Hawk Quest

VIII

Hero and Richard sat side by side under a shared blanket. The fire had dwindled to a single tongue of flame. Raul lay snoring on the other side of it. Vallon was keeping watch somewhere in the trees on the crag above.

Hero was trying to teach Richard how to calculate latitude by measuring the angular elevation of the Pole Star with his astrolabe. Richard had difficulty locating the correct star. ‘Not that one,’ said Hero. ‘Further right. Between the Great Bear and Cassiopeia — the constellation shaped like the letter W.’

‘I think I’ve got it,’ said Richard. ‘I expected it to be brighter.’

‘Now suspend the astrolabe as steadily as you can and line up the sighting bar.’

Richard pivoted the bar and squinted up it.

‘Let me see,’ Hero said, taking the astrolabe from him. He read off the star’s apparent position from the scale on the rim of the instrument. ‘Hmm, more than ten degrees out.’

‘What’s a degree?’

‘It’s an arc equal to the 360th part of the Earth’s circumference.’

Richard thought about it. ‘You’re saying that the Earth is round?’

‘Of course. That’s why the horizon curves when you view the sea from a height.’

‘I’ve only seen the sea once, when we crossed from Normandy. I was sick the whole passage.’ Richard frowned. ‘If the earth is round, we must live on top of it. Otherwise we’d fall off.’

‘Wasps walk round apples without falling off.’

‘They have more legs than we do. They can walk upside down on a ceiling.’

‘There must be some force that keeps us grounded,’ Hero conceded. ‘Perhaps it’s the same force that makes the needle of my compass point south and north.’

Richard sighed in drowsy admiration. ‘How much you know. Tell me more.’

Hero watched the stars sliding around Polaris. Raul gave a rasping snore that tailed off into vigorous lip smacking. ‘It’s time you told me something. Why have you come with us?’

‘I had to leave. At the castle, I had no say in my future.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Vallon isn’t interested in your future. This must have something to do with the ransom.’

‘Hasn’t he told you?’

‘There hasn’t been time to talk. I didn’t even know we were leaving until last night.’

‘Keep it down,’ Raul growled.

Richard moved closer. ‘Lady Margaret has persuaded Vallon to lead an expedition to Norway. First we have to raise the finance. We’re travelling south to a Jewish moneylender. I’m not allowed to tell you where. Vallon says that the fewer people know, the safer for all of us.’

Even though it was the answer he’d been expecting, Hero was shocked. ‘Vallon’s not going to Norway. Why would he risk his life to save a man he’s never met — a man whose brother tried to kill us?’

‘Vallon can use some of the money to trade and make a profit on the venture.’

‘That shows how little you know him. He’s a soldier, not a merchant. It’s just a trick to escape. Once he has your mother’s money, that’s the last you’ll see of him. You should have talked to me before running away.’

‘But he swore an oath.’

‘Who wouldn’t if it meant saving his skin? Look at Walter and his lies. Everyone lies when it suits his purpose. I should know.’

‘You?’

‘From the beginning, our journey hasn’t been what it seems.’

‘What do you mean?’

Hero couldn’t stop himself now. ‘Ask yourself why Master Cosmas agreed to win Walter’s freedom.’

‘You told me that he wanted to visit Britain before he died.’

‘Walter possesses something that Cosmas wanted — something he offered on condition that Cosmas obtain his release.’

‘What is it?’

‘Suppose I told you that at the eastern end of the world lies a realm greater than any built since the reign of the Caesars.’

‘China? I’ve heard you speak of it.’

‘Not China. This is a Christian realm.’ Hero patted his pack. ‘I have a letter written by the ruler of that country. It’s addressed to the Byzantine Emperor.’

‘What does it say?’

‘The ruler offers to lead an army against the Turks and Arabs. That’s not all. As a token of his allegiance, he sent a gift with the letter — something that will stand the world on its head.’

