‘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 l
east 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.
XVIII
Heeling against a light easterly, Shearwater headed north about ten miles out from the coast. It was late afternoon. Shifting columns of yellow light fanned through the clouds. Hero compared the direction of the wind-vane on the ship’s stern with their actual course. He looked at the thin black line to westward.
‘Your move,’ said Richard.
Hero turned his attention back to the shatranj game. He advanced one of his pawns. ‘We’ll be lucky to reach Scotland without having to land again.’
Vallon had decided to stay at sea until they were out of Norman territory. Drogo would have posted news of their crimes to every coastal garrison. All likely landing sites would be under watch and fishing crews would have been alerted to report any sighting or rumour of their passage.
Richard looked up blankly.
‘We can’t sail closer to the wind than about forty degrees,’ Hero explained. He made an angle with his hands. ‘We’re not far off that now. If this wind shifts any further to the east, we’ll be driven on to the coast.’
‘It’s only another three days to Scotland,’ Richard said. He moved one of his knights and sat back. ‘Your move.’
Hero had scratched an eight-by-eight grid on a plank and collected pebbles of different shapes and colours for the pieces. This was only Richard’s third game, but he was a quick learner. He’d lost the first two, but somehow had managed to gain a two-pawn advantage in this one. Hero decided that he’d better concentrate. He examined the position, then advanced a rukh to threaten Richard’s general.
While Richard plotted his next move, Hero studied the new crew members. ‘Will the new men fit in, do you think?’
Richard glanced behind him. Garrick was leaning back against the gunwale, his lame leg propped up behind him, talking with Syth. She was describing something with her hands in a way that made him laugh and sketch his own version in the air.
‘Old Garrick’s a decent chap,’ said Richard.
Hero smiled. ‘What an appetite he has. At the rate he eats, we’ll run out of food before we reach Scotland.’
Richard’s hand hovered over the board. ‘I’m not so keen on Brant. He’s a lout.’
Hero didn’t take to Brant either. Right now he was sniggering with Snorri on the stern deck.
‘So long as he pulls his weight.’
‘He leers at Syth.’
‘Really?’
‘I saw him ogling her at supper last night.’
‘I hope Vallon didn’t notice.’
‘Of course he did. Vallon notices everything.’
Richard moved one of his elephants diagonally two squares, capturing another pawn. Hero forgot Brant in his effort to save the game. After much indecision, he moved a knight. Without hesitation, Richard slid a rukh up the board.
‘Check.’
Hero muttered to himself. He reached for his king, withdrew his hand, reached out again.
‘It won’t do you any good,’ Richard said.
‘He’s right,’ said Vallon, squatting down beside them. ‘If he moves his knight thus, and then his elephant so, he has you in checkmate.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
Hero knocked over his king and rocked back in disgust. ‘It’s these crude pieces. I can’t tell one from another. I only improvised them to teach Richard the rules. I won’t play again until Raul has carved us a proper set.’
Vallon gave him a reproving look, then took both of them by their shoulders. ‘I have a favour to ask. Now that our venture is under way, it’s time we put our affairs on a businesslike footing. We need a treasurer to manage our finances.’
‘I don’t mind keeping the accounts,’ Hero said.
Vallon squeezed his shoulder. ‘I was wondering if Richard might take on the task. You said that he’s quick with numbers.’
Hero responded to the prompt. ‘Oh, he is. He even understands the concept of zero.’
A pained smile crossed Vallon’s face. On their journey through France, Hero had tried long and hard to convince him of the magical properties of zero. Vallon failed to see the value of a number that wasn’t a number, a signifier meaning nothing.
‘All I want is a tally of our transactions. How much we spend, earn and owe, tabulated on a daily basis. Richard, do you think that’s within your grasp?’
Richard flushed with pleasure. ‘I’ll do my best.’ Until now, Vallon hadn’t acknowledged that he possessed any talents.
‘Excellent,’ said Vallon. He stood. ‘One more thing. We’re outnumbered by English speakers. We won’t hear another French voice for months. If we’re going to tr
ade with the Norsemen, we’d better learn their tongue. Wayland has agreed to teach us.’
‘Wayland?’
‘No one else can. It will keep his mind off the girl.’
Hero exchanged looks with Richard. Since the scene on the morning the raiding party went ashore, there had been an unofficial moratorium on the subject of Syth.
‘Are you reconciled to her presence?’ Hero asked.
‘I can’t fault her willingness. She cooks well, keeps things trim and adds a bit of cheer.’ Vallon shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’
Hero’s attention must have drifted towards Brant.
Vallon intercepted his look. ‘I intend paying him off as soon as we get to Scotland. He won’t interfere with Syth while she has the dog to protect her. Even I tread warily around that brute.’
*
Two days later Brant was dead, fulfilling Aiken’s prophecy with time to spare.
He was lucky not to have been killed a day earlier, just north of the Tyne river. The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the coastline contoured in crimson. Hero and the other students were seated around Wayland on the foredeck, having an English lesson. Syth was cooking supper below. A vicious snarling down in the hold shattered the peace. Wayland sprinted aft and the others ran after him. When Hero got there, Brant stood backed into a corner, swinging a bailing bucket in a flimsy effort to ward off the dog. Wayland must have given an order because the dog turned its head and leaped up on to the forward half-deck. Only then did Hero see Syth, crouched by the brazier.
Vallon seized Wayland as he made to jump down. He spoke into his ear, gripping so tightly that both men quaked. Whatever he said was enough to make Wayland back off and walk away, shooting murderous looks over his shoulder.
Vallon pretended to be surprised to find the rest of the crew spectating. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do?’
Snorri crowed as Vallon climbed into the hold. ‘I told ye the little mother would stir up trouble.’
When Vallon returned to continue his lesson, he acted as if nothing had happened.
‘So where were we?’
Next day a spitting easterly threatened to pin them to the coast. Only determined rowing kept them off the shore. On their seaward side, surf broke around a swarm of islets and reefs. To the west, a massive ruin commanded the coast.
Hawk Quest Page 24
