Hawk Quest

The White Sea and Rus
XXVIII

They rounded the Reykjanes peninsula next evening and set course south-east. During the night Hero took a sighting on the Pole Star to fix their latitude. Next morning dawned misty, the sun floating through layers of vapour like a dwarf red moon. Cloud-dappled skies by noon. Two days more saw the Westman Isles falling astern. The wind blew light from the south-west. If it held, it would carry them north of the Faroes.

Emerging into another tranquil dawn, Vallon was woken by Raul’s shout.

‘Icelandic ships ahead!’

Vallon made his way forward and studied the flotilla picked out against the rising sun.

‘What do you make of it, Captain?’

‘They’re not waiting for us. They must have lost time picking up Drogo’s men.’

‘Do you want me to change course?’

‘No need. We’ll lose them sooner or later. Until then, we might as well tag along. Their navigators know the sea-road better than we do.’

Raul glanced at him. ‘Hope it ain’t out of order, Captain, but what did you do to rile Helgi?’

‘Well, telling can’t do any harm now. By chance I happened upon his sister while she was bathing in a hot spring.’

‘Naked?’

‘Not a stitch.’

Raul whistled. ‘I ain’t laid eyes on her. Is she as beautiful as they say.’

Vallon smiled. ‘Lovely as Venus, but too hot-blooded for me.’

They shadowed the convoy for two days, settling into a relaxed shipboard routine. Vallon practised his English, went over the accounts with Richard, played chess. Hero monitored their position and held stilted conversations with the monks. Wayland and Syth fed the falcons each morning and removed the soiled moss from under their perches. Garrick tended the horses in the hold. In the long intervals of lying about doing nothing, the company listened to Raul and Wayland’s account of Greenland and its wonders.

‘Oh, I wish I’d come with you,’ Richard kept saying.

They saw no sign of the Faroes and quit looking after the fifth day. Wisps of cirrus heralded a front moving up from the south. Around noon on the sixth day, the horizon disappeared behind a curtain of black cloud trailing a frayed and dingy hem. Raul and Garrick upturned the ship’s boat across the stern thwarts and lashed it down. Wayland and Syth carried the falcons down to the stern half-deck. The monks also retreated below. Vallon remained on top with Raul.

The sky darkened. A few drops of rain pecked on the deck and the ship curtseyed before the first gust of wind. A slate-grey downpour advanced hissing across the sea and engulfed them. Vallon ran for the boat and squeezed under with the others. The rain fell in torrents, peening on the hull and bubbling over the deck. Vallon watched Raul steering through the deluge like some hairy Neptune. He grew chilled and stiff. He stuck it for as long as he could, then made his way to the helm.

‘I’ll take over.’

Shearwater dipped over the crests with ponderous grace, spray bursting over her bow. The rain pelted down, soaking Vallon to the skin. The four layers of thick woollens he wore didn’t keep him warm, but they provided enough insulation to maintain his body in a just-about bearable equilibrium. At dusk Wayland relieved him and he crept to rest under the boat. He woke in pitch blackness to half a gale. Flurries of rain rattled against the sail. He crawled out and groped his way to the rudder. Wayland was still at the helm.

‘How’s she standing up to it?’

‘We came through worse on our return voyage.’

Another burst of rain spattered against the sail. Bile rose in Vallon’s gullet. He huddled on a thwart, blinking into the sluicing dark, sniffing up dewdrops on the end of his nose. The point came when he could no longer keep his stomach corked. He rose heaving and spewed over the side. Down he sank again until the next fit of vomiting, and so it continued all night.

At break of day he voided his gut one last time and stared apathetically at the dull sky. The rain had slackened to a scudding drizzle. The convoy was nowhere within sight. Raul was back at the helm. Vallon listed across the deck. ‘Are we on the right course?’

‘No. We’re being blown north-east.’

Vallon sighted along the combers. Changing course would put them beam on to the seas. Even if they weren’t swamped by a big one, the ship would take a hammering. ‘This won’t last for ever. Run with it.’

Two days later the wind was still blowing and Vallon was beginning to worry about running out of ocean. ‘The Norway coast can’t be far ahead,’ he told Raul. ‘Organise a bow watch.’

