‘You speak Norse.’
‘But of course. I often visit the Varangian trading station at Gnezdovo near Smolensk. I’m surprised you didn’t travel that way. It’s a lot easier than the route you’ve chosen. Did you get lost? Don’t you have a guide?’ He pressed one hand to his heart. ‘My name is Gleb Malinin.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hunting tur. How do you call them? The big aurochs.’ He pointed at the spoor. ‘They must have crossed the river last night. I’ve always wanted a drinking cup fashioned from an aurochs’ horn.’
‘We’ve been here a while and haven’t seen any aurochs. You’ll have to ride hard if you want to catch up with them.’
Gleb cast an appreciative eye over the meadow. ‘You’ve chosen a good place. This is fine grass. We’ve been riding since dawn and deserve a rest.’ He patted his soaking trousers. ‘If you don’t mind, we’ll break our fast here.’
He put his horse forward and his party followed, sliding grins at the voyagers. They dismounted about a hundred yards up the meadow and tethered their horses and dogs to a tree washed inland by a flood. Some of them began breaking off dead branches for firewood. When Gleb had made his dispositions, he strolled back towards Vallon.
‘Outnumbered two to one,’ Drogo said. ‘We’d better get in the first blow.’
‘Hold your hand. He might even be telling the truth.’
Gleb smiled at Vallon. ‘The food won’t take long. Please share bread and salt with us.’
‘Thank you, but we’ve already eaten. I want to be well downriver before the sun goes. You would have found this meadow empty if the rest of my party had returned. I sent ten of them into the forest to hunt game. You probably heard the horn calling them back.’
Gleb politely regarded the forest, then surveyed the modest convoy. ‘Thirty men in those small craft. My friend, I worry for you. You’ll never reach Kiev with boats so heavily laden.’
Vallon clenched his fists against his thighs. Where the hell were Wayland and Syth?
They lay half-asleep in each other’s arms, Syth twining a lock of Wayland’s hair around her fingers. Above them two squirrels chased each other through the crown of a pine tree. They proceeded by mad scampers and sudden standstills, as if they’d been magnetised to the underside of the branches.
‘Wake up.’
Wayland backed up on his elbows and blinked over the trunk. ‘The aurochs have gone.’
Syth shook with silent laughter. ‘I wonder what scared them.’
Wayland sat against the trunk and laid Syth’s head on his lap.
She sighed. ‘Caitlin’s lovely, don’t you think?’
‘Not half as lovely as you.’
Syth touched the tip of his nose. She sighed again. ‘What I’d give to have her gorgeous curls.’
Wayland shifted. ‘Why do you keep bringing her name into it? She’s so devious. Surely you don’t like her.’
‘She’s not so bad when you get to know her.’
‘She’s trouble. I don’t understand why Vallon let her come with us.’
‘She’s in love with him.’
Wayland bucked. ‘Vallon? But she tried to kill him.’
‘Love and hate aren’t as far apart as you might think.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Nobody. Sometimes when you get moody or ignore me for the falcons, I get angry, and then I find that’s when I desire you most.’
‘Caitlin won’t get anywhere with Vallon. After what happened with his wife, I don’t think any woman could find a way into his heart.’
‘Don’t be so sure. He’s not as grisly as I first thought, and love’s a funny thing.’
Three urgent notes made them snap apart. ‘That’s the alarm!’ Wayland sprang up and hopped around in search of a shoe. A thorn spiked his sole. ‘Shit!’ He grabbed Syth’s hand and began towing her behind him. She hung back.
‘We’ll run into the aurochs.’
Wayland stared in the direction of the river. It was less than a mile away. His gaze darted, mapping out a path. ‘We’ll lose too much time if we circle around them.’ He seized Syth’s hand and plunged straight ahead.
‘Wayland!’
‘We’ll drive them ahead of us. I don’t know what’s happening at the river, but a distraction might be useful. Stand over to my right. Keep behind me. When you hear me shout, yell and keep yelling. Beat the trees with a stick. Make as much racket as you can.’
‘What if they turn on us?’
‘Climb a tree.’
