Hawk Quest

XLII

On they went, the river flowing so wide and slow that it seemed as if they were motionless and it was the land that was moving. Two days after the skirmish, Kolzak pointed out a flock of vultures wheeling above a bluff on the eastern shore. Igor turned and relayed the warning.

‘A Russian family farms up there,’ Hero told Vallon. ‘The pilots think something’s happened to them.’

‘Tell them to land.’

The pilots pulled in and the Rus soldiers disembarked with great trepidation and set off up a dirt track, stumbling along in bast sandals tied with coarse hemp cords. A raw breeze carried the smell of ashes and the taint of carrion. The house had been burned down to its mud walls. As they approached, a steppe fox careered off and three vultures trotted away from a half-eaten cow before getting airborne.

A family of five had lived here, said the pilots. Wayland found what remained of the man in a plot of buckwheat stubble. There was no trace of his wife and their three children.

‘The Cumans haven’t been gone long,’ he said. ‘Four days at most.’

Vallon looked at the steppe undulating in shallow folds towards the horizon. No other dwellings in sight. Not even a tree to give a sense of scale. The grasses tossed in the wind.

‘Why did they settle in such a dangerous place?’

‘The soil is rich black loam. The Cumans haven’t been this far north for some years. They took a chance and lost.’

The emptiness gave the Russians the jitters. They fairly ran back to the ships, leaving the smallholder unburied. Vallon and Wayland remained a little longer, listening to the wind in the grass, watching cloud shadows sail across the steppe. They imagined the farmer looking up from some everyday task to see the mounted warriors mustering on the skyline.

Vallon hunched his shoulders. ‘Let’s go.’

The Dnieper flowed on with unbroken calm, then the left bank began to rise and the current quickened as the river narrowed between cliffs. Since leaving Kiev they had been heading south-east. Now the river swung due south and the voyagers saw that it disappeared through a cleft in a plateau about five miles downstream.

‘Porohi,’ Igor shouted, pointing at the gap. ‘Rapids.’

The sun hadn’t reached full height when the pilots cut short the day’s journey at a grassy island below a tributary. No point going further today, Kolzak said. They were only a few miles above the first rapid. With the days now much shorter than the nights, it would take two days to get past all nine of them. If they started at first light tomorrow, they should be through the first five by sundown.

Vallon’s company unloaded their horses and hobbled them before turning them out to graze. Wayland and Syth went off to hunt game for the falcons. Vallon and Hero strolled to the tail of the island and watched the clay-coloured current coiling towards the gap in the granite walls. The sky was a glazed blue dish brushed with fair-weather cloud.

Hero glanced at Vallon. ‘Drogo will make another sabotage attempt. The closer we get to our goal, the more desperate he’ll become.’

Vallon nodded. ‘I’ll set him and Fulk adrift once we’ve run the rapids and are clear of the Cumans.’

‘They won’t survive long in the steppe.’

‘I’m not so pitiless that I’d condemn them to death. We’ll give them the spare boat and enough food for the journey to the Black Sea. If they reach it … ’ He broke off. ‘Here come Wayland and Syth.’

They appeared from the other side of the island and jogged down to join them. Vallon smiled. ‘No luck?’

‘Horsemen on the west bank,’ said Wayland. He took Vallon by the elbow and steered him round. ‘They’ve dropped from sight, but they’ll be watching. Better not let them know we’ve seen them.’

‘Are they shepherds?’

‘No, they carry shields and sidearms as well as bows. I counted four, but there may be more. We have to get off the island. The channel on the other side is shallow enough to ford.’

Vallon looked towards the camp. ‘This requires delicate thinking. The Russians might turn back if they find out there are Cumans in their path.’

On the way to the camp they agreed a plan of action. They found Richard alone by their fire and told him about the horsemen. No one else. Hero went to the Russians’ camp and invited the pilots to come over and discuss the journey through the gorge. Vallon greeted them cheerfully and Richard handed them cups of mead.