Towards evening the wind tailed off and the sun flared briefly in the west. A rent opened in the clouds and stars sparkled in the void. Somewhere a phantom moon. It had grown much colder.

When Vallon took the next watch, the sea was beginning to settle and the sky to the north was clear. He searched for the Pole Star and found it high overhead. ‘Hero.’

Hero peered out from under the boat.

‘Work out our position if you can.’

Hero tried a dozen times to take a reading. ‘It’s no good. The ship’s pitching too much.’

‘What’s your best estimate?’

Hero studied Polaris. He checked the horizon. ‘We’re a long way north of where we should be.’

‘How far?’

‘I don’t know. Five hundred miles. Maybe more.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll try again when the sea’s calmer.’

Hero returned to bed. Vallon raised his eyes to Polaris. The star stood much higher than it had the night they left Iceland. The waves rolled northwards in an endless herd. Shearwater had been running before the wind for more than three days. They could easily have covered five hundred miles. He stared over the crests. So where was Norway?

The night passed and a vague grey light rose in the east. The swell was settling and only the occasional white crest broke on the waves. Vallon examined his puffy and quilted fingers. He dabbed at the cracks in the corners of his mouth, massaged his rheumy eyes. The rest of the company emerged with blotched and haggard faces, their clothes covered with mildew, stinking of wet rot. Raul resembled an inmate from a pest house — his mouth black and scabby, eyes webbed with blood, a hideous carbuncle erupting from his forehead. Even Syth looked a fright. Last out were the monks, their chins and habits streaked with vomit.

The company tottered about. Raul stood in the bow chewing on a dry fish spread with butter. Suddenly he was taken by a choking fit. Vallon thumped him between the shoulders and he ejected a wad of pulverised cod.

‘Ship,’ he wheezed, pointing south.

The others hurried over. ‘That’s Helgi’s vessel,’ said Wayland.

Vallon drilled a finger into his ear. ‘Are you sure?’

Wayland’s voice dragged on phlegm. ‘I recognise the patch on the sail.’

‘Do you think they’ve seen us?’ Hero asked.

‘Must have.’

‘He ain’t stopping,’ said Raul.

‘Follow him.’

The day brightened, sunshine dazzling between clouds. Gulls mewed around the ship and Vallon spotted driftwood. Away to the south a range of pale cloud held station.

‘That must be Norway.’

Raul cocked an inflamed eye at the sun. ‘It’s in the wrong place. Norway should be east of us.’

Vallon checked the position of the sun, looked at the land again. ‘Hero, bring your magic fish.’

Hero placed the compass on a thwart and the company watched its needle spin and settle. The evidence was incontrovertible: the coastline lay due south of them. No one spoke. As well as being exhausted and hungry, they had no idea where they were.

At midday Syth served up gruel and coarse grey bread furred with green and black mould. Vallon pared away the rot and tried to take a bite. His jaws made no impression. He threw the bread to the gulls and sank onto a thwart. Wonky comets and asteroids floated across his vision.

‘Sir?’

Garrick’s face swam into focus. ‘Sorry to disturb you. We’ve spotted two more ships from the convoy.’

Vallon pinched the bridge of his nose and thrust himself up. Garrick supported him by the elbow. He pulled loose. ‘I’m not a cripple.’

He sighted on the ships. They were about a league off, drifting together with sails lowered. Helgi had set course towards them.

‘What do you reckon?’ said Raul.

‘Take us closer.’

They drew within half a mile of the ships. Helgi’s vessel had already run up on them.

‘Looks like one of them’s lost its rudder,’ Raul said.

‘Bring us within hailing distance.’

Raul manoeuvred Shearwater to within earshot of the convoy. Wayland and Garrick lowered the sail. Shearwater rocked on the groundswell. Vallon spotted Caitlin looking dishevelled and not at all regal. And there stood Drogo decidedly green about the gills, with another familiar Norman face beside him.

‘I forget his name,’ said Vallon.

Raul looked at him oddly. ‘Fulk, Captain. You broke his wrist the night you arrived at the castle.’

‘So I did. Find out where we are.’

Raul pointed at the distant coast. ‘What land is that?’

Someone shouted an answer that made Raul whistle. ‘We’re more than a day’s sail east of North Cape. The storm’s driven us right round the top of Norway.’