Someone or something not far away gave a heavy sigh. Hero and Richard clutched each other. Raul had heard the noise, too. He crawled to the fire, blew life into an ember and lit a taper shielded inside a horn. Holding the torch aloft, he crept forward. Hero followed him, then stopped with a gasp, the dog’s snarl printed on his retina.

‘Tell Vallon,’ Raul said.

Hero scrambled up the hillside. ‘Sir? Sir?’

‘Over here. You two talk loud enough to wake the dead. And what the hell were you doing waving a torch?’

‘It’s Wayland. He’s back.’

Raul took Vallon to one side and muttered in his ear. Vallon looked down into Wayland’s sullen blinks, then turned to Hero and Richard. ‘Wait by the fire.’

‘Something’s wrong,’ Hero whispered. ‘I’ve never seen him look so grave.’

Richard glanced at the dark figures. ‘Go on with your story. You were telling me about a gift.’

Hero was regretting his indiscretion. ‘No, my tongue ran away with me. I gave my word to Cosmas that I wouldn’t repeat the secret to anyone.’

‘Not even Vallon?’

‘No, not even him.’

‘But-’

‘Ssh!’ Vallon was returning towards the fire. ‘You must forget about the letter.’ Vallon was only feet away. ‘Swear it, or forfeit my friendship.’

‘Very well. I swear.’

Vallon stared into the embers and spoke in a colourless voice. ‘I’d hoped that we’d be safe once we’d put ourselves beyond Drogo’s reach. We hadn’t committed any crime, and with Richard to vouch for us, we had every chance of reaching our destination. Not any more. Wayland has killed two of the count’s men — Roussel and Drax.’

Raul spat into the fire.

‘I’m not shedding tears for them either. But there’s no crime more serious than the murder of a Norman. From now on every sword will be raised against us. Richard, your name and title are no longer any protection. If we’re caught, you’ll swing alongside us. You’d better leave us at the next town. Tell the Count we took you against your will.’

Richard stirred one foot miserably.

‘Wayland killed the Normans only a few miles from here,’ Vallon said. ‘The others probably rode straight back to the castle. Drogo won’t wait until morning before coming after us. He could be here by daybreak.’

Raul loosened his breeches and pissed on the fire. ‘We’d better get started then.’

Vallon began to gather his belongings.

‘Is Wayland coming with us?’ Hero asked.

‘He can come or go as he pleases. The damage is done.’

Wayland guided them south-west, across the grain of the country. They crossed a barren common by starlight and dropped into a wooded valley as the first faint wash of dawn spread in the east. They began their next ascent with sunlight fanning through the gaps behind them. They climbed a steep moor dotted with wind-racked junipers. The sun grew warm on their backs. Around them curlews cried their liquid song and grouse burst cackling out of the heather. Vallon didn’t call the first halt until mid-morning. Everyone was struggling, Wayland included. After they’d eaten, Vallon told him to stay behind and watch for pursuit. The Frank led the others on. At noon they were still climbing, one false summit leading to another.

Vallon reached the top first. Against the sky an old grey druid leaned into the wind with his cloak blowing out behind him. When Vallon approached, he saw that the figure was an ancient runestone covered by a mat of shaggy lichens. He sat against it, pulled off his boots and looked at his blistered heels. He put his boots back on and waited for the others to straggle up. Hero and Richard could hardly put one foot in front of the other.

At last Wayland appeared, hobbling with the help of a stave.

‘Any sign of them?’

Wayland shook his head and went past and stopped on the western skyline. Vallon struggled up and joined him. Beneath their feet the land spilled into a broad vale chequered with fields and veined by tracks. Wisps of smoke rose from dozens of hamlets. On the other side, snow-capped mountains cradled lakes in crooked folds. Figures like mites crept along a road that followed the valley north-west towards a plain bounded by a shining firth.

