‘Keep going,’ Vallon said.
‘There’s Thorfinn,’ said Raul. ‘Christ, he’s a big bastard.’
Naked to the waist, the Viking chief ran into the river, pushing out the longship’s boat. He jumped into it as
Shearwater
drifted below the lower edge of the bay. The boat soon appeared behind them, rowed by four men. Thorfinn crouched in the bow, shouting at the oarsmen to dig deeper and faster.
‘What’s he after?’ said Raul.
‘I believe he wants to negotiate.’
The rowers strained to catch up, keeping out of crossbow range. Four or five Vikings scrambled along the bank behind them. The boat drew level and Thorfinn cupped his hands around his mouth.
‘Raul, tell the Icelanders to be quiet. Garrick, bring us within earshot.’
Shearwater
steered to starboard.
‘That’s close enough.’
Thorfinn stood up. ‘Hey, Frankish. Where are you going? You think you’ll sail around the North Cape? No, you’re too late. Hey, Frankish, listen to me. Even if you get round the cape, you’ll starve before you reach the nearest settlement.’
‘You understand what he’s saying?’ Raul asked.
‘I get the drift.’
‘Hey, Frankish, let’s talk.’
‘Raul, what do you think?’
‘I say we keep going.’
‘What about you, Hero?’
‘I think we should find out what he has to say. We know the journey down the Norway seaboard is dangerous. The currents are treacherous and the mountains fall straight into the sea. Thorfinn knows those waters. We might get some useful information out of him.’
Vallon faced downstream, the forest sliding away on each side. At this rate, they would meet the sea before noon and then their fate would be determined by nothing more complicated than wind and weather.
‘Heave to.’
‘Captain, we ain’t going to get nothing out of Thorfinn.’
‘Anchor in the middle of the channel. Wayland, tell Thorfinn to approach.’
The Vikings stroked towards
Shearwater
and backed water about a hundred yards off.
‘Come closer,’ Vallon shouted. ‘I can’t hear you.’
Thorfinn mimed rowing motions. ‘You come to me.’
Vallon looked for a way to end the impasse. Not far downstream the current divided around two smooth tongues of rock separated by a deep channel. After many false starts and cross-purposes, Vallon made it understood that he and one other would parley with Thorfinn and another Viking delegate, each pair to occupy a separate boulder.
Thorfinn waved agreement. ‘You go first, Frankish.’
‘Come with me,’ Vallon told Wayland. ‘Leave your bow.’ They climbed into the spare boat, rowed down to the boulders and climbed onto its polished surface. Wayland kept hold of the boat. Thorfinn put ashore to offload his men, then he and one of his lieutenants headed towards the rendezvous.
The Viking chief stood in the bow dangling his axe from one hand. Its crescent-shaped blade must have weighed fifteen pounds, yet he hefted it as casually as if it were an item of cutlery. In addition, he
wore at his waist a plain broadsword and carried at the back of his belt a short stabbing blade or scramasax. He leaped on to the rock, appeared to trip and teetered at the edge of the channel. He recovered himself and looked up, his jaw split in a splayed ochre grin.
Vallon frowned. ‘He’s clowning.’
Thorfinn’s grin died. He raised his axe one-handed and pointed it at each enemy in turn, sighting on them with eyes as cold as a gull’s. He was built on a prodigious scale – close to seven feet tall, with thighs like wine tuns and a chest slabbed with muscle. Years of axe- and sword-play had made a hump of his right shoulder. Across his naked torso marched a fantasy in woad – winged eagles, writhing serpents, warriors on horseback. He let the axe head drop to the stone with a clang.
‘You are in bad trouble, Frankish.’
‘Not as bad as you. We have a sound vessel and plenty of fresh meat. You have neither.’
Thorfinn aimed his axe at the Viking camp. ‘We’ve got a living larder.’ He gnashed his teeth. ‘Hungry wolves take big bites.’
‘No sail or cordage, though. Without them, you’re going nowhere.’
Thorfinn dropped to his hams and peered at Vallon over the haft of his axe. ‘All right, Frankish, I’ll trade you four prisoners for the sail from the Icelanders’ ship.’
‘I don’t want your prisoners. I’m already carrying more Icelanders than I can cope with.’
Thorfinn said something to his lieutenant before turning back. ‘What I say is true. You can’t return around the North Cape. Ask the Icelandic captains.’
‘I’d rather hear it from you.’
