Imperial Fire

XX

A hot and thirsty crossing they had of it. Each day at noon the sky curved over them like a brazen shield, the sun a molten boss. Even though they’d filled all their water barrels, supplies dwindled so fast that Vallon imposed rationing on the fourth day.

Dawn on the sixth day found them tacking into a scorching headwind off the Turkestan coast. By mid-morning even Hero could make out its black and naked hills broiling under a urine-coloured sky. The air had an unpleasant sweetish taste that caught in the throat, making the men spit and hawk in defiance of the captain’s warnings that insulting the sea would make it angry. At midday, with the sun hot enough to melt pitch, the lead longship shortened sail half a mile offshore and the convoy hove to.

‘What’s that noise?’ said Vallon.

Hero raised his head, listening. It sounded like water sliding down a distant millrace.

Aiken pointed at a rocky inlet. ‘It’s coming from over there.’

Vallon shaded his eyes and examined the bight. ‘I can’t make out what’s happening.’

Nor could Hero until they rowed close to the channel. Men crossed themselves and exchanged apprehensive glances. The water wasn’t flowing into the sea. Instead, unnatural and terrifying, the sea was pouring into the land.

‘Mother of God,’ a trooper whispered. ‘It’s the throat into hell.’

The captain of the freighter knew what it was and had contrived to make landfall with maximum dramatic effect. ‘Kara Bogaz,’ he said. ‘The Black Maw.’

‘What is it?’ Vallon demanded. ‘Where does it lead?’

‘It’s a waterfall flowing the wrong way, descending from sea to land. It runs into a great bay said by the Turkmen to be the child of the Caspian and the Black Sea. Because the Caspian deserted her husband, God decreed that the Kara Bogaz Gol would never cut its umbilical cord, and so the Caspian must feed it with water until the end of time.’

‘Steer clear and put us ashore.’

They stepped onto baking rock crawling with insects and scrambled along the shoreline in a haze of stinging flies. From the mouth of the channel Hero saw what had been hidden from the sea. The Caspian slid through a rocky channel only a hundred yards wide and spilled into a huge lagoon ringed by ribbons of salt. Under a glittering sky hurtful to his eyes, Hero could see no end to the bay.

‘I believe I can explain the mystery,’ he said. ‘This bay, being smaller than its progenitor and lying in a more desiccated region, loses water to the sun at a greater rate than the Caspian can supply it. Hence the difference in level.’

‘Aye,’ said the captain. ‘At this time of the year, the drop is no more than six or seven feet. In high summer it’s twice as steep.’

Hero’s gaze hunted over the cauterised landscape without finding any traces of man. No vegetation except spindly shrubs that rattled like bones in the stifling breeze. They seemed to have made landfall on God’s most neglected patch of creation.

‘Where will we find water?’ Vallon asked the captain.

‘I don’t know. Even the nomads shun this coast.’

‘Then why did you land us in this Godforsaken spot?’

‘You demanded that I steer the shortest course.’

‘Where’s the nearest fresh water, damn it?’

The captain quailed under Vallon’s anger. ‘There’s a river about three days to the south, but it’s been many years since its waters reached the sea. You might have to travel far inland before you find a well.’

Vallon squinted through the piss-coloured light. ‘How far does the bay extend?’

‘From hearsay, two days with a following wind.’

‘Will we find water on the other side?’

The captain cringed. ‘General, I’ve never ventured that far. I didn’t choose to make this voyage.’

Vallon muttered something vile and then spoke as if to himself. ‘Only three days’ water left and no certainty that we’ll find fresh supplies whatever direction we take.’ He closed his eyes. Everyone hung on his decision, aware that it might make the difference between life and death.

Vallon clicked his fingers. ‘That Seljuk trooper who advised us on the route through Transoxiana. Yeke. Ask him what we can expect to find.’

Troopers relayed Yeke’s response from ship to ship until it reached Otia’s ears, the intelligence no doubt distorted in transmission. ‘He says we should cross the Black Lake to its utmost shore. From there not many days separate us from a caravan trail supplied by wells.’