Vallon studied Wayland. The falconer was a good-looking youth, tall and straight, with yellow hair and a disconcertingly clear blue gaze. Vallon’s anger at his wanton behaviour was tempered by curiosity and grudging admiration. It took courage to kill two Norman cavalrymen. More than that, it took grim intent.

Wayland became aware of Vallon’s scrutiny and turned to face it. Not many people could look Vallon straight in the eye. The Frank faced towards the south. They were on the spine of the country — a range of bald fells wearing rags of snow and curving away on each side like the hull of an upturned boat. ‘See this ring,’ he said. ‘This morning the stone was as blue as your eyes. Now it’s clouding over. The weather will turn soon.’

Wayland studied the ring, then glanced at the sky. He nodded as if he didn’t need gadgets to predict the weather.

They followed the felltops south and bivouacked among the ghostly grey spoilheaps of a lead mine abandoned in Roman times. Richard fell asleep at supper with his spoon half raised to his lips and had to be put to bed like a child. Next day they continued south through a needling drizzle and didn’t encounter a living soul. They camped under a ledge in a stony gill and chewed their food woodenly, hardly exchanging a word.

Dawn broke like blood percolating through dirty water. All morning showers scudded in from the north-west. The fugitives were already cold and wet when they turned to see a curtain of black cloud closing down on them. It cast the mountains to the west into darkness and spread over the vale like a contagion.

There was no shelter on the fell. The storm knocked them sideways. Pellets of rain lashed them. The rain thickened into sleet and then wet snow that clogged their eyes and balled on their feet. Hero came struggling up to Vallon, shielding his face in the crook of his elbow. The wind blew the words away.

Vallon cupped a hand to his ear. ‘I can’t hear you.’

‘I said, Richard’s in a dreadful plight.’

‘It’s only a squall,’ Vallon shouted. ‘It will soon pass.’

‘He can’t endure much longer. Come, see for yourself.’

Richard looked like he’d been poleaxed, his eyes rolled up in his skull and his face deathly grey. He rambled in a slurred voice and lashed out when Vallon caught hold of him.

‘Raul, Wayland, take his arms.’

They went where the wind buffeted them, skittering in the blasts, their cloaks streaming out in front. They reached a sheepfold and collapsed in the lee and crouched around Richard with their hands tucked up into their armpits. The snow streaked past with hypnotic intensity.

The wind slackened and the snow stopped. The fugitives looked at each other and saw that they’d grown old, with white hair and brows. The darkness began to lift and the pale disc of the sun blinked through the streaming overcast. In the watery light, Vallon saw that they’d been driven to the eastern side of the fell and were looking down a steep dale.

‘Do you know this country?’ he asked Wayland.

The falconer turned a circle and shook his head.

Hero was chafing Richard’s hands. ‘He can’t spend the night up here. All our bedding is drenched.’

‘I knew he was the weakest link,’ said Vallon. ‘But I didn’t think he’d break so soon.’

The last black tendrils of stormcloud floated east. The wind dropped to nothing and sunlight bathed the hills. The snow began to melt before their eyes, leaving icy filigrees in the shadows. Far down the dale Vallon spotted a solitary farmstead in a bright green triangle of cultivation. He shaded his eyes and studied it.

‘I can see a man working a field.’

Wayland held up two fingers.

‘Two men, then, and no other habitation for miles. We’ll risk it.’

They followed a rushing burn, keeping out of sight of the house. When they were close, Vallon climbed the gulley and peered over the edge. The farmstead was a windowless cottage of unmortared whin-stone, the joints plugged with turves, the roof thatched with blackened ling. Fumes drifted out of the central smokehole. Attached to the cottage was a byre. Downhill of the house a man guided an ox-drawn plough through the thin soil. In an adjoining field another man was repairing a stone wall near a hobbled horse. Scrawny chickens pecked around the homestead.

‘Wait here,’ Vallon said.

He rose and began to walk towards the house. He’d gone only a few yards when a little girl herding two slat-ribbed cows appeared round a bend in the stream. She cried out and fled downriver, whacking the cows on their bony rumps. The chickens flew squawking onto the roof ridge. The men sprinted for the house.

