by Magnus Mills
“All the more reason to get there before him,” remarked Guthrum.
“Indeed, yes,” said Tostig. “We must put these misgivings to one side, apply ourselves fixedly to our journey, and disregard Johns altogether. We have succeeded so far by treating this venture as an exercise in its own right, concentrating on the day-to-day logistics rather than some glorious moment of arrival. And thus we will continue. We have excellent equipment, ten healthy mules and just enough provisions to attain our goal. Furthermore, our teamwork has been first class.”
Here Tostig paused and corrected himself.
“First class, that is, with the exception of one person. One person who doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of teamwork. You know, Guthrum, if it wasn’t for our vigilance he could have let the side down on more than one occasion. Sometimes I’m tempted to put him on a diet of hardtack for a week, just to make him buck his ideas up.”
Outside the tent the bells had ceased jingling. The only sound was the beating of the canvas in the wind. The little camp lay silent.
Guthrum coughed and cleared his throat. “Would you mind, sir, if I made a personal observation?”
“No, of course not. What is it?”
“Well, I think you tend to be a little hard on the lad.”
“Oh?” said Tostig. “You surprise me.”
“Considering this is his first voyage, he’s come forward in leaps and bounds,” Guthrum continued. “He’s diligent and hard-working, and also quite courageous. It’s true he makes mistakes now and again, but haven’t all of us in our youth?”
“I suppose so.”
“There are many I know who would be pleased to count him as one of their own. He has an ‘uncle’, for example, who I’m sure has very good reason to be most proud of him.”
“Really?” said Tostig, his tone of voice brightening noticeably.
“And I can tell you that Thorsson also shares this opinion.”
“Thorsson is a man of exemplary judgment.”
“Indeed.”
“Well, well, Guthrum. It appears I may have underestimated our recruit.”
“Hardly a recruit any more, sir. He’s been with us almost twelve months now, including the sea journey.”
“Why, yes, twelve months! How the time has flown!”
After a moment’s quiet thought, Tostig suddenly sat up in his bed and lit the lamp. As light filled the tent, he reached for his pea jacket and searched through its pockets, eventually finding what he was looking for. Then he extinguished the lamp again. Finally he addressed his companion in the darkness.
“Guthrum,” he said. “You remain my trusted Number Two.”
“Thank you, sir,” came the reply.
§
Tostig was first to rise next morning, even before Snaebjorn, and when the others emerged they found him bustling around the encampment, having already fed the mules and put the pan on for breakfast. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood, undaunted by the ferocious wind that continued to show no sign of abating. With still another hour until dawn, he allowed a lamp to be lit during breakfast (this meal was usually taken in complete darkness) and the men enjoyed the rare luxury of some potted marmalade. Immediately afterwards, he announced that he would like to make a small presentation.
“Come forward, will you, Thegn?” he entreated.
On this day, for the first time since the party had left the coast, Tostig’s flag had been unfurled. It flapped in the wind at the top of a slender pole, close to where Tostig was standing. As Thegn approached, he reached for his hand and shook it firmly.
“Now then, Thegn,” he said. “Guthrum tells me you’ve served with us for twelve months.”
“Eleven months and three weeks,” Thegn replied.
“Well, I think we can call it the full twelve amongst our select company. Are we all agreed on that?”
“All agreed,” said Thorsson.
“And in view of this,” resumed Tostig. “I’d like to take the opportunity of returning your silver star.”
He produced the star and handed it to Thegn; then leaned forward and kissed him ceremonially on each cheek. This was followed by a smart salute.
Thegn stood holding the star in the palm of his hand, staring at it blankly.
“Have you any words to say to us?” asked Tostig.
Thegn did not speak.
“Thegn?”
“Oh, yes, sorry,” he said at length. “I’m just quite astonished, that’s all.”
“But you’ve seen it plenty of times before,” said Tostig. “What’s so astonishing about it?”
“I don’t mean the star itself.”
“You mean what it represents?”
“No,” said Thegn. “I mean it was a surprise.”
Again he fell silent.
“A salute will do as well as a speech,” murmured Guthrum.
“Of course,” answered Thegn, snapping quickly to attention and saluting.
Tostig looked him up and down.
“Good,” he said. “Very good.”
Thereupon the little gathering dispersed, the tents were folded and preparations for departure were begun. The bulk of the work was completed in less than half an hour. A short while later, Thegn was fixing his star on to the front of his navy cap when Snaebjorn approached.
“Welcome back to the fold,” he said, by way of greeting.
“I didn’t know I’d left it,” replied Thegn.
“I’ve come to inform you that Tostig has just issued a new order.”
“Oh yes?”
“He says conditions have become too rough for normal headgear. Accordingly, all members of the party must abandon their caps in favour of woolly helmets. I take it you’ve brought one along, have you?”
“There’s one in my pack.”
“Then you should unpack it immediately. I’m afraid this means you won’t be able to display your silver star.”
“You won’t be able to display yours either,” said Thegn.
“Mine makes no difference to me,” answered Snaebjorn, and with that he turned and walked away.
