At Vallon’s nod, Hero left them and closed the door. Vallon cleared his throat. ‘I understand you’ve booked a passage west.’
‘I’m not going to Norway.’
Vallon frowned. ‘But your marriage-’
‘Will not take place. I left Iceland a lady of noble station.’ Caitlin brushed at her hair as if she measured her reduction in status by the length of her tresses. ‘I won’t go to Norway as a refugee. Anyway, I was never enthusiastic about the match.’
‘So you’ll return to Iceland.’
‘Not this year. Not with winter so close. Perhaps never. I couldn’t bear the humiliation. I know how people will taunt me behind my back — left home to marry an earl because no one on Iceland was good enough for her. Now she’s back and unless she takes one of her spurned suitors, she’ll die an old maid.’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘I’ve decided to make a pilgrimage to Constantinople. I’ll have a mass sung for Helgi’s soul.’
‘How will you travel?’
Caitlin didn’t answer.
‘You wish to come with us?’
‘With you, yes.’ She looked up. ‘With you.’
Vallon felt a tingle of panic. ‘Does Drogo know?’
‘About me travelling to Constantinople or about my feelings for you?’
Vallon knuckled his brow. ‘You’re confiding more than I can take in. When did these feelings replace your urge to kill me?’
‘I realised that the prophecy had come true the night I nursed you. When I held you in my arms and you spoke my name.’
‘I spoke your name?’ Vallon realised that he’d raised his voice. He glanced at the door.
‘With tenderness. You called me your princess.’ Her face coloured. ‘Other things, too.’
‘I was feverish. God knows what nonsense I spouted. I’m sorry if I said anything embarrassing.’ Vallon’s face went blank. ‘What prophecy?’
‘When I was a girl, a woman with second sight told me that a dark stranger from the outlands would steal my heart and carry me over the sea. The prophecy is one of the reasons why I never married an Icelander. I knew you were the one the moment I set eyes on you.’
‘The day we met, you looked at me like I was something you’d trod in.’
‘I had to keep my feelings hidden from Helgi. He knew about the prophecy and quizzed me about my thoughts concerning you. I had to pretend that I hated you.’
‘You weren’t pretending at the lake when you ordered Helgi to fight me.’
‘What else could I do? You were spying on me while I bathed. He would have challenged you whatever I’d said. If I hadn’t encouraged him, he would have suspected the true state of my emotions.’
There was a lot to pick over, including the nature of Caitlin’s relationship with her brother. Now wasn’t the time. Vallon shook himself. ‘Drogo is infatuated with you. Drogo hates me. If he discovered that you … that your affections …’
‘You must send him away. He still means to spill your blood. A boil that must be lanced is how he put it.’
‘Let me get this clear. You don’t reciprocate his sentiments.’
Caitlin tossed her chin. ‘He wearies me. I can’t care for a man who trails after me like a dog.’
Vallon wandered across the room. ‘What about Tostig and Olaf?’
‘They’ll come with me to Constantinople. With Helgi dead, they plan to take service with the Emperor.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Only my maids.’
‘Only your maids,’ Vallon repeated. He took a deep breath. ‘You can take one of them — the young one. What’s her name?’
‘Asa.’
‘We’re not carrying passengers. You’ll have to pull your weight.’
‘I’m not afraid of hard work. You wait. You’ll see that I’m as strong as you.’
Vallon’s mouth twisted. ‘A kitten could claim as much.’
Caitlin’s eyes softened. ‘How is your wound?’
‘It’s healed.’
‘Let me see.’
‘There’s no need. Just take my word.’
Caitlin moved towards him with mesmerising slowness. ‘I saw it when you were sick. I changed the dressing. I saw death sitting on your shoulder and frightened it away with my prayers.’
‘I’m grateful. As you can see, your prayers have been answered.’
‘Then show me.’
Vallon cast a desperate glance at the door. He yanked up his tunic and stood staring ahead as if on parade. ‘There.’
She sank to her knees. ‘You’re so thin.’
He glanced down at the livid stripe, the bruise fading to yellow and green. To his astonishment he saw Caitlin move her face forward and plant a kiss on the ugly welt.
He yanked her upright. ‘Madam!’