Helgi and some of his men had rowed to the crippled ship and were in discussion with its master. Raul established a dialogue with the other Iceland skipper.

‘They ain’t got a spare rudder,’ he reported. ‘They’re going to tow the ship to a haven.’

Vallon searched the vague coastline. ‘Does the land have a name?’

‘The captain called it Bjarmaland. Nothing there but wild men and beasts. I’ve heard of the place. It’s north of Rus.’

Vallon eyed the sea behind them. ‘It’s going to be a long haul to the Baltic.’

Raul pulled at his beard. One of his eyes had grown a blain like a polyp. ‘We’ll have to land, too. Water’s running low and Wayland’s nearly out of food for the falcons.’

‘What do you know about the route down the Norway coast?’

‘It ain’t easy. We have to follow a passage between a chain of skerries and the mainland, rip currents and whirlpools all the way. There’s one place where the ocean pours into the vast pit of the abyss and sucks ships down to hell. The Maelstrom they call it.’

‘Perhaps we can persuade one of the Icelanders to pilot us.’

‘Another ship!’ Syth cried.

The straggler was more than a league to the south, its sail just breaking the horizon. They watched it grow larger.

‘She’s damaged, too,’ said Raul. ‘She’s crabbing. And see how low she sits.’

Wayland grabbed a shroud and sprang onto the gunwale. He pulled himself as high as he could and peered from beneath his hand.

Vallon saw him frown. ‘Anything wrong?’

‘It isn’t an Iceland ship.’

‘What is it then?’

Wayland looked down. ‘It’s a drakkar. A dragon ship.’

Raul slapped his thigh. ‘Why didn’t I spot it myself?’ He faced Vallon’s puzzled stare. ‘A Viking longship, Captain. A warship. That’s why her hull’s so low. She’s built long and lean for speed. There ain’t nothing wrong with her steering. She’s aiming to get leeside of us before attacking.’

No one on the Icelandic ships had recognised the danger. Helgi and the captain of the damaged ship were locked in argument. Helgi’s ship had a spare rudder and he wasn’t prepared to part with it.

‘You’d better warn them,’ said Vallon.

Raul’s news prompted a moment’s stillness, then the Icelanders scuttled like panicked rats. A woman threw back her head in a despairing wail.

The longship had drawn close enough for Vallon to see the dragon head carved on its stempost. Figures swarmed and the ship’s hull bristled.

‘Taken to their oars,’ Raul said. ‘Must know we’ve recognised them.’

‘How many men will she be carrying?’

‘At least thirty. They’re pirates or slavers and I say we don’t wait around to find out which.’

‘You said they’re faster than us.’

‘Faster under sail, faster under oar. The sooner we get going, the better our chances.’

Vallon gnawed on his lip. ‘Bring us alongside.’

‘Captain, I know longships and the kind of man that sails on them.’

‘I won’t ask a second time.’

Raul’s mouth crimped. He marched off flinging out orders. Helgi’s vessel had come alongside the rudderless ship and was sawing against its hull. The crew and passengers were abandoning the cripple. Men bundled its sail onto Helgi’s ship and slashed the rigging. Others threw bales and other items of cargo across. Helgi oversaw the transfer of passengers. When Raul hailed him, he flapped his arm in a dismissive wave that made Vallon’s blood seethe.

‘Ask him what he plans to do.’

Raul bellowed across the gap. Two people on different ships called out together, jabbing in the direction of the longship.

‘They’re going to cut and run.’

Vallon watched the twinkling rhythm of the longship’s oars. ‘The Vikings won’t be satisfied with an empty hulk. Tell him we can resist them if we stand together.’

Raul trumpeted the proposal and strained for the answer. He drew back, sniffed and spat. ‘Anything you say, he’ll do the opposite. We got to get going.’

Vallon saw light gleam on rusty mail. ‘Drogo!’

The Norman turned and stared across the swell.

‘Between us we can muster enough fighting men to repel them. You know how deadly Wayland and Raul are with their bows. We’ll kill half a dozen Vikings before they can board. Tell Helgi.’

The Icelander was helping an elderly couple off the ship. Hands reached up to receive them. They were the last evacuees. Helgi sprang to his own ship, drew his sword and cut the crippled vessel loose. His crew hoisted sail and the ship gathered way.