As soon as Syth was in position, he hurried across the clearing and into the forest. The aurochs had left deep prints and piles of dung. The breeze blew towards him and he moved fast. The trail led into a dense nursery of saplings that cut visibility to less than thirty feet. He turned and waved at Syth, telling her to stay where she was. He went on more cautiously. Despite their size, the aurochs had moved neatly through the close-grown trees. He was in the middle of the thicket when the warning signal came again. This was serious.
He emerged into a storm wreck of toppled and listing trees. He crossed through and entered virgin forest drenched with shadow. He stopped to allow his eyes to adjust. Spears of gold-green light pierced the underwater gloom. He peered through dark bars and grids. Nothing. The horn had scared the aurochs and by now they were probably a mile away. He was in the act of stepping forward when a block of shade shifted. He blinked, blinked again and the giant bull reconstituted itself no more than forty yards away. It had sensed him and was facing his way, ears twitching, moist muzzle dilated. He’d lost sight of Syth. When he turned his gaze to the bull again, it had resumed grazing. Between them lay the carcass of a massive oak upholstered in moss and scalloped with fungi shaped like outsize human ears. He stalked towards it. Years of experience as a wildboy had taught him that the trick of creeping up on quarry was not to creep up on it. Become part of the air, part of the ground, but never be your conscious self. The moment you let thought intervene, the quarry sensed it.
Ten yards from the oak he stopped. The bull was still grazing. He sank down by degrees and bellied towards the oak’s girth. He rolled onto his side, notched an arrow, and ever so slowly raised his head.
The bull was less than twenty yards in front of him, slatted with shadows, close enough for him to see the scars of old combats on its shoulders. He remained motionless. He was only a scrap of forest, his face a pale and unthreatening oval, no more significant than the fungi that clothed the tree. But the bull mapped its surroundings with every glance, and when it next lifted its head it registered that Wayland’s face hadn’t been there when it had last looked. It turned to face him and took a step forward. Wayland didn’t move. It groaned deep in its chest and pawed the ground. In a moment it would charge.
Wayland flared up and screamed. The aurochs snorted and swung in its length and galloped away. Wayland vaulted the tree and screamed again. Ahead of him he heard thudding hooves and branches snapping. Behind him Syth loosed a shrill cry.
Without waiting for her to catch up, he darted after the aurochs. He could track their progress from the sound of tearing vegetation. They were well ahead of him, fleeing in an unstoppable panic, and he chased them with the guilty exhilaration of a man who’s started an avalanche.
Gleb returned to the bank and this time six of his men accompanied him. The rest lounged around their fire, but Vallon could tell from their postures that they were waiting for the signal to attack. Gleb stopped about twenty yards away. ‘Come. We’re ready to eat. It’s not much — a stew of pork. Kvas.’
‘I told you. We already ate.’
Gleb’s face flickered annoyance. ‘It’s the custom in my country for strangers who meet on the road to break bread together.’
‘Just say the word,’ Drogo said.
Vallon jerked his head. ‘Keep your weapons hidden for now. Get everyone into the boats.’
Gleb cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Hey, brother, didn’t you hear me? Isn’t the co
mpany of Russians good enough for you?’
Vallon played out the pretence. ‘I’m worried that something’s happened to my missing men.’
Gleb went along with the fiction. ‘Ten of them, you said. Enough to protect each other. So forget them and share our meal. By the time we’ve finished, they might have returned. Who knows?’
‘Now I think of it, there must have been a misunderstanding. They’re probably waiting for us downriver.’ A glance to the rear showed that everyone was in the boats. ‘We’d better make haste to join them. I’m sorry to refuse your hospitality.’
Gleb stared at the ground and when he raised his face it had grown sad. ‘But there is a problem. You’ve strayed onto Polotsk territory. Do you have permits to travel through Prince Vseslav’s land?’
Vallon played for time. ‘I carry a safe conduct from Lord Vasili of Novgorod.’
‘Lord Vasili’s letters don’t entitle you to be in this place. I’m surprised he didn’t provide you with a guide.’ He said something in Russian that made his men snigger. He composed his own features into seriousness. ‘The law is clear. A caravan that enters Vseslav’s territory without authorisation is liable to arrest, its goods subject to seizure.’
