Loneliness overwhelmed him. For the first time in years he yearned for human company. He thought of the fugitives. If they had followed his directions, they would be camped a few miles upriver. Using his bow as a crutch, he levered himself upright and stood with bowed head.
Beloved parents and grandfather, dear brother and sisters, forgive me. I have to go away. I don’t know where my path will take me, but I don’t think it will lead back here. I won’t forget you. Wherever I go, I’ll cherish the thought of you.
He limped away. At the edge of the clearing he stopped for one last look. The candles burned tiny in the dark. Once they had flickered out, nothing would remain to tell a stranger that a family had lived here. Tears spangled his vision. He turned away and went on.
Hero and Richard sat side by side under a shared blanket. The fire had dwindled to a single tongue of flame. Raul lay snoring on the other side of it. Vallon was keeping watch somewhere in the trees on the crag above.
Hero was trying to teach Richard how to calculate latitude by measuring the angular elevation of the Pole Star with his astrolabe. Richard had difficulty locating the correct star. ‘Not that one,’ said Hero. ‘Further right. Between the Great Bear and Cassiopeia – the constellation shaped like the letter W.’
‘I think I’ve got it,’ said Richard. ‘I expected it to be brighter.’
‘Now suspend the astrolabe as steadily as you can and line up the sighting bar.’
Richard pivoted the bar and squinted up it.
‘Let me see,’ Hero said, taking the astrolabe from him. He read off the star’s apparent position from the scale on the rim of the instrument. ‘Hmm, more than ten degrees out.’
‘What’s a degree?’
‘It’s an arc equal to the 360th part of the Earth’s circumference.’
Richard thought about it. ‘You’re saying that the Earth is round?’
‘Of course. That’s why the horizon curves when you view the sea from a height.’
‘I’ve only seen the sea once, when we crossed from Normandy. I was sick the whole passage.’ Richard frowned. ‘If the earth is round, we must live on top of it. Otherwise we’d fall off.’
‘Wasps walk round apples without falling off.’
‘They have more legs than we do. They can walk upside down on a ceiling.’
‘There must be some force that keeps us grounded,’ Hero conceded. ‘Perhaps it’s the same force that makes the needle of my compass point south and north.’
Richard sighed in drowsy admiration. ‘How much you know. Tell me more.’
Hero watched the stars sliding around Polaris. Raul gave a rasping snore that tailed off into vigorous lip smacking. ‘It’s time you told
me
something. Why have you come with us?’
‘I had to leave. At the castle, I had no say in my future.’
‘That’s not what I meant. Vallon isn’t interested in your future. This must have something to do with the ransom.’
‘Hasn’t he told you?’
‘There hasn’t been time to talk. I didn’t even know we were leaving until last night.’
‘Keep it down,’ Raul growled.
Richard moved closer. ‘Lady Margaret has persuaded Vallon to lead an expedition to Norway. First we have to raise the finance. We’re travelling south to a Jewish moneylender. I’m not allowed to tell you where. Vallon says that the fewer people know, the safer for all of us.’
Even though it was the answer he’d been expecting, Hero was shocked. ‘Vallon’s not going to Norway. Why would he risk his life to save a man he’s never met – a man whose brother tried to kill us?’
‘Vallon can use some of the money to trade and make a profit on the venture.’
‘That shows how little you know him. He’s a soldier, not a merchant. It’s just a trick to escape. Once he has your mother’s money, that’s the last you’ll see of him. You should have talked to me before running away.’
‘But he swore an oath.’
‘Who wouldn’t if it meant saving his skin? Look at Walter and his lies. Everyone lies when it suits his purpose. I should know.’
‘You?’
‘From the beginning, our journey hasn’t been what it seems.’
‘What do you mean?’
Hero couldn’t stop himself now. ‘Ask yourself why Master Cosmas agreed to win Walter’s freedom.’
‘You told me that he wanted to visit Britain before he died.’
‘Walter possesses something that Cosmas wanted – something he offered on condition that Cosmas obtain his release.’
‘What is it?’
‘Suppose I told you that at the eastern end of the world lies a realm greater than any built since the reign of the Caesars.’
‘China? I’ve heard you speak of it.’
‘Not China. This is a Christian realm.’ Hero patted his pack. ‘I have a letter written by the ruler of that country. It’s addressed to the Byzantine Emperor.’