‘So,’ Hero said. ‘Tell us more about the rapids.’

Igor answered, chanting his response like a litany. ‘The first one is called Kaidac. It has four ledges.’ He mimed rowing. ‘Keep to the left. Next is the Severe One, called Sleepless by the Varangians. Very soon we are at the dangerous Wave-Waterfall, which has three ledges and many perilous rocks downstream. Then we come to the Echoer. As you pass it your heart quails at the terrible clamour of the Insatiable. Here the river pours down twelve ledges with the speed of a runaway horse. No time to think, no time to aim. Pray to God and put your life in his hands. A thousand souls and all their treasure lie at the bottom of the deep pools below. If you come through the Insatiable and the dangerous rocks downstream, your course turns west past a large island. For many versts the river flows gently. Don’t relax. Don’t cease your prayers. Ahead of you is the Place of Waves with billows that hold many hidden dangers.’ Igor rocked from side to side, his eyes shut. ‘Hardly have you given thanks to God for your deliverance than you are in the Awakener. Below that the river turns south again and descends the Lishni. It offers only slight dangers. Now only the Serpent awaits, winding and twisting through six ledges before spilling into the Wolf’s Throat.’

Igor opened his eyes and quaffed his mead. Hero made a face at Vallon. ‘He says we’re in for a tempestuous ride.’

‘Ask him where the Cumans set their ambushes.’

‘Below the Serpent, at the Wolf’s Throat,’ Igor answered. ‘There the river narrows to less than an arrow-flight and the horse-archers can shoot down into the boats. If you survive their barbs, you still have to face their main force at the ford between the end of the gorge and St Gregory’s Island.’

Hero sipped his mead. ‘Have you ever run the rapids at night?’

Igor snorted. ‘Of course not.’

‘Is it possible?’

‘Only a madman would attempt such a thing.’

Hero smiled. ‘Fyodor told us you could run the rapids in your sleep.’

Igor looked away. ‘Yes, in the summer I could find the way with my eyes closed. But with the water so low everything will have changed. Some of the channels will be dry and others will be no wider than your boats. You can’t thread a needle in the dark.’ He drained his cup. ‘Why do you ask?’

Hero poured them more mead. ‘Because the Cumans know we’re here.’

The pilots froze with their cups halfway to their mouths.

Hero pulled himself closer. ‘Wayland spotted them on the west bank. By now some of them will be riding south to prepare an ambush. If we wait until tomorrow, there’ll be an army waiting at the ford. We have to start as soon as possible and run all nine rapids tonight. We’ve still got some daylight and there’ll be a moon to light the way after sunset.’ He saw Kolzak glance at the Russians. ‘Don’t tell them until we’re below the second rapid. Say that we’re moving downriver to be sure of making an early start.’

Igor said something to Kolzak and they began to argue in Russian, working themselves into such a frenzy that the soldiers turned to watch. Igor made to jump up, but Kolzak pulled him back down. He clenched his arms around his chest, his face a furious wrinkled sack. ‘Igor refuses to go,’ Kolzak said. ‘He’d rather suffer Fyodor’s punishment than face certain death.’

Hero craned forward. ‘Now listen. We haven’t told the Vikings about the Cumans. When we do, do you imagine they’ll let you scuttle back to Kiev leaving them to face the horse-nomads alone? And there’s the silver we paid for your services. Vallon isn’t the kind of man to overlook a broken contract.’

Igor sobbed into his hands. Kolzak spoke gently to him and helped him up. His arms flopped in resignation. ‘God curse Fyodor Antonovich. A plague of ulcers on his soul.’

A palm’s span separated the sun from the horizon when the convoy approached the gate in the plateau. The two galleys led the way, followed by Vallon’s company towing the spare boat, Drogo and the Icelanders bringing up the rear. They entered the mouth of the gorge and the sun disappeared below the western wall. The cliffs on both sides rose three hundred feet, their walls fissured by gullies overgrown with trees. The river swung left and the voyagers heard the mutter of fast water. Wulfstan stood in the bow of the company’s boat. ‘Keep to the same line as the galleys. Right a bit. Don’t look. That’s my job. Here we go.’

