Hawk Quest

XVII

Wayland woke cold and queasy in a dull grey dawn. He lay listening to the wind moaning in the shrouds, someone throwing up. Draped in his blanket, he felt for the side and stood blinking at the endless white-caps. Not a sail to be seen or any sight of land. They were still sailing north-east, pitching through lumpy waves and scudding rain. The stink of tallow and tar and vomit made his gorge rise. Sweat broke out on his brow. Gripping the gunwale with both hands, he puked over the side. When he was done, he leaned on the gunwale and turned his head to see who the other victim might be. It was Vallon, propped in exactly the same wretched condition.

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 and 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.

‘How far are you sailing?’ someone asked.

‘Like as not you’ll be home to help with the harvest. Not that you’ll have to toil in the fields again — not with your swags of silver.’

‘How far?’

‘North.’

‘Where north?’

Raul glared at the questioner. ‘Orkney.’

The worshippers stuck out their bottom lips and shrugged. ‘Is that on the other side of the river?’ one asked.

‘’Course it is, ye numpty,’ someone snorted. ‘There ain’t no Orkney this side of Humber.’

‘It’s north of the Humber,’ Raul conceded. ‘Not far.’

A swallow dived through the door, just missing Wayland’s head, and swooped up to its nest in the roof beams.

Raul trickled silver from palm to palm. ‘A halfpenny a day and all found.’

They thought about it like a convocation of philosophers. Not a man came forward.

‘Are you so content with your lives?’ Raul demanded. ‘Does your landlord treat you that well?’

‘He treats us like willows,’ came a cry from the back. ‘He thinks the more he crops us, the better we’ll sprout.’

Laughter was followed by other complaints. ‘He fines us when we marry. He fines us when we die.’

‘He forbids us to grind our corn at home and charges us to use his own mill.’

‘Where we have to wait three days for flour made from last year’s mouldy gleanings.’

Raul spread his arms in evangelical fervour. ‘Brethren, here’s the chance to throw off your yokes. Here’s the cure to your earthly miseries.’ He stepped up to one of the dissenters, a well-set man of about thirty. ‘You have a bold tongue. I like the cut of you. You’ve seen action if I ain’t mistook.’

‘I fought with the English king’s fyrd at Stamford.’

‘I knew it. You’re just the sort of stout-limbed fellow we’re looking for.’

The man shook his head. ‘I’m married with three bairns and an ailing mother.’

‘Ah, but think how richly you’ll be able to provide for them when you return.’

‘I can’t. I’m tied to my fields.’

‘No man’s tied. Come on, shake the mud off your feet.’

‘Leave him be,’ Wayland said.

Raul scowled at him and confronted another serf. ‘How about you?’

The man rubbed his knees and spoke inaudibly. Raul cocked a hand to his ear. ‘What’s that?’

Wayland turned. ‘He says, “Who’ll look after his bees?”’

Raul yanked his sidelock. ‘Sweet Jesus. It’s like plucking feathers off a toad.’

He went from man to man, receiving the same mumbled negatives. He craned back in amazement. ‘What! None of you. Your Viking forefathers must be kicking in the cold earth. All right. Dream your dreams of mangels. Count your haystacks. Spend the rest of your days staring up an ox’s arse while you squelch through the mud with your toes sticking out of your shoes and the clothes raggedy on your back and your kids perishing at home from hunger.’

‘I’ll come.’

Raul swung round. ‘Show yourself.’

Out of the congregation limped a tall and bony labourer with knees and elbows staring from threadbare homespun, big hands dangling from knobbly wrists.

Raul eyed him dubiously. ‘Who might you be?’

‘Garrick, a widower and poor freeman. Death has separated me from my kin and I’ll soon join them if I stay here, for my fields are too few to furnish a living.’

Raul stalked around the peasant, sizing him up. ‘You’re lame. Was that done on the battlefield?’

Someone laughed. ‘He fell out of a tree when he was a boy. Bad luck and trouble have followed Garrick all his days.’

Raul shoved him aside. ‘Sorry, we want able-bodied men.’

‘Let me see him,’ Wayland called.

‘Vallon won’t thank us for signing up a scarecrow.’

‘Bring him here.’

Raul marched Garrick to the door. Hunger and toil were stamped on every feature, but a wry light gleamed in his hollow grey eyes. Something in Wayland warmed to him.

‘Are you ill?’

‘If hunger’s a sickness, then I’m mortally ill.’

Wayland smiled. ‘Show me your hands.’

Garrick spread blackened and calloused mitts as big as shovels.

‘The journey will be hard.’

‘Staying here will be harder. I ate the last of my harvest before Lent.’

‘He’ll do,’ said Wayland. ‘Find one more and then we’ll be off.’

Raul glared into the body of the church. ‘The angel Gabriel couldn’t sweet talk that lot through the pearly gates. I’ll just take whoever I fancy.’

‘I don’t want to separate men from their families,’ Wayland said.

‘You heard Vallon. Grab them, he said. We can’t dicker about waiting for these clodhoppers to make up their minds.’

The boys in the churchyard yelled and began jumping up and down, pointing at a rider and two men on foot hastening across the fields.

Wayland took a few steps down the path. ‘Who are they?’ he asked Garrick.

‘Daegmund the bailiff and his bullies, Aiken and Brant. The bane of our lives and the goad of our days.’