‘What does it say?’
‘The ruler offers to lead an army against the Turks and Arabs. That’s not all. As a token of his allegiance, he sent a gift with the letter – something that will stand the world on its head.’
Someone or something not far away gave a heavy sigh. Hero and Richard clutched each other. Raul had heard the noise, too. He crawled to the fire, blew life into an ember and lit a taper shielded inside a horn. Holding the torch aloft, he crept forward. Hero followed him, then stopped with a gasp, the dog’s snarl printed on his retina.
‘Tell Vallon,’ Raul said.
Hero scrambled up the hillside. ‘Sir? Sir?’
‘Over here. You two talk loud enough to wake the dead. And what the hell were you doing waving a torch?’
‘It’s Wayland. He’s back.’
*
Raul took Vallon to one side and muttered in his ear. Vallon looked down into Wayland’s sullen blinks, then turned to Hero and Richard. ‘Wait by the fire.’
‘Something’s wrong,’ Hero whispered. ‘I’ve never seen him look so grave.’
Richard glanced at the dark figures. ‘Go on with your story. You were telling me about a gift.’
Hero was regretting his indiscretion. ‘No, my tongue ran away with me. I gave my word to Cosmas that I wouldn’t repeat the secret to anyone.’
‘Not even Vallon?’
‘No, not even him.’
‘But—’
‘Ssh!’ Vallon was returning towards the fire. ‘You must forget about the letter.’ Vallon was only feet away. ‘Swear it, or forfeit my friendship.’
‘Very well. I swear.’
Vallon stared into the embers and spoke in a colourless voice. ‘I’d hoped that we’d be safe once we’d put ourselves beyond Drogo’s reach. We hadn’t committed any crime, and with Richard to vouch for us, we had every chance of reaching our destination. Not any more. Wayland has killed two of the count’s men – Roussel and Drax.’
Raul spat into the fire.
‘I’m not shedding tears for them either. But there’s no crime more serious than the murder of a Norman. From now on every sword will be raised against us. Richard, your name and title are no longer any protection. If we’re caught, you’ll swing alongside us. You’d better leave us at the next town. Tell the Count we took you against your will.’
Richard stirred one foot miserably.
‘Wayland killed the Normans only a few miles from here,’ Vallon said. ‘The others probably rode straight back to the castle. Drogo won’t wait until morning before coming after us. He could be here by daybreak.’
Raul loosened his breeches and pissed on the fire. ‘We’d better get started then.’
Vallon began to gather his belongings.
‘Is Wayland coming with us?’ Hero asked.
‘He can come or go as he pleases. The damage is done.’
*
Wayland guided them south-west, across the grain of the country. They crossed a barren common by starlight and dropped into a wooded valley as the first faint wash of dawn spread in the east. They began their next ascent with sunlight fanning through the gaps behind them. They climbed a steep moor dotted with wind-racked junipers. The sun grew warm on their backs. Around them curlews cried their liquid song and grouse burst cackling out of the heather. Vallon didn’t call the first halt until mid-morning. Everyone was struggling, Wayland included. After they’d eaten, Vallon told him to stay behind and watch for pursuit. The Frank led the others on. At noon they were still climbing, one false summit leading to another.
Vallon reached the top first. Against the sky an old grey druid leaned into the wind with his cloak blowing out behind him. When Vallon approached, he saw that the figure was an ancient runestone covered by a mat of shaggy lichens. He sat against it, pulled off his boots and looked at his blistered heels. He put his boots back on and waited for the others to straggle up. Hero and Richard could hardly put one foot in front of the other.
At last Wayland appeared, hobbling with the help of a stave.
‘Any sign of them?’
Wayland shook his head and went past and stopped on the western skyline. Vallon struggled up and joined him. Beneath their feet the land spilled into a broad vale chequered with fields and veined by tracks. Wisps of smoke rose from dozens of hamlets. On the other side, snow-capped mountains cradled lakes in crooked folds. Figures like mites crept along a road that followed the valley north-west towards a plain bounded by a shining firth.
Vallon studied Wayland. The falconer was a good-looking youth, tall and straight, with yellow hair and a disconcertingly clear blue gaze. Vallon’s anger at his wanton behaviour was tempered by curiosity and grudging admiration. It took courage to kill two Norman cavalrymen. More than that, it took grim intent.