Hero’s stomach went light as the boat bucked. It bobbled down a ropy slither of broken water and glided out into slack.

Richard grinned. ‘That wasn’t too bad.’

‘That was the easy one,’ said Hero. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the gorge cutting south for miles. The sunlight had retreated up to the crests on the left bank, throwing the cliffs on the right into deep shadow.

Three miles on they reached the rapid called Sleepless. The water above it seemed to skin over and grow more solid, like a flexed muscle. The noise swelled. Wulfstan stood holding on to one of the mast’s straining lines.

‘Face the front for this one. Use your oars as paddles.’

They watched the galleys slide down the slant of water and pitch in a back-curling wave at the bottom. The boat followed, slapping into the current and scooting down before hitting the standing wave with a drenching splash. Then they were in the clear and only half a mile from the next rapid. Something was wrong, though. The pilots were waving them toward the middle of a ledge that ran almost right across the gorge, squeezing quarter of a mile of river into a brawling chute against the rocky right bank.

The voyagers came alongside the Russian galleys. Kolzak shouted, pointing at a fan of water slopping over the ledge behind his ship.

Hero strained to make out what he was saying. ‘This is the line we’re supposed to take, but the channel’s disappeared. The river’s five feet lower than it is in summer.’

‘What are they going to do?’

‘Drag the ships over. Lever them onto the ledge with poles, then some of us go into the water on the downstream side and pull on ropes, while the rest push from behind.’

Vallon jumped onto the ledge. To clear it they would have to haul the ships a hundred yards down a natural weir left high and dry by the falling river. The late-afternoon sun had already sunk behind the rim of the gorge. ‘It would take all night just to get the galleys clear.’

‘There’s only one thing to do,’ Drogo said. ‘Our boats are light enough to carry down before dark. Take the pilots with us and leave everyone else.’

‘Abandon the slaves?’ said Richard.

‘They’re nothing to us.’

‘Nor are you.’

‘Vallon, you know it’s our only chance.’

Before Vallon could reach a decision, he heard his name called and saw Wayland beckoning to him from the edge of the waterfall. It spilled down like a giant millrace before plunging into a pool and dashing against a crag jutting into the river forty yards further on. Swells crashed upon the wall, climbing and spreading and then falling away before humping up for fresh attacks. Fangs of rock and black-eyed eddies showed in the waves. The thought of being sucked down into one of those dark vortices brought Vallon out in a cold sweat.

He pulled Wayland closer. ‘It would be suicide.’

‘Wulfstan’s got an idea.’

When Vallon heard it, he stared at the torrent and then he stared at Wulfstan. The Viking grinned. ‘Makes your arse pucker, doesn’t it?’

‘A pound of silver if it works.’

*

After unloading the horses and falcons, the two boat crews rowed away from the ledge with the spare boat in tow, aiming for the shore above the head of the cataract. Wayland and Syth followed in the skiff. When the crews reached shore, they drifted down until they felt the current begin to tug and then they jumped out and made fast to the bank. They struggled to keep their footing on the slippery rocks.

They tied walrus hide cables to the spare boat’s stern and stem. The men holding the stern rope wrapped their hands in cloths and sought secure stances among the boulders. Wulfstan gathered the bow cable and scrambled back to where Wayland and Syth waited in the skiff. Syth took the end of the rope and Wayland paddled away from shore. The slack cable payed out behind them in a dragging curve that threatened to pull them towards the chute. Wayland fought his way into calm water and made it back to the ledge. The pilots collected the rope and formed up the soldiers and slaves along the ledge at right angles to the rapid.

The sky had separated into lemon and burgundy stripes. Wayland raised a hand at the figures on the shore. The boat began to move, water creaming against its stern as the shore party braked its descent. It slid into the pool. A wave broke over its stern.

