Vallon sat down on the dead tree and mouthed along to Drogo’s prayer. ‘
Gloria patri et filio et spiritu sancto … ’
When he looked again, proud and handsome Helgi was quit of this world. Vallon took no satisfaction in his death; he’d been a nuisance, not a foe. Vallon walked away and looked across the river. A fine day in the dawning, sunlight dappling the trees, splashes of gold among the conifers. A woodpecker jarred in the distance.
A shout went up. Someone else called out and by the time Vallon had dragged himself back to the ridge a chorus of excited cries rang through the forest. The sight that greeted him stopped his throat. From the direction of the Viking camp a column of sooty smoke rolled into the sky.
He shot a grin at Drogo. ‘Not such a crackpot plan.’
Drogo gave the gusty laugh of a professional gambler beaten by the most improbable of flukes. ‘One day your luck will run out and I’ll be waiting.’
‘Luck favours the bold.’
‘Try telling that to Helgi’s sister.’
Vallon sobered. ‘You’d better break the news to her.’
Drogo nodded and mounted. Wayland was standing near them and when Drogo turned his horse, their eyes met. Drogo looked back at Vallon and gave an odd smile, then he rode away.
The Icelanders bore their fallen back to camp, leaving the slain Vikings stripped of their arms to be burned by their companions or abandoned to wolves and gore-crows. When the field was empty, Vallon and Wayland descended to the riverbank to await Raul’s return. The falconer sat stroking his dog and staring across to the opposite bank. Watching him, Vallon thought that he’d be proud to have him for a son.
‘You’re a born warrior,’ he said. ‘Even though I was shaped for war from childhood, you’ve killed more men than I had at your age.’
‘I don’t take any pleasure in it.’
‘I’m surprised. You told me that your grandfather was a Viking and would choose no other employment. You seemed proud of his exploits.’
‘They were stories he told me while he was tending his vegetable plot.’ Wayland gave Vallon a quick look. ‘Do you take pleasure in killing?’
Vallon thought about it. ‘I take satisfaction in the defeat of my enemies. The world’s a dangerous place. Life’s a vicious game. Your falcons know that.’
Wayland gave a scornful laugh. ‘If you had lived among the beasts, you’d know that they kill out of necessity. Only men treat death as a sport.’
‘I don’t make war for sport.’
‘Why then? Did you believe that the rulers whose armies you led waged war to make the world a better place?’
Vallon breathed in until his lungs pressed against his ribs. Two years ago, if a peasant had dared ask such a question, he would have had him flogged to death and forgotten his existence by next morning.
Wayland was watching him. ‘You don’t answer.’
Vallon’s response rose in his throat but he couldn’t give voice to it. I made this journey to atone for a mortal sin and swore that I wouldn’t take life except in defence of my own or my company. Six months later and I’ve lost count of the men who’ve died by my hand. And there’ll be more.
He smiled. ‘I fight because that’s all I’m good for.’ He squeezed Wayland’s arm. ‘Off you go. Syth will be anxious for you.’
Wayland stood.
Vallon squinted up. ‘Before Drogo left, you exchanged a look. As if you shared a secret.’
‘What sort of secret would I share with Drogo?’
The oblique light left Wayland’s face in shadow. Vallon nodded. ‘I must have fancied it. Don’t keep Syth waiting.’
When Wayland had gone, Vallon linked hands behind his head and stared at the sky. A line of geese flew upriver with their wings almost touching, the formation so precise. Soon they’d be going south, taking only a few days to make a passage that
Shearwater
wouldn’t complete in a month. Winter would soon be on them. No food. The Icelandic skippers had told Raul that rounding the North Cape at this season might be impossible. So many things to worry about and yet his thoughts were so fickle that he found them turning towards Caitlin.
The boat appeared out of spangled reflections. Vallon stood and shaded his eyes. Six men had set off and only five were returning. He recognised Raul’s squat form and prayed that the missing man wasn’t
Hero or Richard. He walked to the tip of the bar and hailed the raiders. He gave thanks to God when he picked out Hero and Richard’s features. A pang of remorse as he realised that the missing man was one of the Icelanders – a man whose name he’d forgotten and whose face he couldn’t recall.
As the boat rowed closer, Vallon saw that Raul’s beard had been burned to a frizzy mat and his eyebrows scorched to black speckles. Vallon helped him ashore.
‘We saw the smoke. You saved the day.’