She hung in his arms, all womanly softness, her lips slightly parted. Looking into her green eyes was like staring into the ocean.
She smiled. ‘Did you really find your way to the lake by chance?’
His voice came out husky. ‘Complete chance.’
‘You see. Guided by destiny.’ Her eyes clouded. ‘You’re the first man who’s ever seen me naked. Did the sight give you pleasure?’
‘It was no hardship to my eyes.’
Her eyes closed with dreamy intent and her mouth floated towards his own. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. Their lips met. He was kissing her. Not only that. He was caressing her, pressing against her. She moaned when she felt him. He broke away and stared blindly at the icon above his bed.
‘A moment’s weakness. It won’t happen again.’
‘It will. You can’t stop it.’
‘I won’t let it!’ He bunched his fists and glared at the icon. ‘Do you hear?’
No answer came. He swung round in time to see the door latch shut. There was a long pause and then a peremptory rap. He turned back to the icon. He felt dizzy. ‘Enter.’ Footsteps halted behind him. ‘Drogo.’
‘Vallon. Caitlin looks flushed and agitated. What have you done to upset her?’
Vallon dug his nails into his palms. ‘You’re not here to talk about Caitlin. What do you want? No, don’t tell me. You’ve grown so devoted to me that you can’t bear to tear yourself away.’
‘Caitlin still requires my protection.’
‘She has Olaf and Tostig to look after her.’
‘You forget my oath to her brother.’
Vallon turned with an unpleasant grin. ‘Well, the thing is, I don’t want you with us.’
‘You were glad enough to have me and Fulk by your side the night we fought the Vikings.’
‘Your sword’s double-edged. It’s time you returned to England.’
‘I don’t have the money.’
‘I’ll pay for your passage.’
‘I can’t accept.’
‘Swim then.’
‘Listen, Vallon, all I ask is that you let me accompany Caitlin to Constantinople. I have no intention of following you into Anatolia. What happens between you and Walter is no longer of any interest to me.’
‘You’re a liar. Request refused.’
‘Then honour leaves me no choice but to challenge you.’
‘Challenge refused. Ask the Vikings to step in when you leave.’
‘Vallon, I can’t leave Caitlin. It’s not only my oath to Helgi that binds me. I mean to make her my wife.’
This was getting gruesome. ‘I’m not a marriage broker.’
Drogo stepped up close. ‘You need me and Fulk. With Raul dead, Wayland’s the only fighting man you have left. What happens if you run into trouble?’
‘I’d rather run into trouble than take it with me.’
‘You’re taking the Vikings. They’ll outnumber you three to one. Suppose they turn against you?’
Vallon felt as if the strands of a web were being woven around him. ‘Let me get this straight. You won’t offer any violence to my company if we take you down the Dnieper.’
‘Correct.’
‘And when we reach the Black Sea, we’ll travel our separate ways. You to Constantinople, me to Anatolia.’
‘Yes.’
Vallon balanced the risks. ‘Very well. I’ll tolerate your presence on those terms.’
Drogo had something like a spring in his step as he marched to the door. Vallon checked him. ‘I aim to be gone in four days. Find us three sound horses.’
Vallon eyed the space he’d left. Poor deluded Drogo, always on the wrong side of fortune. Deprived of his mother in infancy, starved of his stepmother’s love, usurped in her affections by her natural son. The same son who Vallon, a complete stranger, had crossed half the world to save, humiliating Drogo in the process. No wonder the Norman longed to kill him. And how much more would he desire his slaughter if he discovered that the woman on whom he’d squandered his passions had been pressing herself against his enemy’s cock moments before he made his entreaty.
The situation was so bizarre that Vallon had a crazed urge to laugh. He had to pull down his mouth to stop hooting with mirth. He was still standing in this attitude when Hero announced the Norsemen’s entrance. Seven of them swaggered or shuffled in, some with their shoulders back, some cap in hand.
‘Say what you have to say.’
Their spokesman was Wulfstan, a bruiser with moustaches like wings. ‘Not much to say. Our ship’s unseaworthy and we have no silver to pay for a passage home. The only road open to us is the Varangian Way.’
Vallon nodded. ‘I’ll provide your keep, but I’m not paying you. If things had gone differently, you’d be weighing my companions’ lives in silver at the slave mart.’