Wayland shaded his eyes. The bailiff was lashing his mule roughshod over the peasants’ crops. He jounced in the saddle, his pudding bowl haircut flopping up and down. Two footsoldiers in shabby leather armour trotted behind him.

‘We’d better not wait on their coming,’ Garrick said.

Wayland took up his bow and reached for an arrow. ‘Will they fight?’

‘Not Daegmund. The boldest thing about him is his collar, for it grips the throat of a thief daily. He uses his bullies for the rough stuff.’

‘Local men?’

‘No. Daegmund doesn’t trust men of the manor. He has too many sly dealings to hide. He hired those ruffians in Grimsby.’

The worshippers had left the church to spectate. The bailiff hauled up his mule beyond the graveyard. Pudgy and glandular, he cut an unvalorous figure for all that he wielded a sword and staff. His guards came panting up and stationed themselves on each side, scraping clods off their shoes and trying to disguise how winded they were. They carried old and abused single-edged Saxon swords. Their quilted leather gambesons leaked stuffing. Daegmund passed a hand across his eyes.

‘What’s this I spy? What’s this? Trespassers on my lord’s manor. Armed nuisances. Disturbers of the King’s peace. State your business.’

Raul spat carefully. ‘We’re recruiting men for a trading expedition.’

The bailiff’s eyes bulged. ‘These serfs are my lord’s possessions. Every man and his chattels exist at his will and disposition.’

‘He won’t miss a brace.’

The bailiff brandished his staff. ‘Arrest those rogues. Bind them. Each man who assists will have their week-work remitted for a month.’

Raul pushed out his cheek with his tongue. ‘Generous soul, ain’t he?’

The bailiff pointed a quivering finger. ‘I’ve raised the hue. Soldiers are on their way. You’ll hang.’

‘If they catch us, they’ll do a lot worse than hang us.’

One of the guards felt for the bailiff’s knee. Daegmund leaned down with a hand cocked over his ear and what he heard made him straighten with a start, his face as red as a cockscomb.

‘Those men are felons and murderers. They’re members of a gang that broke out of Norwich after slaughtering their guards. That’s the measure of their wickedness.’

‘That’s right,’ Raul shouted, silencing the buzz. ‘I stopped counting how many Normans we killed after the first twenty.’

The bailiff’s eyes shimmied. ‘There’s ten shillings on each of their heads.’

Raul advanced a step. ‘You’re a lying sack of shit. The price was more than a pound a fortnight ago, and that was before we sank a Norman ship. We must be worth at least double now.’

‘A share of the reward to every man who helps turn them in.’ Daegmund kicked out at one of his bodyguards. ‘Lead the way. Seize them.’

As Brant and Aiken advanced into the graveyard, Raul levelled his crossbow at the bailiff. ‘Keep them coming. You’ll be the first to die.’

Daegmund waved his men back as if he were trying to put out flames. Wayland studied his minders. Both of middling height, red-cheeked, built like small dray horses.

‘What about taking those two?’

Raul sniffed. ‘Could do worse, I suppose.’

Wayland checked the mood of the congregation. It wasn’t wise to underestimate peasants. He began to walk forward.

‘Help!’ yelped the bailiff, yanking his mule around.

One of the guards waggled his sword. Wayland stopped.

‘Which one of you is Brant?’

‘Don’t ye tell him,’ said the one on the right.

Wayland smiled at the one on the left. ‘You’re Brant.’

Brant gave a sly nod. He looked a bit simple.

‘We’re bound for the north on a merchant venture. Hiring crew who’ll work hard for a good wage. You and your partner look like likely lads.’

‘What’s he saying?’ cried the bailiff from a safe distance.

‘How much does that tub of guts pay you?’

‘Don’t answer,’ Aiken said. ‘You’ll only get us into trouble.’

‘You’re already in trouble.’

‘Four shillings each quarter day,’ said Brant. ‘And we’re still waiting for last quarter’s wages.’

‘Take service with us and we’ll pay you double and all found, plus a share of the profits. Show them, Raul.’

At sight of the silver, Brant slid his tongue along his teeth and looked sidelong at his partner.

‘Words are cheap,’ Aiken told him. ‘Once they’ve got you on their ship, fancy promises don’t mean shit. They’ll work you like a mule and kick you like a cur.’

‘How do you think your master will treat you when we leave with Garrick?’

The bailiff had spurred closer. ‘Stand firm. Do your duty and I’ll forgive any trespasses you’ve done me this day.’

Wayland nudged his chin. ‘Who do you believe? Him or me?’

‘He’s right,’ Brant told Aiken. ‘Unless we stop them, we’re finished here.’

Aiken looked away, jaw jutting.

‘Our ship’s waiting,’ Wayland said.

Brant reached for Aiken’s arm. Excitement lit his face. ‘Let’s join them and make our fortunes.’

Aiken glowered at the ground and swung his head from side to side.

Brant laughed. ‘Then I’ll go alone.’ He scanned the scenery around as though committing it to memory, took two quick breaths and stepped to Wayland’s side. Turning, he looked back across an invisible line. ‘I’ll come back rich,’ he said. ‘You’ll see.’

Aiken raised his head. ‘Half the Norman army is hunting those pirates. You’ll be dead before next Sunday.’

Daegmund was shaking his fist and looking set to have a fit.

‘We’re done here,’ Wayland told Raul.

They began to back away. The parishioners watched with solemn expressions. They’d reached the graveyard wall when the bailiff spurred his mule around Aiken and rained sickening blows on his head.