Raul stepped past him in a stink of burned hair. He threw himself down against a tree and plucked at his nitty brow with broiled hands. ‘Didn’t your ambush succeed?’
‘We didn’t hurt the enemy as much as I’d hoped. Tell me about your own action.’
Raul waved at Hero and shut his eyes.
Hero and Richard dumped themselves down beside Raul. They looked tired but surprisingly collected. The two surviving Icelanders joined them.
‘The night didn’t begin well,’ said Hero. ‘It was so dark that we lost all sense of place. The current kept pushing us into the bank. Eventually, from the sheer passage of time, we decided that we must have gone past the bend, but we couldn’t locate the Viking camp. Insects were eating us alive. In despair we rowed for the shore with no more ambition than to make our way back as soon as we could see what we were doing.’
‘We cursed you,’ Richard said.
‘You’re not the only ones. On with your tale.’
‘After a flurry of rain, the clouds parted and the moon showed itself. We worked out that we were below the camp.’ Hero touched one of the Icelanders. Vallon recognised him as the youth who’d jumped aboard
Shearwater
ahead of the womenfolk. ‘Rorik went up the bank in search of the Vikings. He wasn’t gone long. Their camp was around the next point, no more than an arrow flight from our hiding place. Rorik arrived as the Vikings were filing out.’
‘You waited for them to leave and then attacked the longship.’
They exchanged glances. Raul looked up from under his scorched brows. ‘We were done in, wet to the bone and driven mad by the midges. Our kindling was damp, we had no idea how many Vikings
were guarding the camp or where they were laid up. Flog me or dock me, Captain, but my only thought was to save our skins.’
Vallon eased back. ‘In those circumstances, I might have made the same decision.’ He grinned. ‘Something made you change your mind.’
Hero resumed his account. ‘We rowed across the mouth of the bay, plying our oars as if they were feathers. The longship lay only fifty yards from us and there didn’t seem to be anyone on board. We kept going and then Richard said, “We can’t skulk away like this. What will we tell Vallon?”’
Richard smiled sheepishly. Vallon stared at him.
Raul spat. ‘We all sort of looked at each other and then without a word we began pulling towards the ship. ’Course we hadn’t gone more than a few yards when an almighty shout went up from the shore and two guards who’d been sleeping on board sprang up. Three Vikings came running down from their posts on the hills. I took aim on one of the ship-guards. Twenty yards range. Couldn’t miss.’ Raul spat again. ‘Well, I did. The rain had made my bowstring limper than the pope’s dick.’
Richard sniggered into his palm.
‘We fought our way aboard,’ said Raul. ‘I dealt with one of the guards. Rorik and Bjarni finished off the other one. Skapti got killed in the scrap. He fell dead into the water, God keep him.’
Vallon nodded. He hadn’t the faintest idea who Skapti was.
‘By this time the shore sentries had nearly reached the bank. There was just time to cut the mooring and push off. Two of the Vikings ran into the water and we fended them off with oars. The other one stayed on shore blowing the alarm. While we were fighting off the two in the water, Hero and Richard set about raising a fire.’
‘I thought it would never light,’ said Hero. ‘There was an inch of water in the hull and the timbers were soaked from the rain. Luckily for us, the Vikings had refitted the sail. We drenched it in oil, piled all the faggots around the mast, and poured our compound over them. Even then it took an age for the fire to take hold. When it did catch, the flames shot halfway up the mast. The Vikings had left their oars in the ship. We gathered them up along with anything else that would burn and threw them on to the blaze.’
Raul continued the tale. ‘When the Vikings saw the fire, the one on shore launched their boat and the two in the water waded back to join
him. Hero was shouting for us to get off, but the yard and sail had collapsed across the deck and there was a wall of fire between me and our boat. By now the three Vikings had nearly reached the ship. Captain, you know I’m no swimmer or I’d have jumped overboard. I held my breath, shut my eyes and ran through the flames. Tripped over a thwart. I thought I’d had it.’
‘He was smoking when he came out,’ Hero said.
‘We jumped into the boat and rowed as hard as we could. The Vikings didn’t chase us. They were too busy trying to save their ship.’
‘Did they succeed?’
‘Last I saw, it was burning like a torch.’
‘So it’s destroyed.’
‘As good as,’ Raul said. ‘Mast gone, sail gone, oars gone, shrouds gone. The keel’s probably no more than scorched, but the strakes amidships must be burned to cinders.’