Hero murmured in Vallon’s ear. ‘I’d rather you didn’t take Arne. He has a wife and children. Only desperate poverty prevents him from returning home.’
‘You told me that he took care of you and Garrick.’
‘We owe our lives to him.’
Vallon turned back to the Vikings. ‘I’m not sailing to Constantinople with a gang of heathens. You’ll join me as Christians or not at all.’
Hero winced. ‘Sir, they’re not going to embrace the true faith overnight.’
‘Just pack them off to Father Hilbert for baptism. Give the hypocrite seven converts to brag about when he gets home.’
They wheeled round and were filing through the door when Vallon spoke again. ‘Arne, I’m not taking you. It would be a waste of time. You’re too old to find a place in the Emperor’s guard.’
Arne stopped dead while his companions trooped past him. With a horror-stricken glance, he made to follow, but Hero closed the door before he reached it. Arne payed the rim of his hat through his fingers. He glanced up, his eyes sparkling. ‘It doesn’t matter if I can’t enlist with the guard. In Constantinople, I can find work of some kind.’
‘I have a task for you closer to hand. Garrick is taking money to Raul’s family. He’s travelling alone. I’d feel happier if he had a companion. Keep an eye on him and you’ll return home with something to show for your wanderings.’
Arne’s mouth opened and shut.
‘No need to thank me. Consider it a reward for the kindness you showed Hero and Garrick.’
When Hero shepherded Arne out, Vallon saw that the hall was empty. ‘Is that the lot?’
‘Yes, sir. Andrei’s expecting us at the river.’
Vallon eyed the icon. ‘In your opinion, Hero, would you say that Caitlin’s mad?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir. Even though I have five sisters, I’ve never been able to fathom a woman’s mind.’
‘I want you to arrange a meeting between us. Nobody but we three must know about it. Understand?’
Hero hesitated. ‘Not really, sir.’
They reached the riverside to find Andrei waiting with the guide. Oleg Ievlevich was a small, serious-looking man with slanting hazel eyes above high cheekbones. Nothing in his demeanour lent weight to Wayland’s suspicions. With Andrei acting as middleman, they purchased three riverboats and a skiff. Each boat twenty-four feet long, clinker-built of larch strakes little more than half an inch thick. Although light enough to be towed or dragged, it took six men to lift them and a dozen would have been needed to carry them any distance. Each boat was fitted with eight oarlocks and was masted for a small sail. Behind the mast was a simple stall consisting of two posts and a sling to hold a horse. The skiff was for Wayland to go hunting in.
All the equipping and provisioning, plus the personal disbursements and other expenses, lightened their exchequer considerably. Selling the two ships’ boats and some of their trade goods offset part of the cost, but by the time the expedition was ready, only thirty pounds of silver remained.
On the morning of their departure, Vallon and company left their lodgings before first light. It had rained heavily the day before and then frozen overnight. Vallon’s face tingled in the cold and his feet made stars on the icy puddles as he walked to the riverbank. Caitlin’s party and the Vikings had already gathered, their breath clouding in the still air. As they were loading, Garrick and Arne came down to see them off. A curtain of lilac-coloured sky was rising above the city walls when Andrei arrived with Oleg.
Fifteen men and three women would be making the voyage, travelling six to a boat. Oleg joined Vallon’s company. The six Vikings took the second boat, while the third carried Drogo and Fulk, Caitlin and her maid Asa, and Tostig and Olaf. Vallon’s boat would tow the skiff. Into it Wayland put the caged falcons, plus twenty live pigeons from Vasili’s own dovecotes.
The sun was lifting clear of the city when the voyagers clasped their well-wishers and pushed off. Looking back from the first bend, they saw Garrick and Arne still standing on the jetty with their arms raised.
Hero pulled on his oar. ‘I bet they wish they were going with us.’
Vallon’s smile was noncommittal. Winter coming and more than a thousand miles of river and portage ahead of them before they reached the Black Sea.
Three or four miles upriver they rowed into Lake Ilmen and made twenty easy miles before entering the Lovat, the river flowing south from the great portage. As Vasili had warned them, it ran shallow with many hurrying shoals that forced them to disembark and tow the boats.