Wayland sounded a note of caution. ‘I wouldn’t place too much faith in Yeke’s directions. The Seljuks don’t measure distance the same way we do.’

Vallon’s shoulders relaxed — a sign that he’d reached a decision. ‘Order everyone ashore. Lash the ships together and guard them. Post a screen of archers behind me.’

The Outlanders on the cargo ships and fishing boats disembarked, leaving the rest of Vallon’s force on the longships. Hauk’s drakkar rowed to within hailing distance.

‘Put my men ashore,’ Vallon called.

‘First give us our gold.’

‘Only when you’ve landed my men.’

Hauk waited until the bulk of the Outlanders had withdrawn inland before his ship nosed ashore and allowed most of the hostages off. Then he had his men row a hundred yards out to sea.

‘I said all of them,’ Vallon shouted.

‘I’m keeping ten back until I count the gold.’

‘Your greed blinds you to our predicament.’

‘Ours?’

‘Release my men, come ashore and I’ll explain.’

Hero was light-headed from the heat when the last of Vallon’s men waded to land. Hauk and eight bodyguards lounged up, hands on swords.

Vallon indicated the waterfall. ‘I imagine you can take your ships down that.’

‘Can and will aren’t the same thing,’ Hauk said. ‘Deliver you to the eastern shore, you asked. Well, now you’re here and I’ll take my due before bidding you farewell.’

Vallon pointed at Josselin. ‘Send for the gold. All of it.’

‘General…’

‘Just bring it.’

Four men accompanied by Aiken lugged the coffer to the strand. ‘Open it,’ said Vallon.

The Vikings gasped when the lid yawned back, exposing its trove of bullion. Vallon slithered the surface. Hauk made a small gesture to still his companions’ excitement.

Aiken counted out the coins while the Vikings grinned and jostled, licking their lips and nudging each other. Their good humour faded somewhat when they saw that their portion had hardly dented the chest’s contents.

Hauk trickled coins through his hands. ‘If I’d known you were carrying so much treasure, I’d have struck a harder bargain.’

Vallon slammed the lid shut. ‘Take it away. Our account’s settled.’

Hauk watched the troopers bear away the treasure. ‘You’re a man of your word, Vallon. The only favour I ask is sufficient food and water to last us until we reach a source. If you insist, I’ll pay you in your own coin.’

‘There isn’t any.’

Hauk’s brow creased. ‘No food or source?’

‘I have no water to spare and no idea where you’ll be able to fill your casks.’

Hauk quelled his men’s ugly mutters. ‘I observed our agreement to the letter.’

‘So have I. I don’t recall it included any obligation to provide you with water.’

A Viking half-unsheathed his sword and in the same moment the screen of archers behind Vallon bent their bows.

Hauk fanned away a snarling coil of flies. ‘I can carry you off before your men can do a thing.’

‘Don’t be so sure. The Turkish bow is a terrible weapon.’ Vallon lifted a hand and dropped it. Thirty arrows ripped into the sky with the sound of tearing cloth and fell fizzing into the sea beyond the furthest longship. Hauk glanced round to measure the threat before turning a tight smile on Vallon.

‘We’d still hold you prisoner.’

‘A pretty worthless prize. I’m too tough and stringy to tempt slavers. Let me speak candidly of your prospects, Hauk Eiriksson. You’re on a mission to nowhere. The days when a shipload of Varangians could exact tribute from rich coastal settlements are over. Persia and Anatolia are ruled by the Seljuks — a warrior race who’ve fought their way almost up to the walls of Constantinople. Chase booty in the south or west and you’ll meet the same dismal fate as your grandfather.’

Hauk’s gaze travelled down the monotony of grey and dun hills. ‘I’ll shape my own destiny. As for water, I’ll replenish my casks from the other ships once you’ve left.’

‘Wrong. They won’t return until they’ve delivered us to the far side of this stinking stewpot.’

Hauk’s composure deserted him. ‘You’re taking them down the fall?’ He laughed.

Wulfstan puffed up like a bantam cock. ‘Me and the general lowered a fleet down the Dnieper Rapids. You’ve heard of them — the Gulper, the Insatiable, the Sleepless One… Compared to those bastards, this is just a ripple.’