Vallon signalled for the others to show themselves. The peasants rushed out armed with swords. Vallon kept his own sword sheathed and walked forward until they raised their weapons. They were youths, possibly twins. Vallon pointed back at the fugitives, then tilted his head and laid it on his hands, miming sleep. The youths flapped their arms at him. When he didn’t leave, they advanced with swords hoisted, looking to each other for courage. Vallon stood his ground. He held out a silver penny.

They frowned at each other. One of them shook his head, but the other said something and reached out to take the coin at full stretch. They moved back a pace. From the reverent way they handled the coin, passing it between them as if it were a charm, Vallon guessed that money played little part in their economy.

The two men stepped apart and beckoned Vallon to pass between them. He signalled for the others to wait. The youths closed up behind him.

He ducked through the doorway into a room dark except for the dim glow of a peat hearth. A woman stood pressed against the far wall with her arms crossed over her breast. Around the walls were four stone sleeping ledges, like burial niches. A slate table with stumps for stools completed the furnishings.

The men began to question him. The only word he could understand was ‘Normans’.

‘Not Norman,’ he said. ‘Normans … ’ He made a throat-cutting gesture.

He went out and waved the fugitives forward. They laid Richard in one of the bed niches and covered him with blankets. They hung their own sodden bedding on the smoke-blackened beams above the fire, then they crouched around the flame, holding out their hands in worship. The little girl came in and watched the strangers in mute fascination. Vallon donated what remained of their provisions to the woman — some beans and wheat flour, a venison shank, half a pot of honey and a nugget of salt. The woman slapped her daughter’s hand away and bore the scraps off as though they were treasure.

Ulf and Hakon, her sons were called, descendants of Viking invaders from Ireland. The swords they carried were the same arms their ancestors had waded ashore with, but now the blades were blunter than the ploughshares with which they scratched a living. Ulf told them that the Normans rarely came this far west. The last time they’d seen any was two years ago, when King William led his army through the Pennines after wasting Northumbria. The nearest strongholds were at York and Durham, more than a day’s ride to the east.

The room began to fill with peat smoke. Vallon went outside and sat on a rock and watched the hills turn velvety black under a golden sky. Hero came out and sat beside him.

‘Richard says you’ve agreed to lead an expedition to Norway.’

‘I’ll explain my intentions tomorrow, when we’ve rested and are seated at table.’ Vallon saw Hero bite his lip. He changed the subject and made his tone light. ‘Tell me what you think of our travelling companions.’

‘Richard’s more intelligent than I took him for. In fact he’s surprisingly quick-witted.’

Vallon nodded. ‘Determined, too. He told me that he’d rather take his chances with us than return to the castle. What about the falconer?’

Hero grew more animated. ‘He’s a rare creature. The defiant way he looks at you — like a hawk.’

‘He could do with some manning. I’ve never met a more impudent peasant.’

‘Perhaps he’s of gentler birth than that. Give him a bath and a proper suit of clothes and he’d cut a fine figure in any company. No, wait. He can read — which is more than anyone else in the Count’s household can do. The other morning he picked up one of the pages Olbec gave me and I saw his lips form words. If only he could speak, what a fascinating tale he could tell.’

‘He doesn’t need the gift of speech while he has you to romance his life.’

Hero reddened. ‘I think he’s a highborn Englishman whose land was stolen by the Normans. Sir, don’t scoff. History has many accounts of noblemen who were robbed of their inheritance and abandoned in the wild. Besides Romulus and Remus, there were Amphion and Zethus, sons of Zeus and Antiope, who were exposed in the mountains by their wicked uncle. And then there’s Poseidon’s son, Hippothous, raised by wild mares in Eleusis. Not to mention Jason and Achilles, both reared on Mount Pelion by the Centaur Chiron. In fact, when I see Wayland run, I’m reminded of Homer’s epithet for Achilles: podarkes — “the swift of foot”.’