Vallon spat with contempt. ‘Picks fights with strangers, then flees from pirates who’d gang-rape his sister in front of him before cutting out his heart.’ Vallon wiped his mouth. ‘All right. Get us under way.’

The two Iceland ships were steering north-east, sailing close-hauled, Helgi’s ship drawing ahead.

‘Why aren’t they sailing downwind?’ Vallon asked.

‘Makes sense,’ said Raul. ‘Longships have shallow draughts for raiding up rivers. Their keels don’t bite as deep as ours and they make more leeway sailing across the wind. That’s our only advantage.’

Vallon watched the abandoned knarr drifting in their wake. As the longship closed on it, all the oars rose to the vertical, then dipped and disappeared. The longship glided up to its prey.

‘How many rowers?’ Vallon asked Wayland.

‘Sixteen each side.’

The Vikings swarmed aboard the knarr. Vallon hadn’t given any thought to the time and he was surprised to see how late it was. The longship and its victim diminished in their wake. Dusk was beginning to encroach when the two outlines separated.

‘They’re coming after us,’ said Raul.

‘They won’t catch us before dark.’

Raul eyed the weather vane. ‘Wind’s shifting to the north. The Vikings know we’re making for the coast. They’ll aim to get ahead of us and lie in wait.’

‘Any ideas?’

‘Wait until dark, let the Vikings sail past and then lie up on the weather side. By morning they could be twenty miles downwind of us. Too far to claw back. That’ll give us plenty of sea room to find a safe haven.’

‘They might have thought of that.’

‘They might.’

‘The sky’s clearing and the moon’s waxing full. We don’t want the Vikings to find us drifting. Hold your course.’

‘Aye, Captain.’

Vallon gave a yawn that threatened to dislocate his jaw. ‘Wake me if … ’ He sketched a tired wave.

He tottered to his pallet, lay down and felt for his sword. His eyes fluttered and closed.

He woke batting away a hand. Someone was shaking him. He swung himself up into a sitting position and stretched his eyes wide.

‘It’s gone midnight,’ Wayland said. ‘Raul said to wake you if there was any change.’

Vallon blinked up. Everything had been transformed. The falcon on Wayland’s fist seemed irradiated by white fire. The dog sat beside its master with its eyes burning pale and its hoary shape shadowed in deepest black on the deck. Vallon hoisted himself up. A full moon ringed by a halo cast a gaseous light over the ocean. Small clouds like puffs of smoke drifted low across the horizon, brightening as they crossed the moon’s path. The sea had gelled into a huge plane of crumpled silver. Over to port a sail shone.

‘Helgi’s ship,’ said Wayland.

Vallon spied another sail far away down their glittering wake.

‘That’s the other Iceland ship.’

Vallon probed every quarter. ‘The Vikings?’

‘No sign.’

A flight of meteorites glided overhead and disappeared one by one into the furthest reaches of space. The falcon swivelled her head and preened. She roused and ran her beak down her flight feathers. Vallon stroked her breast.

‘How quickly you’ve tamed her.’

‘Not my doing. She’s naturally gentle.’

‘How are the other falcons faring?’

‘They’re healthy enough so far. They don’t suffer from seasickness as men do. My main worry is running out of food.’

‘We’ll land as soon as we’ve shaken off the Vikings.’

‘What will we do if they attack us?’

‘We’ll make it go hard for them. How are you off for arrows?’

‘I’ve got a full quiver.’ Wayland paused. ‘It’s Syth I’m worried about — if I’m killed, I mean. I know what the Vikings will do to her.’

‘Don’t believe everything Raul tells you.’

‘It’s true, though. You know it is. Syth and I have talked about it. She has a knife, but I’m not sure she’ll be able to use it if the time comes.’

‘Nobody’s going to harm her.’

‘But if the worst happens …’

What could Vallon say? That there were grimmer fates for a young woman than being captured by sea pirates? That if Wayland was dead, it didn’t matter to him what happened to Syth?

‘If it’s in my power, I’ll make sure she doesn’t fall into the Vikings’ hands.’

‘Thank you.’

