight when Hero got a chance to take the captain aside. The only other crewman on deck was the helmsman. Bardas eyed Hero suspiciously. ‘I told you not to go wandering over my ship.’
‘Can I have a word?’ Hero gestured towards the helmsman. ‘Not here.’
He led the way amidships, leaned on the gunwale and looked across the sea.
Bardas kept his distance. ‘Well?’
‘Come closer. I have something for you — a token of Lord Vallon’s gratitude.’
Bardas approached. Hero slipped him a purse. ‘It’s English silver.’
Bardas palmed the purse under his tunic without looking at it. ‘What’s he want?’
‘A business matter. He’ll tell you himself.’
‘What sort of business?’
Hero put a finger to his lips.
One of the crewmen had poked his head out. ‘Hey, Captain. We’re ready to eat.’
‘Later,’ said Bardas. He kept his eyes on Hero. ‘I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’
‘It has to be tonight. Our situation is urgent. Help us and Vallon will reward you well.’
Bardas breathed heavily. ‘I’m not walking into some hole-in-the-corner trickery. If your master wants to talk business, I’ll bring my crew with me. I don’t hide anything from them. They’re all kin.’
‘By all means invite them along. The problem is, that would mean letting them know how much money is involved.’
Bardas glanced towards the galley. ‘Fetch the Frank here.’
‘He’d rather discuss matters in the bow. Where the money is kept.’
Bardas whipped a knife out from somewhere and held it against Hero’s throat. With his other hand he gripped Hero’s arm and pushed him towards the bow. ‘This had better be genuine.’
Vallon pretended not to see the knife. He rose to greet the captain and invited him to sit. Bardas shoved Hero forward and remained standing. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Ask him about the horses,’ said Vallon.
Hero nodded towards the hold. ‘The horses. Are they broken?’
‘That’s what it says on the bill of lading.’
‘Do you have saddles and tack for them?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘You’ll find out. Let’s keep it businesslike.’
‘We’ve got saddles for about half of them.’
‘Good. We want to buy six horses and trappings for five.’
‘They’re not mine to sell. I’m only the carrier. If you want them, bid for them in the market at Cherson.’
‘We’re not going to Cherson. That’s why we must reach an agreement tonight.’
Bardas retreated a step. ‘I knew you weren’t merchants.’
‘Who we are doesn’t matter. How much would it take to persuade you to sell us six horses and land us on the coast of Anatolia?’
Bardas’s eyes bolted towards the south. ‘I’m not taking you to Anatolia. That’s more than two hundred miles out of my way.’
‘Show him,’ Vallon said.
Wayland uncovered a cloth to reveal a hoard of slithering coins.
‘It’s yours,’ said Hero, ‘in return for six horses and a landing on the Anatolian coast. Drop us off and we’ll never trouble you again. Easier than killing us, and it will sit lighter on your conscience.’
A crewman pulled himself out of the galley and began making his way forward. ‘What’s keeping you, skipper?’
‘Cover it,’ Bardas muttered before turning to the seaman. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’
The sailor tossed a hand and returned to the galley. Bardas stared at the pile of silver. ‘How do I explain the loss of six horses? How do I explain why a six-day voyage has taken two weeks?’
‘Horses die on every voyage. The sea imposes its own timetable. Your ship’s old and leaky. Nobody would be surprised if you were delayed.’
‘I’ll still be held to account.’
‘How much are you being paid for this voyage?’
Bardas didn’t answer.
Hero spoke for him. ‘Even if you have to pay for the horses, you’ll make a good profit.’
‘What do I tell my crew?’
‘Whatever suits you.’ Hero stirred the coins with his hand. ‘Take half now. We’ll hand over the rest when we reach Anatolia.’
‘Which part of the coast are you making for?’
‘Somewhere uninhabited. We’re heading for Konya.’
‘Konya’s fallen to the Seljuks.’
‘We know that.’
‘Then why do you want to go there?’
