Lucas shook his head to restore vision. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘Fetch your horse.’
Lucas darted poisonous glances at the girl while he examined Aster. ‘If you’ve lamed him…’
He was blown and lathered, but had suffered no serious harm. Lucas dabbed at his leaking cheek. The Seljuks sat their horses with impassivity. Wayland nudged his chin in the direction of the horse Lucas had appropriated. ‘You know who that belongs to?’
Lucas managed a grin. ‘No, but she’s a good one.’
‘So she should be. She’s the general’s spare mount.’
Lucas swung his arm as if hurling something into the ground. ‘Ah, hell.’
Wayland took Vallon’s horse and led it away, the Seljuks jogging after him. ‘Get going. You’re holding up the convoy.’
‘Hey,’ Lucas shouted. ‘What am I supposed to do with her?’
‘Nothing,’ Wayland said. ‘She can go wherever she pleases provided it’s not on one of the company’s mounts.’
Lucas slumped. He pulled Zuleyka away from Aster. ‘You’re free. Understand?’ He shoved her. ‘Go on. Get lost.’
She began walking south.
Lucas’s lips curled. Stupid bitch, he thought. ‘You’re going the wrong way.’
‘No, she isn’t,’ Wayland called back. ‘She’s from Persia. Khazar pirates captured her when she was twelve.’
Lucas dragged himself onto Aster. ‘She’s not going to reach Persia on her own. Look at her. She won’t last a day.’
‘That’s not my problem.’
‘Nor mine.’
Wayland kicked his horse into a canter. ‘Don’t make matters worse by delaying the convoy any longer.’
Lucas urged Aster into a trot. His face smarted and his thighs ached. Tomorrow he’d hardly be able to walk. Wayland and the Seljuks were already silhouettes and the girl was just a blip on the hot grassland. He swore and caught up, slowing his pace to match hers. She strode on, slim calves flashing, her eyes fixed ahead.
‘You’re crazy,’ he said. ‘You’ll only be captured by another bunch of pirates.’
She ignored him.
‘Go on, then. See if I care.’
But Lucas couldn’t leave her. Grass halms had already cut her feet. ‘Come on, Zuleyka. Say something.’ He rode ahead of her and turned. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I handled you roughly, but you can’t blame me. Aster’s the only thing I have.’
She stopped and he melted at the sight of tears flooding her eyes. He held out a hand and his voice dropped into a deeper register. ‘Get on behind me.’
She looked at him properly for the first time and he wished with all his heart that he could have undone his hot-blooded actions. He stretched towards her as if trying to bridge a gulf, and after a moment she took his fingers and sprang up behind him.
They plodded back, Lucas aware of Zuleyka’s breasts against his back. He eased his throat.
‘You ride pretty well.’
He might not have existed for all the attention she paid him.
He tapped his chest. ‘I’m Lucas.’ He craned over his shoulder. ‘Lucas.’
Her strange green eyes looked straight through him.
Love, lust and guilt made a curdled brew. Lucas clapped his heels against Aster’s flanks. ‘To hell with you, then.’
Jeers and catcalls greeted his return. Vallon stood planted in his path, his face frozen in rage he wouldn’t express to a mere trooper. Lucas felt a spurt of self-pity at the injustice of it.
‘What was I supposed to do?’ he muttered.
Wulfstan took Aster’s reins. ‘Get aboard.’
Lucas slid off. ‘What about the girl?’
Wulfstan shoved him towards the freighter. ‘Just do what you’re told.’
Gorka met him at the top of the plank, shaking his head at Lucas’s latest transgression. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Oh dear, oh fucking dear. You attract trouble like shit draws flies.’
‘It wasn’t my fault.’
Gorka’s face grew choleric. ‘Not your fault? You’re in the fucking army. It’s always someone’s fault.’ He cuffed Lucas’s back. ‘Now pretend you don’t exist.’
Lucas flung himself down, wrapped his arms around his chest and didn’t stir until the freighter had cast off. Rising on stiffening joints, he saw the mountains receding behind them in a pastel haze, the ships drawn out in line under the oncoming night. Hungry, he joined his squad for supper.
‘Anyone know what happened to the girl?’ he said, trying to make his tone casual.
‘It was awful,’ Gorka said. ‘Vallon executed her. Stealing imperial property’s a capital offence.’
Lucas sprang up. ‘No!’
One of the troopers took pity on him. ‘Gorka’s making sport of you. Vallon and Wayland had a flaming row over her. The general insisted she be left behind and Wayland told him they couldn’t just ditch her on the steppe. They were shouting into each other’s faces right in front of us and I thought for one moment they’d come to blows. Anyway, the Englishman won the argument. The girl’s coming with us until we reach Turkestan and can find a caravan that will take her back to Persia.’
Lucas subsided in relief. ‘Where is she?’
‘On one of the baggage boats.’
‘Those unnatural brutes!’ Lucas glared around. ‘On my first night with them I woke to find one of them snuggling up under my blanket.’
The troopers laughed and slapped their thighs. One of them flicked a tear from his eye. ‘Her maidenhead’s safe. Wayland’s dog is guarding it.’
‘What?’
‘Wayland has set his dog to watch over her. He trained it to protect his children.’
Another trooper shook his head. ‘A hundred men, one girl. That can only lead to one thing.’
Gorka nodded. ‘Well said, Petrocles.’ He aimed a knife in the general direction of Lucas’s throat. ‘I’ll say this once so you’d better listen good. Flirt with the gypsy girl and two soldiers will end up dead – the man stabbed by his rival and the murderer Vallon leaves hanging from some wayside gallows. Believe it. I’ve looked back at more than one trooper whose neck was stretched because he couldn’t wait to dip his wick at the next town for a few baubles.’
Lucas flushed. ‘I only chased her because she stole my horse.’
Gorka kept his knife aimed. ‘I think she stole more than that.’
Aimery deflected the blade. ‘You’ve made your point. It’s been a tiring day and we’ll all feel better after a night’s sleep.’
When Lucas lay down, he looked up at the stars, remembering the feel of the horse between his thighs, the hot wind in his face, the girl’s breasts stirring under her gown, the creamy smoothness of her thighs.
Zuleyka.
Gorka elbowed him. ‘Are you dreaming of diddling the gypsy girl?’
‘No, boss.’
Gorka pounced. ‘Why not? Are you a fucking homo?’
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.�
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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.
Vallon 02 - Imperial Fire Page 28