‘The autumn winds will be against you. They’ll crush you against the rocks. They’ll drive you into the Maelstrom.’
‘If that’s the case, what are you doing so far east?’
Thorfinn wiped his nose. ‘We didn’t choose to land on this coast any more than you did. We were on an expedition to the Faroes when the storm blew us round the cape.’
‘That shows how fickle the winds can be. Winter is still a few weeks off. All we need is two or three days of easterlies and we’ll be back in the open ocean.’
Thorfinn stood up. ‘Suppose you did round the cape. There are no
settlements between here and Halogaland. That’s my country. This year the harvest was poor. How do you think my people will treat you when you come ashore begging for food and shelter?’ He clucked his tongue and drew the edge of his axe across his throat.
‘I’ve no reason to believe anything you say.’
Thorfinn regarded him thoughtfully. ‘The Icelanders say you’re travelling to the Varangian Way.’
‘The Road to the Greeks,’ said Wayland.
‘Suppose we are.’
‘There’s only one way to reach it.’ Thorfinn felt in his belt purse and took out a stub of pigment. He wetted it in the river, knelt on the boulder and began tracing a shape on the stone. First he drew what looked like the outline of a thick thumb, and then from the base of the thumb, he added a squiggly V.
‘What is that supposed to show?’
Thorfinn placed his index finger on the beginning of the line and jabbed it up and down.
‘He’s saying it marks the spot where we’re standing,’ said Wayland.
‘
Ja, ja. Hit.
’ Thorfinn pointed east, put his finger on the starting point and moved it in three arcs to the end of the thumb. ‘After three days’ sailing the land turns south into Danger Bay. The Rus call it the White Sea.’ His finger described half a dozen more arcs before reaching the bottom of the V. ‘Six days’ sailing and you come to the head of Danger Bay. From there a river takes you south through the forest to Holmgard.’
‘Holmgard’s the Norse name for Novgorod,’ Wayland said.
Vallon was intrigued. ‘You’ve travelled this route.’
‘Of course. For furs and slaves. The last time two summers ago.’
Vallon eyed the drawing, an unknown landscape dimly forming in his mind. ‘Danger Bay, you called it.’
‘Skraelings live on its shore. Lapps. Nomad fishermen and reindeer herders. On our last expedition they captured three of my men. I never even saw them taken. Their wizards can assume whatever shape is agreeable to them.’
‘Is there food along the way?’
‘At this season the shores swarm with wildfowl and the fish jam the rivers so tightly that there isn’t room for them to swim upstream.’
‘How far to Novgorod from Danger Bay?’
‘From one new moon to the next.’
‘A whole month?’
‘Listen, Frankish, it would take you three months to sail to Novgorod through the Baltic.’
‘He’s probably right,’ said Wayland. ‘It took us three weeks just to reach the Orkneys.’
Vallon turned back to Thorfinn. ‘Describe the journey overland.’
Thorfinn took up his chalk again. Working on a fresh area of rock, he drew a vertical line, followed by a small circle. ‘You follow a river south until you reach a lake.’ He drew another line and then a large circle. ‘Another river and another lake called Onega, so big you can’t see across it.’ He slashed another vertical and followed up with a circle so large he ran out of space. ‘One more river brings you to Lake Ladoga, even larger than the last. Follow the southern shore and you are in the land of the Rus.’
‘What’s to stop us from finding the route by ourselves?’
‘A hundred rivers flow into Danger Bay. Only one of them takes you to Holmgard. All the others lead to the grave.’ Thorfinn jabbed his chest. ‘I know the right river.’
‘Is that the route you’re taking?’
‘It’s the only way left to us. Even if we had a sail, our keel’s too weak to risk the ocean. Hey, Frankish, give me your spare sail and we’ll voyage south together.’
Vallon stared upstream. ‘Does this river have a name?’
Thorfinn shrugged. ‘You can call it what you like.’
‘It flows from the south. Wouldn’t it bring us to the same place?’
Thorfinn shook his head. ‘A day upriver it divides. One fork goes west, the other has rapids that can only be passed in small boats.’
‘Will we be able to take our ship to Novgorod?’ Another shake of the head. ‘Your knarr draws too much water.’
‘We need to consider what you’ve said.’
Thorfinn gave an expansive wave. ‘Take your time, Frankish.’
Vallon turned to Wayland. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘The route’s probably more difficult than he makes out, but he wouldn’t offer to guide us unless it was passable. What I don’t understand is why.’