The last task to be carried out before leaving was to exchange a ration of dried food for the bottle of green ink. The ration was added to the depot they were leaving behind. Then, with woolly helmets on their heads, the men led the mules into the north.
§
“Did you hear?” said Tostig. “In the dead of night did you hear a kind of wailing?”
“Actually I did,” replied Guthrum.
“And you assumed it was a trick of the wind?”
“Yes.”
“So did I,” rejoined Tostig. “I thought it was the relentless moan of those great gusts as they came rolling across the plain. Yet as I lay on the verge of sleep I began to realise that the sound was quite specific to this camp of ours. Then the truth dawned on me. What I could hear wasn’t the wind playing in the guy ropes: it was voices; and moreover it was voices I hadn’t heard since my childhood. Tell me, Guthrum, have you ever known the mules to sing?”
“Never.”
“Well, I have. It was years and years ago, in that bygone age when they were regarded as a quaint minority, and when we scarcely took any notice of them. Occasionally, and for no clear reason, we would hear odd snatches of song coming from their dwellings, sung in a sombrous tone that bore no resemblance to anything else we’d heard. As I say, I was only a child at the time, but I recall their songs possessed the same mournful quality as that wailing we heard in the night. They danced as well, so I was told, swaying from side to side and gyrating like drunkards; but I never saw any of that.”
“How extraordinary,” said Guthrum.
“Eventually, of course, all such behaviour was quelled, and I haven’t heard those voices since. Not until last night, that is.”
“What do you think’s got into them?”
“I don’t know,” said Tostig. “Perhaps this desolate country has made them despondent and they’ve sought solace in the customs of t
heir forebears. It’s only natural, I suppose; they’ve nothing else, have they?”
“Maybe we should start keeping a closer eye on our hapless charges.”
“I think you’re right, Guthrum. The last thing we want is for them to lose heart and falter at this stage in our journey. Also, I wonder if we shouldn’t begin tethering them again at night.”
“For their own safety?”
“Indeed.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Curiously enough,” continued Tostig. “At quite an early juncture Thegn mentioned that the mules might become troublesome as we neared our goal. ‘They might create problems for us’ were his precise words. I remember dismissing the idea out of hand, but now it appears he may have had a point. Evidently his worries were far from groundless and actually served to display a good deal of common sense in the boy. It seems I learn something new about him every day.”
Tostig and Guthrum had ascended a steep bluff that rose a hundred feet above the plain. It was almost noon and the wind had lulled. Below them they could see their three companions: Snaebjorn was preparing a light meal while Thorsson did his calculations and Thegn attended to the mules. These were standing roped together in a line, passively awaiting their feed. To the south a faint trail disappeared into the gloom. To the north lay further emptiness.
“A fine view,” said Tostig.
“Or not much of one,” replied Guthrum. “Depending on your outlook.”
“I suppose this absence of wind is little more than a brief hiatus?”
“So says Thorsson.”
“More gales imminent?”
“Apparently.”
“No promise of a few warm zephyrs to ease our way?”
“No.”
“Pity.”
They gazed into the distance for a while longer. Then, having seen enough, they returned to join the others. Tostig went straight over to Thegn.
“How are the mules’ appetites?” he enquired.
“Interesting you should ask,” said Thegn. “They’re feeding well enough but they’re certainly taking their time over it. Quite a solemn affair, actually. One would almost think it was the last meal they ever expected to get.”
Some of the mules had now ceased eating and were looking across at the two men.
“They were singing in the night,” Thegn added.
“You needn’t concern yourself with that,” said Tostig, nodding towards a particular mule. “See the one at the front there? Am I correct in thinking it generally leads the column when we’re on the march?”
“Yes, it does.”
“Well, from now on make sure it receives an extra quantity of mash each day. Not too much, you understand: just enough to cause the rest of them to be jealous. With luck, it should take their minds off feeling sorry for themselves.”
“Right you are, sir.”
“As for the separate question of our own rations, I’m afraid each of us will be getting by on short measures for a day or two until the deficit is made up.” Tostig glanced at the dwindling supplies before smiling grimly to himself. “And all for the sake of a little green ink.”
As Thegn resumed his duties, Tostig consulted Thorsson about their estimated position. Thorsson mentioned that the bluff would be the first noteworthy addition to the map for quite some while. It was the only landmark for miles around, and he suggested it should be given an official name. Tostig liked the idea but could think of none suitable, so at lunchtime he threw it open to the others.
“What about ‘Observation Point’?” offered Guthrum.
“But we hardly observed a thing,” said Tostig. “The horizon was obscured.”
“All right then: ‘Obscurity Point’.”
“Too vague.”
Guthrum puffed out his cheeks and gazed up at the looming bluff; but he said no more.
“I propose calling it ‘Solitude Point’,” said Thorsson.
“Not bad,” said Tostig. “How about you, Snaebjorn? What do you think?”
“Solitude Bluff.”
“An interesting variation. Why, all of a sudden we seem to have the makings of a parlour game on our hands. Come on, Thegn: your turn.”
“We could simply name it after whoever saw it first.”