Hauk’s pale eyes flickered between the two men. ‘I smell a proposition.’

‘You’re right,’ Vallon said. ‘I still need your longships. Continue with us to the end of the Black Bay. You’ll share the same rations as my own men, the same dangers.’

Hauk squinted across the bay. ‘Then what? We might not find water over there.’

‘At least we’ll be in the same boat.’

Hauk ran his tongue over his lips. ‘I’ll want more than water in return.’

‘You can’t drink gold.’

‘No, but if we perish, at least I’ll die rich.’

‘Deliver my men to the far side and I’ll pay you the same again.’

‘I won’t do it for less than double.’

‘Then you won’t do it at all. If necessary, I’ll make room by abandoning the pack animals. As you’ve seen, we don’t lack money to pay for fresh mounts.’

The whining of flies filled the silence. A cautious smile crept across Hauk’s face. ‘Double and not a penny less.’

Vallon spun on his heel. ‘Come.’

‘Vallon!’

The general took several more paces before turning. ‘This heat fries my wits and parches my tongue. Unless you have something useful to say, sail away.’

Brushing aside his bodyguards, Hauk approached. The Outlander archers stood only a hundred yards behind the general, their forms wavering in the heat.

‘Half as much gold again and it’s a deal.’

‘My offer was final. Farewell, Hauk Eiriksson.’

‘Vallon!’

With infinite slowness, Vallon faced the Viking. ‘Last chance.’

Hauk crooked his forefinger and brought it down as if he’d like to claw the general’s heart out. ‘Consider yourself lucky.’

‘I take that for a “yes”,’ Vallon said. ‘Good.’

Stranded in Vallon’s wake, Hero saw Hauk’s lips compress in a silent vow to take revenge for this humiliation.

Hero caught up with the general to find him telling the fleet’s masters that their work wasn’t done. They couldn’t return until they’d ferried the Outlanders across the Black Lake.

‘How will we return?’ one of the captains wailed. ‘How will we haul our ships back up to the Caspian?’

‘You should have thought of that before landing us on this infernal griddle.’

A gust of parching wind carried away the captain’s response. A vortex of dust skated past. Hero eased his arid throat.

Wayland appeared at his side. ‘I preferred it when there was only the three of us.’

‘We were more than three,’ Hero said.

‘Yes.’

Despite the intolerable heat, Hero shivered. ‘I always knew that a sliver of ice was lodged in Vallon’s heart, but with every day of our journeying it’s grown until it freezes out all warmer feelings.’

‘Command forces harsh decisions.’

‘I don’t understand why he showed off our wealth to the sea pirates.’

‘He intends to make good our losses by recruiting the Vikings. Having seen how much gold we’re carrying, they won’t need much persuading. Why quarter hostile shores for a few slaves and a scrap of gold when a king’s ransom lies right under their nose?’

‘I’m glad I don’t have to make the decisions,’ Hero said. He took a step, stumbled over a rock and rubbed his eyes. ‘Oh, damn it.’

‘Take my arm,’ Wayland said. ‘The ground is treacherous.’

Vallon left Wulfstan to organise the lowering of the ramshackle convoy down the Black Maw. The freighters’ keels chattered and scraped over ledges before bobbing into slack water. When all the vessels had descended, the Vikings rowed down the rapids with casual aplomb.

Wulfstan tramped up to Vallon. ‘Ready to depart.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve got to hand it to the Vikings. No one handles ships as tidily as a Norseman.’

‘You’re not tempted to change sides,’ Vallon said. It wasn’t a question or a jest.

‘Sir, how could you?’

Vallon wagged a finger. ‘Before our journey is over, some of my most trusted lieutenants will desert me.’

‘Not me,’ Wulfstan said. ‘I’ll follow you into the mouth of hell.’

‘We’re already in it.’

Vallon boarded his ship and signalled for the convoy to get under way. Slowly the ships gathered headway.