*

Vallon stood watch until the moon grew wan and the stars that had guided them lay low in the east. The rest of the company rose and stood beating their arms across their chests and blowing into their hands. A cold breeze from the north-west had carried them back to within sight of land. Helgi’s ship ploughed a furrow a couple of miles ahead. The other vessel had dropped further behind. No sign of the longship.

Garrick brought him a breakfast of bread and a bowl of purplish gloop. Vallon examined it at arm’s length.

‘It’s dulse, sir.’

‘Dulse.’

‘Seaweed, sir. The Icelanders eat it in winter to keep scurvy at bay.’

Vallon spooned up a tiny portion, closed his eyes and tasted. His mouth puckered. He spat it out and slid the mess over the side.

‘We’ve been at sea for less than two weeks. Don’t tell me we’ve run out of proper food.’

‘I can fetch you an egg, sir.’

Vallon brightened. ‘A fresh egg?’

‘Afraid not. They’ve been preserved in ash since last year.’

Vallon grimaced. He’d seen Icelanders sucking the green and watery contents of such eggs. ‘Leave it. The bread will suffice.’

Garrick leaned his hands on the gunwale and surveyed the ocean. ‘Looks like we’ve lost them.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

Garrick nodded towards the laggard in their wake. ‘If they do show up, they’ll get that one first.’

The breeze carried them closer to the coast. Vallon watched it reveal itself. Undulating barrens tinged with the colours of autumn. No mountains or trees. Helgi was heading for the mouth of a large river. The sun reached its zenith. Both Iceland ships were still visible when one of Vallon’s sweeps picked up something behind the laggard.

‘Wayland.’

Wayland hurried up.

‘Is that another sail?’

Wayland looked long and hard. ‘Yes.’

Vallon glowered at Helgi’s ship. Someone on board must have spotted the longship, but the knarr continued making for the rivermouth. ‘Look at that. Thinks only of himself.’

‘Can’t blame him,’ said Raul. ‘He wouldn’t be able to reach the knarr before the longship catches it.’

‘They’re his countrymen. He should have been escorting them. All he cares about is himself and his precious sister.’ Vallon narrowed his eyes, estimating distances. ‘If we take to the oars, we might be able to reach the Icelanders first.’

‘No, we won’t. The Vikings can row three times as fast as we can, and they’ve got the wind behind them. Captain, leaving the Icelanders don’t sit comfortable with me neither, but we got no choice.’

Vallon cast another glance at Helgi’s ship. ‘Heave to. We’ll give the Icelanders a chance to catch up.’

Raul gave a distraught hop. ‘Captain-’

‘Heave to.’

Shearwater lost way. The company waited.

It was a strange sort of day, the wind coming in gusts that blew alternately warm and cold. They must be at the confluence of currents. The Iceland ship slowly gained on them, but the longship was making the faster headway.

Garrick crossed himself. ‘There are women and children on board. God help them.’

‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’ Hero murmured.

‘No, there ain’t,’ Raul snapped. ‘We’re putting ourselves in peril for nothing.’

Half a mile from their prey the Vikings took to their oars. The sea foamed at the blades and gnashed around the longship’s bow. The monks fell to their knees, entreating God to intervene. Vallon checked the angle of the sun. He glanced at his ring, saw that the gem had darkened and dismissed its warning. There was hardly a cloud in the sky and it wasn’t the first time that the jewel had predicted falsely. The breeze carried faint cries from the Icelandic ship.

Richard covered his face. ‘I can’t bear to watch.’

The longship surged up to the knarr and the Vikings leaped aboard. A brief melee and then across the sea drifted the blaring of a war horn.

‘Permission to get underway, Captain.’

Two figures toppled from the knarr. Another followed. ‘What’s that about?’

‘They’re getting rid of the old and infirm — anyone who won’t fetch a price in the slave mart.’

‘Are they pagans?’

‘Likely they are if they’re from the north. Please, Captain …’

Vallon saw that Helgi’s ship was almost out of sight. ‘Make for the estuary.’

Raul clapped his hands. ‘Jump to it.’

Up went the sail, round came the bow. They’d gone about two miles when the longship left its victim and set off in pursuit. A mile further and the wind failed. Shearwater glided to a stop. Her sail flapped once and then hung listless.