‘Simple. First, unless we give him a sail, he and his men are dead. Second, he wants our passengers for slaves and our trade goods for
booty. Since he can’t seize our ship, he hopes to herd us like lambs to slaughter until we’re close to market. That way, he doesn’t even need to feed us on the journey.’
‘A truce wouldn’t last that long. One wrong word, one small setback … Also, it would mean abandoning
Shearwater
. If the overland route proved to be impassable, there’d be no way back.’
‘I know.’ Vallon made a calliper with thumb and forefinger and clamped it across his forehead. He gazed at the ship upstream. All the passengers were watching, wondering what fate was being hammered out for them. ‘It’s difficult. What would your decision be?’
Wayland looked at the forest, looked at the sky. Vallon waited. He was struck by the incongruity of their situation – negotiating with a barbarian on a rock in the middle of a nameless wilderness river.
‘It’s the falcons,’ Wayland said at last. ‘If we go by the seaway, they’ll die. All it would take is a few days without food. If the land described by Thorfinn is half as rich in game as he says … I’ve come a long way for those falcons. If it was up to me, I’d risk the overland route.’
‘So would I, for various reasons. One of them being that Drogo won’t move against us while he’s got the Vikings to worry about.’
Thorfinn was squatting on his islet, probing inside his mouth.
Vallon faced him. ‘There are conditions.’
The Viking rose shaking his head. ‘First you give me the sail and cordage. Then maybe we’ll talk again.’
‘I’ll give you half a sail.’
‘
Nei!
’
‘Half a sail and enough cordage to rig it. In return you’ll hand over the women prisoners and four of your men as hostages. We’ll give you six men in exchange. Each set of hostages will guarantee the safety of the other. Once we reach the head of Danger Bay, we’ll release them.’
Thorfinn’s jaw hung loose. He leaned forward, eyes squinting for trickery. ‘Why six of your people?’
‘Because the Icelanders are a burden and the fewer I carry, the easier my life will be. I’ll even supply rations for the six hostages.’
Thorfinn went into huddled council with his lieutenant. Finally he turned.
‘I won’t part with the women. Why do you want them? They’re not your kin.’
‘Unless you release them, I won’t give you the sail.’
‘Then we’ll all perish.’
Vallon looked at Wayland. ‘I can’t jeopardise the lives of twenty for the sake of two. There’ll be other opportunities to save them.’ He faced Thorfinn. ‘We’ll settle the women’s fate another day. The other terms aren’t negotiable.’
Thorfinn smiled as if contemplating a sunny prospect behind Vallon’s head. ‘Give me six strong men who can ply oars.’
Raul hailed them.
‘The tide’s on the turn,’ Wayland said.
‘How soon can you make your ship ready?’ Vallon asked Thorfinn.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘We’ll make the exchange at the mouth of the river. If we’re not there, it’s because we’ve caught a wind from the east.’
A storm of outrage burst upon Vallon when he returned to the ship and announced his change of plan. The refugees surged forward. Raul pushed them back. Drogo shouldered his way to the front.
‘You have no right to gamble with our lives.’
‘Whatever course we take is a gamble.’ Vallon waved his arms. ‘Quiet! Hear what I have to say.’
The uproar diminished. ‘You all know my story,’ Vallon said. He pointed at Drogo. ‘You know that this man pursued me to Iceland to exact revenge for a harm that exists only in his mind.’ He pointed at Caitlin. ‘You know that this lady’s brother challenged me to combat for an imagined slight to her honour. Even so, I rescued Drogo and Helgi.’
The crowd was stone silent. ‘You wonder why? Because abandoning them would have condemned all of you to death. God knows I’m no saint, but faced with the choice of saving my own company and leaving innocents to die, I chose the Christian course. That’s still the course I follow. The alternative, the easier path, would be to hazard the voyage around North Cape and set you down at the first convenient haven. If I did that, most of you would starve or be cast into slavery. The path I’ve chosen will be dangerous. Some of us won’t reach the end, but I believe that it offers the best hope.’
Vallon hadn’t finished. ‘You pleaded with me to rescue your neighbours and kinsmen. Now you can turn words into deeds. I need four
men to travel with the Vikings as hostages. No harm will come to them.’
Words go only so far.
Shearwater
was nearly at the estuary before the Icelanders had badgered and browbeaten four of their number into standing surety.
Wayland frowned at Vallon. ‘You promised Thorfinn six hostages.’