‘Pull!’

The soldiers and slaves strained on the cable, yanking the boat round and dragging it into the slack water below the ledge.

‘Now we’ll try one of the galleys,’ said Wayland.

Eight of the Russians rowed the galley to the bank. All of them tried to get out, but the Vikings pushed four of them back in. ‘We can’t take all of you in the boats,’ Wulfstan shouted. They secured the galley as before and Wulfstan carried the bow line back to Wayland. ‘The galley’s ten times heavier than the boat,’ he said. ‘We won’t be able to hold it once the current catches it. Start pulling before it hits the pool, otherwise it will smash into the cliff.’

Wayland and Syth paddled back to the ledge. The light was draining fast and the faces of the child slaves shone in the dusk like white flowers. From the ledge the figures on the bank were vague shadows. Wayland signalled and Wulfstan released the galley. It gathered momentum, the rope sizzling through the men’s hands. ‘Let go!’ Wulfstan yelled.

The galley leaped forward and buried itself bow deep before rearing up and careering towards the cliff. The Russian crew clung to the thwarts, screaming in terror. It was only ten yards short of colliding when the gang straining on the ledge managed to bring its bow round. The galley listed, pinned by the current, then the towers slowly hauled it out of the cauldron. One of the Russians on the shore was yelling, clutching a hand burned to the bone by the rope.

Both parties had the feel of things by now and letting the second galley down should have been straightforward. Everything went well until Wulfstan shouted the order to give it slack. One of the Russians hung on a moment too long and the galley’s surge yanked him into the water. If he’d kept hold of the rope he might have survived. Instead he let go and thrashed for the shore. He was almost within touching distance but the current caught him and carried him down and past the ship. The Russians on board didn’t see him and even if they had there was nothing they could have done to save him. He whirled towards the cliff, beating at the water, and then he went into one of the whirlpools and disappeared as if something huge had dragged him down by the legs. Everyone stared at the water, expecting him to bob up again. He never did. The river had swallowed him entire.

There was no time to lament his loss. It was all but dark as Wayland and Syth made their next run. Vallon turned to Wulfstan. ‘Whoever goes last won’t have anyone to slow their descent.’

Wulfstan’s teeth glinted. ‘My Vikings will do it for another pound of silver.’

‘Done.’

There were six in Vallon’s boat, including three Russians. He took a two-handed grip on a thwart and they were off, the current hissing past the stern. The movement grew jerky and the line vibrated under the strain. Then the pit of his stomach emptied and they were rushing down the spillway. The Vikings had released too soon and the boat raced across the pool towards the climbing wave. A fluke of timing saved them. Just as Vallon thought that the swell would upend them, the bulge collapsed, pushing them back. He felt the bow line dragging them round. The boat heeled and shipped water. Then it rolled back on an even keel and they were in the lee of the ledge.

Wayland helped him out. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ he said. He passed a hand across his face. ‘Fine.’

He remembered little of the Vikings’ descent except that they sang as they went down into the torrent and that Wulfstan, stepping coolly onto the ledge, said, ‘I’ll take those two pounds of silver now if it ain’t too much trouble.’

Between the rapids the river flowed as smoothly as watered silk. Stars stippled the sky and a pale aura showed over the eastern clifftops, where the moon would soon show itself.

Richard leaned into his stroke. ‘I’m glad you rejected Drogo’s cruel suggestion.’

‘I would have left the slaves if Wulfstan hadn’t come up with his plan. The Cumans wouldn’t have killed them. They would have taken them for slaves. Better the nomads as masters than perverts in Constantinople.’

Richard looked over his shoulder at the pallid figures. ‘Such a fragile cargo. It grieves me to think of what’s in store for them.’

They rowed on through the dark, the current speaking in hollow gurgles. The moon appeared, close to its zenith. Its coppery light outlined the rims of the gorge, shadowing outcrops and crevices deep enough to conceal an army of ambushers.

Hero watched the heights. ‘Do you think the Cumans are tracking us?’