The weather was sublime. Nights of acrid frost that left the water margins skimmed with ice gave way to days of brilliant sunshine. Two days upriver Oleg halted the convoy at a farmstead in a forest of birch and pine. They’d passed many similar steadings. A log hut wreathed in blue smoke. A boat drawn up on the grassy shore, beside it a rack for drying fish. Two small haystacks raised on poles. A cow eating from a crib.
Oleg jumped to the bank and gave a loud hail. ‘Dorogoy, Ivanko!’
Out of the cabin stepped a man with rufous hair and beard. He flung up a hand in greeting. ‘Dorogoy, Oleg!’
Ivanko clumped down to the bank, his trousers flapping around his legs. An oddly proportioned fellow. Above the waist he was a big man, below it a small one, with stunted bandy legs shod in leather boots so large that it seemed that if he turned round, the boots would stay fixed to the spot. Behind him strode two hearty sons with the same peculiar physique. It was as if their waists had slipped to where their knees should have been.
‘Dorogoy, Oleg,’ they called. Each of them carried a hatchet tucked into his belt and wore crude bast shoes fashioned from birch bark. Perhaps Ivanko’s seven-league boots were a badge of office, possibly inherited.
Vallon watched the guide and porters bantering together. There was nothing veiled in their manner. He glanced at Wayland and gave a little shrug.
Ivanko invited them into his house. A stove filled the interior with smoke. Hero coughed and rubbed his eyes. ‘They’ve got it the wrong way round. The cold comes in through the chimney and the warmth goes out of the door.’
After a meal of porridge and kvas, Ivanko and his sons loaded equipment into a sturdy dugout canoe that they could convert into a sledge or cart by adding runners or wheels. They harnessed two horses and then, after a brief pr
ayer, set off. They picked up more porters from farms along the way, and by the time they called a halt that evening there were twelve in their company, plus four more horses and two canoes. All the porters seemed delighted to be laying aside their everyday labours for the privilege of hauling three heavily laden boats through ninety miles of forest.
Next day they left the Lovat and began the portage. It wasn’t as arduous as Vallon had feared. Oleg took advantage of every little stream and lake, and there was no shortage of either. Between watercourses, Ivanko’s team fitted the boats’ hulls with runners and dragged them with the horses, the men lending their weight and singing work songs. The route was well trodden, with timber causeways laid across some of the bogs. At night the caravan camped beside stone rings blackened by the fires of previous travellers. Twice on the portage they came across weathered wooden idols, the phallic pillars bearing a moustached face looking out to each quarter. When pressed, Oleg said that this was Perun, the thunder god. He affected not to notice the idols and seemed embarrassed when the porters bowed to them before crossing themselves. Vallon couldn’t have cared less about their idolatry. They were cheerful and willing workers, adept at everything they turned their hands to, using their axes as knife, plane, saw or hammer as the task demanded.
Ever upwards they climbed, the slope never steeper than a gentle incline, until at last they emerged from the forest into a tract of turf swamps. Vallon had the sense of standing at the centre of the world. Whichever way he looked, he was surrounded by a gently rumpled continent of golden-brown forest that faded ridge by ridge until the last ridge was indistinguishable from the sky. Oleg pointed south. ‘Dnieper,’ he said. He swung his hand towards the north-east. ‘Volga.’ Then he nodded very seriously as if confirming a truth. That the arteries of Rus issued from this heartland.
‘Hear that?’ Vallon called. ‘We’ve reached the watershed.’
‘What a relief to be on the right side of gravity,’ Richard said.
Hero laughed at Vallon’s puzzlement. ‘He means that from now on our journey leads downhill. All the way to the Black Sea.’
Around noon next day they floated off downstream into a forest untouched by man since the day of creation. Wayland lay back with Syth’s head on his arm, watching the trees sliding across the sky. They were the old familiar trees of the wildwood grown to fantastic proportions. Many of the oaks and pines steepled up for eighty feet before branching, and some of the spruces must have stood a hundred and fifty feet tall. It was a place of rot and renewal, with live trees sprouting out of dead ones, trees of two different kinds fused in spiral clinches, mouldering giants melting back into the soil. This far south the leaves were still turning and the travellers drifted under a steady pattering of yellow, red and brown that covered the stream in mosaics.
Hawk Quest Page 54