‘Let’s cut the play-acting,’ Vallon said. ‘It was Vasili who sent you.’
Gleb grinned. ‘And you don’t have ten men hidden in the forest. By Oleg’s count, there are only two, and one of them is a girl.’ He shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘You should have listened to Lord Vasili and sold him the falcons. I’m saving you a wasted journey. You’d never have got past the rapids and the nomads.’
He motioned with his hand and his men rose like a company released from a trance and drew their swords and strung their arrows and advanced.
Vallon drew his own sword and heard steel rasp behind him. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. You won’t live to profit by your treachery.’
‘Get in the boat!’ Drogo shouted.
It was too late. The Russians were only thirty yards away and would catch the boats before they reached deep water.
‘There’s no need to fight,’ said Gleb. ‘Give me the falcons and I’ll let you go on your way.’
Vallon backed to the water’s edge. ‘Hero, be ready to throw the falcons into the river.’
Gleb halted the advance. ‘Don’t be foolish. The falcons are the only thing that can save you.’
Vallon stepped into the river. ‘Cast off.’
As Gleb raised his hand to launch the attack, the dogs began to yelp and tug against their leashes. A horse whickered and tossed its head. Gleb glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Vallon.
‘The falcons.’
‘Do I look like a fool?’
A shout from one of the Russians cut off Gleb’s answer. The horses had begun to whinny and tread, their ears pinned back and the whites of their eyes showing. The dogs howled and bit each other as they fought to break loose. A deep lowing came from the forest.
‘What in the …?’
Out of the trees streamed a bawling herd of aurochs led by a giant black bull that seemed to fly over the ground. They poured down the meadow, hell-bent on reaching the ford. Gleb shared a last astounded look with Vallon, then shouted an order and sprinted towards the squealing horses.
‘Get rowing!’
Vallon’s boat was clear of the bank when he reached it. Richard and Hero dragged him aboard and he turned to see the aurochs halfway down the meadow and the Russians still struggling to free their terrified horses. Some of them realised that they wouldn’t do it in time and began legging it to safety. Others managed to untie their plunging steeds but found it impossible to mount them. Two men subdued Gleb’s horse long enough for him to climb into the saddle. By then the aurochs were nearly upon them. One Russian stood in their path waving his arms in a doomed attempt to turn the tide. They flattened him like a skittle. Gleb’s horse spun and reared. He whacked it and sawed at the reins, one foot out of the stirrup. The black bull took horse and rider square on, one horn spearing Gleb’s thigh to his mount. It hoisted them clear of the ground and tossed them aside as if they weighed no more than dolls. Vallon saw a man give up on his horse only to dash into the path of a cow that swept him aside and left him lying with his limbs the wrong way round. A half-grown bull stotted down the meadow in a crazy prance and stove in a man’s face with a kick from its hind hooves. Bedlam. Aurochs bellowing, horses screaming, men yelling, dogs yelping.
The old bull hit the river at full gallop, parting the water in two great waves that fanned up like wings. Most of the herd followed his path, but some plunged perilously close to the boats, drenching their occupants with spray.
‘Row for the opposite shore,’ Vallon yelled.
‘What about Wayland?’
‘Don’t you worry about him. He’s the one who whipped up the storm.’
By the time the rowers had settled into a rhythm, some of the Russians had caught up their horses and were riding in pursuit, shooting arrows at a gallop. A few pounded ahead and dismounted at the end of the meadow so they could take surer aim as the boats passed. Every stroke carried the boats further across the river and by the time they drew level with the archers, the lofted arrows dropped short. From here the forest came down to the river and hindered pursuit. Gradually the yells grew faint with distance.
‘Stop rowing,’ Vallon ordered. ‘Blow the horn.’
Three times the notes blared out before the voyagers saw two figures flitting down to the bank. Vallon brought the boat in close and Wayland and Syth waded out and boarded while it was still moving. Their clothes were muddy and torn, their skin scratched by briars and blistered by nettles. They sat side by side, fighting for breath.
‘Where the hell have you been? Why didn’t you come when we blew the first signal?’
‘I didn’t hear it,’ Wayland panted.
‘Didn’t hear it? What were you up to?’