‘No,’ said Wayland. ‘They can’t follow the crest because the edge is too broken. The only way they can keep track is to watch from headlands. They don’t know that we saw them so they won’t be too cautious. I’ve been keeping a lookout and I haven’t seen any riders.’

Vallon nodded. ‘If there were only four of them, at least two would have ridden south to raise a force. The pair left behind weren’t expecting us to run the rapids tonight, so when they saw us leave, they would have had to warn the others.’

Wulfstan rose on tiptoe and scanned ahead. ‘Approaching the next rapid.’

They lifted their oars and heard a faint seething. For a long time the noise didn’t increase and sometimes it fell away to almost nothing. Strange and foreboding. Then without warning the hissing swelled to a sullen roar.

They turned to face it.

‘There it is,’ said Wulfstan.

Vallon made out a ragged streak in the dark. The river sucked and slurped. Ridges of water sped past the boat. The uproar deepened to a heavy rumble that boomed off the canyon walls.

‘The Echoer,’ said Hero.

‘Back water,’ Wulfstan ordered. ‘Wait until both galleys are through.’

The first galley entered the rapid, showing its stern like a diving duck before yawing down the rip of foam. It came through safely. The second followed, also without mishap.

Wulfstan sniffed and spat. ‘Piece of piss.’

Richard uttered an hysterical laugh.

They slid into the mouth and a snarling flood seized them. They jostled through tumbling crests, pitching in three planes at once. A wave slapped Vallon in the face.

‘Rock ahead!’ Wulfstan yelled.

‘Which way do we steer?’

‘Left! No! Right!’

Their efforts were puny compared to the power of the flood. Vallon saw waves gnashing at the boulder. They were going to hit it. He braced for the impact. The shock knocked him off the thwart, but the boat had struck only a glancing blow. Then the tail of the rapid was below them and they glided out into calm water.

The river slowed almost to a standstill. The moon hung halfway across the gorge. They rowed through a chain of islands towards the sound of thunder and when they passed the last one they saw spray misting the air in mid-channel.

‘This is the big one,’ Hero said. ‘The Insatiable. It runs for half a mile.’

‘We’ll lose the line if we wait for the galleys to get through,’ Wulfstan shouted. ‘Give the second one a good lead before following.’

The rapid was so long and steep that the first galley had dropped from sight when they slid towards the funnel. Vallon saw Syth slip a hand into Wayland’s. Hero took one hand off his oar and laid it on Richard’s. Vallon had seen similar gestures performed many times before battle and he delivered his war-cry.

‘Be strong of heart! Whatever happens, we’ll still be together. If not here, in the hereafter.’

‘Here or in the hereafter!’ the company shouted, and paddled into the cataract.

The boat dipped with a heavy slop. Snarling white teeth leaped at them. They jounced over steps with a force that drove grunts from their bodies. Shock after shock hit them. Incredibly, Wulfstan kept his position standing in the bow, bellowing instructions they could hardly hear. Spray dashed over them. They dropped into a trough between ledges and an eddy seized them, holding them almost stationary and swinging them round. The boat they were towing overtook them and began to pull them clear stern first.

Wayland punched Vallon. ‘The other boat’s going to hit us!’

Vallon saw it pitching towards them. No room for it to pass. Wulfstan reacted in a flash, drawing a knife and slashing the towrope. The spare boat bounded away over the crests, carrying with it the skiff and one of the horses. Their own terrified horse flailed at the planks with its hooves. They were going backwards. They scrambled round to face the right way and as they did so the spare boat veered off from the main channel and cannoned down between rocks. It struck a boulder with the sharp crack of something terminally broken. A bursting wave hid it from sight and when the spray cleared it was gone. They could see the apex of the rapid now and the galleys in the pool beyond. The hull was half-awash, the second boat only yards behind them. More shocks and confusion, a squealing as they grazed a rock, and then with one last smack they popped out of the rapid like a cork shot from a bottle.