Vallon laughed. ‘Enough. You’ve spent so long with your head in books that you can’t separate fact from fantasy.’ He gave Hero’s knee an affectionate cuff. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘Miss me?’

At that moment Raul poked his head out of the door and shouted that supper was ready. The first star had appeared in the east. Vallon rose and stretched. ‘Well, it will take more than a scrub and a haircut to civilise our crossbowman.’

‘He’s as rough as a boar, but his heart is kind.’

‘Gallows-bait. I’ve had a hundred men like Raul under my command and I’ve hanged a good few of them. For a penny a day and the prospect of plunder, he’d follow a fool to hell. Somewhere in a lonely corner of this world, there’s an unmarked grave waiting for Raul. Let’s eat.’

The others were already seated at table when they went in. Ulf bowed his head over the food and muttered a grace. The simple ceremony caught Vallon off guard. A lump filled his throat. He swallowed it. A man easily moved to tears cries only for himself.

Richard had recovered sufficiently to sit at table and sip a bowl of broth. The others ate a gruel of oats and beans containing nameless bits of gristle. For bread there was a gritty loaf of barley mixed with ground pulses.

The girl watched the strangers in breathless silence.

Hero picked at his portion. ‘What is this?’ he whispered. ‘Do you think it might be pig’s ear?’

Raul laughed. ‘It’s pig’s something.’

Hero put down his bowl.

‘I’ll have it if you don’t want it.’

‘It’s food taken from other men’s mouths,’ said Vallon. ‘Show some respect.’

After supper Ulf guided them to the byre. Vallon fell unconscious to the ruminations of cattle and the soft clucking of poultry. At some incalculable hour, he was woken by one of the brothers whispering in the doorway. He heard Wayland step over the sleeping figures and go out with his bow, the dog padding at his heels. Vallon shrugged and went back to sleep.

He spent the morning keeping watch, while Raul helped Hakon repair the stone wall. Hero stayed indoors giving Richard a writing lesson. Wayland and Ulf returned in the late morning with a brace of blackcock they’d shot at their lekking ground and a brown hare the dog had coursed and killed. They swung them on to the polished slate and everyone gathered round to admire the still life.

That night they dined on civet of game spiced with juniper and wild thyme. The brothers brought out a barrel of ale and the mood turned festive. The girl sat on Raul’s knee and watched him make a coin vanish from his hand and reappear behind his ear. No matter how many times he performed the trick, she wanted to see it again.

‘We should be observing the Lent fast,’ Richard said.

Raul drained his cup and banged it down. ‘I’ve done enough penance these last few days to purge my soul for a lifetime.’

Vallon rapped on the table. All eyes turned to him. Raul set the girl down.

‘There’s not much to say. We’ve left ourselves so open to the mercy of events that I can’t predict what tomorrow will bring, let alone next week. Our first goal is to reach a moneylender. I won’t tell you where he conducts his business in case any of you are captured. If we negotiate that hurdle, I intend leading a voyage to Norway in search of gyrfalcons. The falcons will be carried through Rus to Anatolia. We might make a profit on the enterprise. If we do, each of you will receive a share. Don’t get too excited, Raul. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that not everyone who begins the journey will end it. That’s all you need to know for now.’

Hero sunk his head. Wayland stared ahead as though thinking about something else. Raul grinned and raised his cup. ‘Fortune or a grave!’

‘A grave is the most likely outcome. Riders will be carrying our descriptions to every garrison in the north.’ Vallon’s eyes panned around the company. ‘Let’s face it, we’re not difficult to recognise. Ulf has offered to guide us tomorrow. In a day or two we’ll reach more populated country. If necessary, we’ll travel at night. Once we reach the lowlands and have to follow highways, we’ll split up. Wayland and Raul will scout ahead and search for refuges where we can eat and sleep. Richard and Hero will travel with me. We’ll meet up each evening.’