“And who was that?”
Nobody answered.
“Come, come,” said Tostig. “Let us not be coy. Surely one of us is able to claim the first sighting?”
For a full minute he looked from face to face, but still there were no takers.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said at length, “I must confess such reticence makes me feel very proud indeed. Any one of you could have put yourself forward, but instead you each allowed your companions the chance. This speaks volumes about the comradeship that has developed between us all; furthermore, it provides the answer to the question under debate: Thorsson, next time you’re working on the map you can mark this place as ‘Modesty Bluff’.”
“Yes, sir.”
The issue being settled, they quickly completed their meal and prepared to continue the journey. A bleak afternoon was in store. Even as they departed the wind returned, streaming in from the north and bearing with it fine flecks of swirling dust: something they had not encountered before. There was mounting disquiet as it got into their eyes and throats, causing untold delays and raising doubts about the adequacy of the water supply.
“It is imperative that we find a river or spring soon,” said Tostig, when they retired that evening. “Otherwise thirst will become a major problem.”
“The mules seem to be suffering the most,” said Guthrum. “Their pace has slowed significantly.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s caused by the weather.”
“Really?”
“No, Guthrum, I’m afraid they’re displaying all the signs of self-willed torpor. It’s a condition Younghusband identified years ago. As a matter of fact, he published a pamphlet on the subject. Basically his argument is that in times of hardship the mules tend to channel all their energies into their emotions, rather than any sort of physical activity. You’re aware, of course, how strong they can be when they choose?”
“Indeed,” said Guthrum.
“So just imagine all that strength expressed in a show of sorrow. We heard it in the wailing that went on the other night: a crying out, I presume, for some god or other to come and help them. Well, we know there’s no such thing as any god: we can only be saved by our own exertions, and the same applies for the mules, whether they like it or not.”
“What are we going to do then?”
“Simply plod on, Guthrum. We’ve already tried cajoling them with a regime of unfair feeding, but Thegn tells me their leader steadfastly refused the extra quantity on offer. Very well then: we’ll have to employ other methods. I’m reluctant to be harsh, but if necessary we’ll get behind them and drive them with sticks for the last few miles!”
§
Early next morning, Snaebjorn looked in through the flap of the supply tent where Thegn lay curled.
“Are you asleep?” he asked.
“Not now, no,” answered Thegn.
“Well, may I ask you something?”
“If you wish. Squeeze in.”
Snaebjorn entered and sat down on a wooden box. A layer of dust covered his clothing.
“Still the same out there then?” Thegn enquired.
“And thickening,” replied Snaebjorn, before lapsing into a prolonged silence.
Eventually Thegn said, “What is it you want to ask me?”
“Just this,” said Snaebjorn. “Why didn’t you claim the first sighting of the bluff?”
“Because I wasn’t sure if it was me or not.”
“But it must have been you. You led for most of the time yesterday morning.”
“That doesn’t mean incontrovertibly that I noticed the bluff before anyone else. Come to think of it, I might ask why you didn’t claim it. No doubt your eyesight is superior to mine.”
“Ma
ybe so,” said Snaebjorn. “Nonetheless, I’m convinced you saw it first.”
“Then go and report me to Tostig!” snapped Thegn. “Have me charged with high treason or some such nonsense like you did the last time!”
“That was different,” murmured Snaebjorn. “On that occasion I was only doing my duty.”
“What’s all this about then?”
“Merely that I seem to have misjudged you.”
“Oh.”
“I assumed you were only included in the expedition because of your ‘connections’, whereas I can now see that you possess certain valuable qualities.”
“Really?” said Thegn. “Well, I won’t ask you to list them.”
“Thank you.”
“Is that all you had to say to me?”
“Yes.”
“Then consider the matter settled.”
After Snaebjorn had withdrawn, Thegn lay for some minutes gazing at the roof of the tent. His face at first bore a bewildered expression, but eventually this disappeared and was replaced with a smile. He gave a quiet laugh and shook his head; then he got up and went out. Snaebjorn was busy making breakfast, and neither man paid the other any attention. Tostig and Guthrum were standing near the group of mules, studiously watching them take their feed. Throughout the night a restless jangling of bells had permeated the little camp, and as the wind shook the flimsy walls the mournful singing had been heard again. It had lasted for many an hour, and only with the breaking of dawn had the voices fallen silent. Now the mules were eating, gathered together in a half-circle, heads bowed, facing away from the men, and seemingly oblivious to the flying dust.
“Odd,” remarked Guthrum. “They usually put their backs to the breeze whenever they get the chance.”
“Yes, but you know how fickle they can be,” said Tostig. “Frankly, nothing in their behaviour surprises me any more.”
“Here’s Thorsson.”
“Ah, the navigator returns.”
Thorsson had been out on the open ground taking some readings. Now he returned with news that the Agreed Furthest Point was less than five miles away. “We should arrive there around noon,” he added. “Then I’ll be able to confirm the exact position more accurately.”
After breakfast, Tostig announced that lots would be drawn to decide who should carry the flag, and therefore who should have the honour of planting it at their destination.