With the wind against them, the men heaved to make progress through the lead-coloured waters. Fish sucked in from the Caspian floated dead among pillows of grey scum, seagulls hovering and dipping on pliant wings. Away from the fall, a muffling silence descended. The shore fell away on both sides until the voyagers could only separate sea from land by the band of minerals rimming its shore.

The sea was poisonous. After the cook used brine to make porridge, the men came down with stomach cramps and diarrhoea. One of the wounded Vikings died, and when his comrades cast him overboard he stayed afloat, bobbing in their wake with one arm upheld in a jaunty farewell.

The very air was toxic, bringing men’s flesh out in boils and weeping lesions. When their shifts at the oars ended, the troopers hunched in what little shade they could find, hands crossed over their shoulders, heads wrapped in wet rags. They only showed animation when their water rations came round, greedily swallowing the liquid before sinking back into apathy, measuring out their lives by how much water was left.

On the third day into the crucible, Vallon cut the daily ration by half for man and beast alike. One trooper — a younger man from Thessalonika — snatched a waterskin from the man serving the ration and sucked greedily at the source before guards wrenched it away.

‘A flogging for that man when we reach land,’ Vallon said.

That provoked hollow laughter. What land? They would all be dead of thirst within two days.

But next day around noon a trooper called out to his companions. ‘Hey, lads, take a look at this.’

The men hauled themselves to their feet and rubbed their eyes to better witness their salvation.

‘Jesus,’ a voice said in the awed tones of someone witnessing the Second Coming.

Dead ahead a rusty pall slanted across the sky, thunderheads roiling above it like monstrous fungi. Jagged daggers of lightning stabbed between the cloud mountains and thunder crackled. Down at sea level, the world sank into dusk.

Vallon stood at the bow. ‘It looks like the storm will break above us. Be ready to collect the rain.’

The men scrambled to rig up sailcloth containers and waited, mouths moving in supplication. A flash of lightning seared their eyes and thunder loud enough to rattle their brainpans followed. Darkness blotted out all but the nearest ships. Blue flames fizzled along the rigging. At the third thunderclap, hot brown raindrops as fat as grapes splattered on the deck. And then the heavens discharged their burden in one swoop, the deluge so intense that it was an effort to breathe. The men ran about to collect the rain, spilling more than they decanted. It didn’t matter. The downpour was so heavy that they filled the casks within minutes. The men stripped off their salt-stiffened clothes and cavorted on the spray-stung deck before standing naked with faces uplifted, eyes closed against the drubbing rain.

The storm passed and the clouds shredded like rotten shrouds and the sun broke through, etching the contours of a coast against a sky purged of dust. They had no way of knowing that more rain had fallen in the last half hour than would fall for the rest of the year.

They surged onto the foredeck, craning to see what awaited them.

Wayland brushed back his damp hair. ‘Kara Kum,’ he said. ‘The Black Desert.’

Vallon heard him. ‘I can see fresh green growth. The storm has brought the desert to life and saved our own.’

Seeing the glitter in Vallon’s eyes, Hero wondered if mania had gripped the general. ‘We were lucky. If it hadn’t been for the storm, we would all have perished from thirst.’

Vallon lolled against the bow, his hair plastered about his face. ‘I don’t leave everything to fortune. We still have four days’ water hidden away.’

‘You denied your men even though we have supplies?’

Vallon laughed. ‘A soldier always keeps a reserve. Remember?’

Hero did and was transported back to a freezing February night in England when Vallon had handed over the last of his rations and gone hungry himself.

‘Wayland says you hope to recruit the Vikings.’

‘Turkmen make up more than a quarter of my squadron. Like the other Outlanders, they’re beginning to dread the journey. Unlike the Christians, they’ll be on familiar territory once we land. I expect many to desert.’

‘You can’t employ pirates.’

‘Nature will blunt their avarice. They’ve already learned that gold is a poor substitute for food and water.’ Vallon shoved up from the gunwale. ‘Your eyes look sore.’

‘They’re much soothed by the rain,’ Hero said. That much was true, but the mist over his right eye had thickened to the extent that it created a permanent fog.

‘Good,’ said Vallon. ‘These last few weeks I haven’t seen as much of you as I would have liked. Don’t let distance come between us.’