In the dead of night Vallon was still awake, his mind as restless as the mice rustling in the straw around him. Hero couldn’t sleep either. A blood-curdling shriek brought him upright with a gasp. A ghostly white shape wafted off the beam above and flitted through a slit in the gable. Hero crossed himself.

‘Only an owl,’ Vallon said.

‘A bird of ill omen.’

‘You’d better tell me what’s gnawing you.’

‘Sir, do you really intend to command an expedition to Norway?’

‘I thought that was it.’

‘Forgive me, sir. It’s just that, after all we’ve been through, to undertake a new and even more dangerous journey seems perverse.’

‘Not as perverse as all that. When our paths first crossed, I was on my way to Constantinople. That’s still my destination. The falcons will lead me there by a different route.’

‘But Rus is so dangerous. Cosmas told me that it’s descended into anarchy. Then there are the nomads on the southern steppe. Do you know what they did to a Russian prince who fell into their hands?’

‘Killed him — slowly, I imagine.’

‘And then turned his skull into a drinking cup.’

‘Hero, I’m still subject to arrest in France. I’d rather face a few savages than risk a third crossing of my homeland.’

‘There’s no need to return through France.’

Vallon had an inkling of what was coming. ‘Oh?’

‘You don’t owe anything to Olbec’s family. Quite the reverse. We travelled all that way on Walter’s behalf, and how did they reward us? Not only did Drogo try to kill us, but Olbec was ready to see us depart without a penny.’

‘You’re saying that I should steal the money intended for the expedition.’

‘It would be no more than just payment for the services you’ve rendered.’

‘So you think I should leave Walter to rot.’

‘Your very words, sir, when you discovered that he’d lied about his family’s wealth.’

‘I’d have lied if I’d been in his position.’

‘With respect, I don’t believe you would.’

Vallon rounded on him. ‘You know nothing about life’s harsh turns. You don’t know what it’s like to be a prisoner. You don’t know how it feels to see the weeks turning into months, not knowing if you’ll ever see home again.’

‘You, sir? A prisoner.’

Vallon fell back. ‘Fortunes of war. Now go to sleep. It will be light soon and we’ve got a long day ahead.’

Hero settled in the straw. Vallon knew what was troubling him. They’d been travelling for nearly half a year, yet the real journey had hardly begun.

‘You must miss home.’

‘Not as much as I miss the medical school. What about you, sir? Tonight is the first time I’ve heard you speak about home.’

‘I don’t have a home. I’m an outlaw.’

‘Yes, I know. But before that.’

‘There’s no before.’

Vallon stared through the darkness, remembering a sad song about an exiled knight turning for one last look at home and seeing open doors and gates without locks, windows without faces, the hall stripped of cloaks and mantles, the mews and stables empty, the horses gone, the falcons flown away.

He sighed. There was no going back. No matter how far he travelled, the road would always be leading him away.

‘Sir, you sound heavy of heart.’

‘Indigestion. I supped too well.’

Time passed. Vallon may even have dozed. ‘Do you remember your master’s last words?’

‘About you being sent to show me the way?’

Vallon lifted himself on to one elbow. ‘Did he really say that?’

‘He said it, sir.’

Vallon subsided again. ‘It wasn’t that. It was what he said before — something about the mystery of the rivers.’

‘Rivers with no known beginnings or endings. There was a river in Asia that he’d always wanted to follow — a river that leads into a fabulous land. Actually, sir, I’ve been meaning to confess something that-’

But Vallon was lost in his own thoughts. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. There’s no mystery about rivers. They’re born in the mountains, issuing from a spring as a baby emerges from the womb. They begin life boisterous, dashing about with ceaseless energy but no purpose. Gradually they become deeper and steadier. They grow broad and stately and proud. Next they turn sluggish and become confused, sometimes wandering off into backwaters. Finally, they lose their strength and merge into the sea.’