Wayland became aware of Vallon’s scrutiny and turned to face it. Not many people could look Vallon straight in the eye. The Frank faced towards the south. They were on the spine of the country – a range of bald fells wearing rags of snow and curving away on each side like the hull of an upturned boat. ‘See this ring,’ he said. ‘This
morning the stone was as blue as your eyes. Now it’s clouding over. The weather will turn soon.’
Wayland studied the ring, then glanced at the sky. He nodded as if he didn’t need gadgets to predict the weather.
They followed the felltops south and bivouacked among the ghostly grey spoilheaps of a lead mine abandoned in Roman times. Richard fell asleep at supper with his spoon half raised to his lips and had to be put to bed like a child. Next day they continued south through a needling drizzle and didn’t encounter a living soul. They camped under a ledge in a stony gill and chewed their food woodenly, hardly exchanging a word.
Dawn broke like blood percolating through dirty water. All morning showers scudded in from the north-west. The fugitives were already cold and wet when they turned to see a curtain of black cloud closing down on them. It cast the mountains to the west into darkness and spread over the vale like a contagion.
There was no shelter on the fell. The storm knocked them sideways. Pellets of rain lashed them. The rain thickened into sleet and then wet snow that clogged their eyes and balled on their feet. Hero came struggling up to Vallon, shielding his face in the crook of his elbow. The wind blew the words away.
Vallon cupped a hand to his ear. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘I said, Richard’s in a dreadful plight.’
‘It’s only a squall,’ Vallon shouted. ‘It will soon pass.’
‘He can’t endure much longer. Come, see for yourself.’
Richard looked like he’d been poleaxed, his eyes rolled up in his skull and his face deathly grey. He rambled in a slurred voice and lashed out when Vallon caught hold of him.
‘Raul, Wayland, take his arms.’
They went where the wind buffeted them, skittering in the blasts, their cloaks streaming out in front. They reached a sheepfold and collapsed in the lee and crouched around Richard with their hands tucked up into their armpits. The snow streaked past with hypnotic intensity.
The wind slackened and the snow stopped. The fugitives looked at each other and saw that they’d grown old, with white hair and brows. The darkness began to lift and the pale disc of the sun blinked through the streaming overcast. In the watery light, Vallon saw that they’d been driven to the eastern side of the fell and were looking down a steep dale.
‘Do you know this country?’ he asked Wayland.
The falconer turned a circle and shook his head.
Hero was chafing Richard’s hands. ‘He can’t spend the night up here. All our bedding is drenched.’
‘I knew he was the weakest link,’ said Vallon. ‘But I didn’t think he’d break so soon.’
The last black tendrils of stormcloud floated east. The wind dropped to nothing and sunlight bathed the hills. The snow began to melt before their eyes, leaving icy filigrees in the shadows. Far down the dale Vallon spotted a solitary farmstead in a bright green triangle of cultivation. He shaded his eyes and studied it.
‘I can see a man working a field.’
Wayland held up two fingers.
‘Two men, then, and no other habitation for miles. We’ll risk it.’
They followed a rushing burn, keeping out of sight of the house. When they were close, Vallon climbed the gulley and peered over the edge. The farmstead was a windowless cottage of unmortared whin-stone, the joints plugged with turves, the roof thatched with blackened ling. Fumes drifted out of the central smokehole. Attached to the cottage was a byre. Downhill of the house a man guided an ox-drawn plough through the thin soil. In an adjoining field another man was repairing a stone wall near a hobbled horse. Scrawny chickens pecked around the homestead.
‘Wait here,’ Vallon said.
He rose and began to walk towards the house. He’d gone only a few yards when a little girl herding two slat-ribbed cows appeared round a bend in the stream. She cried out and fled downriver, whacking the cows on their bony rumps. The chickens flew squawking onto the roof ridge. The men sprinted for the house.
Vallon signalled for the others to show themselves. The peasants rushed out armed with swords. Vallon kept his own sword sheathed and walked forward until they raised their weapons. They were youths, possibly twins. Vallon pointed back at the fugitives, then tilted his head and laid it on his hands, miming sleep. The youths flapped their arms at him. When he didn’t leave, they advanced with swords hoisted, looking to each other for courage. Vallon stood his ground. He held out a silver penny.