‘We’re delivering a ransom for a Norman knight captured at Manzikert.’ Hero divided the silver into two roughly equal piles and covered one of them. ‘Take it. Go on, take it.’
Bardas trembled. ‘Keep a lookout.’ He began scooping the pile into a bag held open by Wayland. When he’d finished, he was panting. ‘I’ll have to speak to my men.’
‘Of course.’
Bardas returned to the galley and the company heard voices raised in debate.
‘You’ve signed our death warrants,’ said Drogo. ‘That’s what you’ve done.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Vallon.
The argument went on for a long time before the crew emerged, armed with the castaways’ weapons. The company rose to their feet.
‘I told you,’ said Drogo.
‘Bardas,’ Hero called. ‘There’s no need for swords.’
Vallon took Hero’s arm, advanced towards the mariners and stopped in front of the skipper. ‘You’re a good man, Bardas. Not many captains would have stopped at night to rescue strangers.’
‘He’s been shipwrecked himself,’ Hero said. ‘He couldn’t sail by and leave us to die.’
‘Do we have a deal?
Bardas pulled a crucifix from the neck of his tunic and kissed it.
‘He swears it on the cross.’
Bardas held out the crucifix. Vallon reached out and touched it. ‘On the cross.’
At an order from Bardas, the crew began hauling on the shrouds and the helmsman strained at the rudder. The constellations overhead rotated until the bow was pointing at the Pleiades clustered to the south.
Anatolia
XLVI
They approached the shores of Anatolia in falling darkness. A range of forested hills smothered in cloud rose from the narrow coastal strip. Nearly fifty miles to the east a navigation beacon twinkled on the cape above Sinop. No other lights.
‘You’re sure this is the right place?’ Vallon said.
Hero nodded. ‘Bardas has put in here several times to pick up timber. He says this is where Jason and his Argonauts landed in their quest for the Golden Fleece. Xenophon passed through it on his march with the Ten Thousand. We’re treading in the footsteps of gods and heroes.’
Vallon smiled. ‘Let’s keep it down to earth. How do we get through the mountains?’
‘A track used by loggers leads up through the hills. We’ll pass a few hamlets. If we ride all night, we should reach uninhabited country by dawn. We cross the range through a pass between two high peaks. After that we keep heading south.’
Vallon heard the slow surge and wash of waves breaking along the shore. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Are the horses ready?’
‘Saddling the last one,’ Wayland answered from the hold.
Vallon saw Drogo’s brooding figure standing amidships. ‘Settle our account with Bardas,’ he told Hero.
When he returned, the coast was close enough for Vallon to see surf foaming around headlands.
‘All done,’ Hero said. ‘That’s us almost cleared out.’
‘I don’t think silver will be much use to us where we’re going.’
They entered a bay between two wooded promontories. Bardas waited until the last moment before striking the sail. The Wanderer slid on to the beach and Wayland and Syth ran up it to check that the coast was clear. The crew fitted a ramp from the hold to the foredeck. They coaxed the six horses up it, then the crew laid the ramp against the gunwale and Vallon and Hero led each horse down to the beach.
Syth ran back. ‘Nobody’s about. Wayland’s found the track.’
Bardas bade them farewell, shaking each man’s hand and blessing them. When he came to Syth, he took off his crucifix and placed it around her neck. ‘It was my mother’s,’ he told her. ‘I would have passed it on to my daughter if I’d been blessed with a girl child.’ She kissed the ugly old seadog on his cheek and he touched the spot as if she’d bestowed a benison.
The crew pushed out the ship and climbed aboard.
‘Mount up,’ Vallon said.
The Wanderer was pulling away into the dark when they heard a heavy splash.
Hero turned and groaned. ‘You know what that is, don’t you?’
Vallon cursed and drew his sword. He dismounted and ran to the sea’s edge, peering into the night.
‘We can’t let him come with us,’ said Hero. ‘He’ll ruin whatever chance we have of freeing Walter.’