‘We didn’t wait around,’ said Richard. ‘We knew the main Viking force would soon return and might pursue us in the ship’s boat. The thought of what they’d do if they caught us kept us from flagging even when our strength was spent.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘And here we are.’
Vallon gazed at them in wonder. ‘Here you are.’
Grief-stricken wails rose from the camp. Garrick had rowed
Shearwater
back to her mooring and the refugees ran down to the shore, clamouring for news. Vallon parted the crowd and walked towards the centre of the camp.
Caitlin knelt over Helgi’s body, rocking back and forth. Her maids and her brother’s followers stood behind her. Drogo frowned and waved Vallon back. He hesitated. Caitlin lifted her distraught face and caught sight of him. She ceased her lamentations and made a sound low in her throat. Seizing the sword lying on Helgi’s corpse, she ran at Vallon mouthing gibberish. Drogo and her retainers raced after her, but she reached Vallon before they could catch her and drew back the sword with both hands. He shot out a hand and grasped her wrists. She struggled and then she went limp and dropped the sword. Her eyes gushed tears. She sagged against him and he had to gather her close to stop her falling. He hadn’t held a woman for years and it was
the strangest sensation to be holding to his chest a princess who wanted to kill him.
Her voice bubbled through tears. ‘You promised to bring him back safe.’
‘I’m sorry. Take comfort in the knowledge that your brother died bravely, engaging the enemy with no regard for his own life.’
She batted her hands against his chest. ‘You threw his life away!’
Over her shoulder, Vallon saw Drogo striding up. ‘What lies have you been spreading?’ the Frank said.
‘No lies,’ said Drogo. ‘You knew the charge was pointless.’ He wrenched Caitlin from Vallon’s grip. ‘Get away from her.’
Caitlin’s maids took her by the arms and led her away. Vallon stood chest to chest with Drogo. ‘I should have known that you’d twist facts to your own end. Well, here’s another tale for you to distort. The longship is ashes and two more Vikings have gone to their doom.’
Drogo’s stubbled cheeks worked. He managed a stiff bow.
‘Don’t congratulate me,’ said Vallon. ‘It’s your brother who deserves the credit.’
He swung on his heels.
‘Vallon.’
Vallon wafted a blood-smeared hand. ‘Enough.’
Drogo caught up with him. ‘I grew close to Helgi. Last night, before we went into action, he asked me to act as Caitlin’s guardian should he be killed. I told him that I’d be honoured to accept. I pledged to protect her with my life.’
Vallon kept walking. ‘Very worthy and I’m sure you’ll honour your pledge. But how does it concern me?’
Drogo’s throat strained with emotions he couldn’t express. He jabbed a finger. ‘Just keep away from her. That’s all.’
Vallon had retreated to a quiet stretch of the riverbank before he fathomed Drogo’s meaning. Helgi must have dressed up the encounter at the lake to make it look like he – Vallon – was besotted with his sister. Drogo thought he was a rival for her affection. The Norman’s stupidity angered him. He turned and glowered.
Garrick was approaching, carrying a bowl and bread. ‘You haven’t broken your fast, sir.’
Vallon ate in silence, looking across the river.
‘What will we do now?’
‘We’ll set up camp on the far bank. It will take a couple of days to make the ship seaworthy. Wayland can use the time to gather food for the hawks. After that … ’ Vallon checked himself. He’d almost said, ‘We’ll go home.’ He smiled at Garrick. ‘We’ll continue our journey. Will you come with us to Constantinople?’
‘What would I do there, sir?’
‘Whatever you want. It’s the greatest city on earth.’
‘Cities don’t agree with me. I went to Lincoln once. All those people in one place made my head spin.’ He glanced shyly at Vallon. ‘I dream of buying ten acres in the place where I grew up. Live my life out and go to rest in the soil I sprang from, the place where my parents lie buried, the plot where my children sleep. I know it’s only a dream.’ He laughed. ‘That Daegmund wouldn’t be happy to see
me
back. He’d make life hot, I can tell you.’
Vallon gripped his arm. ‘You’ll have your ten acres. If that’s all I achieve by this endless wandering, I’ll be content.’
Garrick’s eyes found his, ducked away, face shadowing. ‘I can’t get quit of the sight of those women and what the Vikings did to them. They’re mother and daughter – only a girl. Can’t we save them, sir? I’d take up a weapon if you thought it would help.’