Syth choked off laughter with her fist. Vallon and Hero exchanged looks, only their eyes moving, then simultaneously they reached the same conclusion and stared off as if some distant event had seized their attention.
XL
Vallon scourged them on like galley slaves, the women as well as the men. They lay up overnight in a side-creek and were back at their oars before they’d properly woken. Only the Vikings could sustain the effort. Rowing was their life’s work and their hands were as callused as a dog’s paws.
For everyone else it was more than muscles and joints could stand. Something tore in Richard’s back, forcing him to row one-handed. Hero jerked upright at Vallon’s shout to find that he’d been rowing while asleep. They hobbled ashore that night with their hands crooked into claws and their backs as rigid as boards. Each boat’s company cooked separately. An occasional snatch of conversation or laughter carried from the Vikings’ hearth, but everyone else was silent. Wayland and Syth were keeping watch on the river. Hero and Vallon drooped by their fire.
Drogo barged out of the dark dragging Caitlin’s maid, Asa. ‘Show him.’
The girl held out her hands to Hero, whimpering with pain. He saw why when he unwrapped the bandages. The skin on her palms was peeling off like a glove. He held her wrists. ‘Are your mistress’s hands that bad?’
Asa nodded tearfully.
Vallon hadn’t even looked up. He continued shoving food into his mouth. ‘I warned her it wouldn’t be a bed of roses.’
‘There’s no need to push us so hard,’ said Drogo. ‘They won’t chase us, not with Gleb dead. They haven’t even got boats.’
Vallon cocked a fire-reddened eye. ‘They can find boats in Smolensk. We have three days’ lead at most, and we’re at least twelve days from Kiev.’
‘I know that if you drive us at the same pace, by this time tomorrow you’ll be left with nothing but cripples.’
Hero intervened. ‘I’ll treat your hands with salve,’ he told Asa.
The girl couldn’t have been older than twelve. He dressed her palms with an ointm
ent of lanolin and seaweed. When she’d left, he looked at Vallon. ‘Drogo’s right. Richard can’t sleep for pain.’ He showed his own raw palms. ‘I can hardly hold a cup, let alone an oar.’
Vallon stirred the fire. ‘You think I’m not suffering?’
‘That makes it worse. Your wound could open.’
‘We have to press on. My nightmare is that the Russians will slip past us during the night. Imagine coming round a bend to find them waiting.’
‘They won’t. Not with Wayland watching the river. I’m serious, sir. Another day like today and we’ll be fit for nothing.’
When Vallon didn’t answer, Hero rose and stretched, bunching his fists into the small of his back. He hiked up his shoulders against the chill and set off into the dark.
‘Will you treat Caitlin’s hands?’ Vallon said.
‘I’m on my way now.’
‘Thank you. You’ll make a good physician if you live.’
Fog was streaming off the hills when they gathered at the river next morning. The light diffused through the forest, casting no shadows, softening all outlines. The water had a leaden sheen. A fish eagle’s wild scream hung on the silence.
Most of the company were eyeing their boats with dull loathing when the Vikings jumped laughing and joshing into their own craft.
‘Wulfstan,’ Vallon called. ‘Today we’ll travel in two boats. Divide your men between them.’
Wulfstan eyed his men and gave an order. The Vikings trooped reluctantly from their boat and took up their berths.
They pushed off. Vallon told Richard to put down his oar and rest. He raised his eyebrows at Hero. ‘Happier?’
Hero grinned. ‘Much.’
The river ran slow, its current no faster than a geriatric walk. Even so, the boats must have covered fifty miles between dawn and dark. Their course led due south and after four days the river began to widen, in places stretching for two miles between shores, the surface like sheet metal under the great arc of sky. Hero drifted in a relaxed daze, only plying his oar to correct their course.
They meandered through a labyrinth of islands and sandbars and began to encounter fishermen and loggers poling rafts of timber. They paused in passing only long enough to find out how far they had to go before they reached Kiev. Villages began to appear every few miles. Sometimes they passed them in the dark, the only clues to their presence a bell tolling from a church, a rushlight shining through a door, a mother’s voice calling her children to supper. The voyagers always camped in the woods, choosing islands for preference.
Hawk Quest Page 56