Drogo waded out of the sea and halted in front of them. Vallon raised his sword. ‘I gave you a chance when you’d have granted none. Now you leave me no choice.’
Drogo stood with empty hands outstretched. ‘Go on then. Kill me. What purpose will it serve? You don’t have the ransom. Your efforts have been nothing but vanity and I want to be there to witness your humiliation.’
‘Why should I give you that satisfaction?’
Drogo advanced within striking distance. ‘I can’t do you harm now, and you forget the good I did you. Without me and Fulk at your side, you wouldn’t have reached Novgorod. If Fulk hadn’t held off the Cumans, you’d have perished at the ford.’
Caitlin clutched Vallon’s sleeve. ‘Don’t listen to him.’
Vallon unhanded her and gripped Drogo by his tunic. ‘Let me tell you something. I undertook this expedition in a spirit of penitence. Don’t sneer. I swore not to take life except when I and my company stood in dire danger. That’s the only reason I didn’t kill you back in Iceland.’
‘Then I won’t give you any reason to break your oath.’
Vallon shoved him away. ‘Take the spare horse. Stay out of my sight.’
Vallon remounted and turned his back on the sea for the last time. Hero rode beside him. ‘What will Walter think when we arrive at the Emir’s camp with his hated stepbrother?’
‘I don’t care what Walter thinks. I don’t even know the man. Drogo’s right. This venture has been nothing but vanity and delusion.’
‘Even if it’s for nothing, I’ll still feel proud the day you lead us into Suleyman’s court. Nobody has made such an epic journe
y as us.’
‘It cost Richard and Raul their lives.’
‘Richard never regretted his decision to join you. Nor do I.’
They had entered the forest. Vallon reached out and squeezed Hero’s arm. ‘That gives me some comfort.’
Hero leaned closer. ‘And Drogo doesn’t know about the lost gospel. Perhaps fortune still has a trick or two to play.’
Wayland led the way up through the trees. The horses’ hooves jarred on the stony track and they hadn’t gone far when a dog began to bark and a voice challenged them. Twice more they woke households. At one of them two watchdogs ran snarling out of the darkness and frightened the horses before Wayland drove them off. All night they climbed through evergreen oaks and sweet chestnuts. When dawn broke they could see no settlements and halted beside a stream in a limestone gorge.
After eating, they slept until noon and then continued upwards through pines softened by mist. The vapours thickened, swirling cold and grey from the summit. Pockets of snow appeared and the horses panted in the thinning air.
They emerged from the mist and saw the two peaks dazzling in a rift of clouds. They climbed towards the pass, the snow up to the horses’ hocks. At the top of the snowfield a raptor with the silhouette of a giant falcon glided low and slow across their path, one wing almost brushing the snow. Its head shone gold in the sun and it looked at them with blood-red eyes set in a black and bearded mask, gazing with such intensity that each traveller felt as if he or she had been singled out for judgement.
They slogged over the pass, their shadows stretching long and thin in the shallow light. Beyond the watershed the range fell in thinly wooded spurs that ran out onto an arid upland plateau, a world of horizontals receding in a rosy bloom. Even as they watched, the sun’s glow faded and the land chilled to a sullen grey. They led their horses down through cold shadows and were still above the snowline when it grew too dark to see. Wayland found a shelter under a ledge pitted with old hearths and strewn with ancient bones. The flames from their fire played on the walls, animating paintings of animals and hunters dead ten thousand years.
Next morning they completed their descent and set off across the plateau. They rode all day, always the same drab vista unfolding before them. Towards evening they came to the top of a scarp and spied the bat’s-wing shapes of nomad tents scattered across the basin below. Dozens of them under a drift of smoke. They made a lengthy detour and bivouacked in a badlands gully. The company ate their rations and stared into the red core of the fire wherein the thoughts of wilderness travellers are forged.
Hawk Quest Page 64