The porters slid the boats into the water, then Ivanko approached and said that their job was done. Richard handed out their wages, the men craning over each other’s shoulders to keep a reckoning.
The voyagers lay in the grass enjoying the warmth. Some dozed with their palms shielding their eyes.
Vallon clapped his hands. ‘Let’s get the boats loaded.’
Hero opened his eyes. ‘Can’t we eat first?’
‘No. I want to get away as soon as possible.’
Wulfstan walked up from the bank. ‘Our boat’s sprung a plank. It must have taken a knock in the forest. It’ll need recaulking.’
‘Damn,’ said Vallon. The porters were kindling a cooking fire. If they’d had any hint of treachery, they would have cleared off as soon as they’d been paid. ‘Repair the boat as quickly as you can. The rest of you may as well grab a bite. You two,’ he called, addressing Tostig and Olaf. ‘Take the skiff and keep watch on the other side of the river. Don’t look so long-faced. We’ll save some food for you.’
Hero joined Vallon with an ear-to-ear grin. ‘At last we can dream of reaching journey’s end.’
‘There’s a long way to go yet.’
Richard drifted up yawning. ‘When I get on the river, I’m going to sleep for days. Wake me when we reach Kiev.’
The Vikings lit a fire to melt pitch. Over it the travellers hung a pot of broth. Vallon remained edgy, infected by Wayland’s suspicions. Oleg must have reached the Dnieper two days ago. By now an ambush could have been set downstream.
The travellers were still eating when Wulfstan reported that his men had repaired the boat. ‘Time we were going,’ Vallon called. ‘That bread will taste just as good on the river. Where’s the man with the horn? Ah, there you are. Call Wayland and Syth.’
They knelt behind a windfall lime, watching the aurochs grazing in the clearing. Sixty or seventy yards away stood a solitary black bull with pale finching down its back. It stood taller than a man, longer than a wagon, its head armed with lyre-shaped horns. Behind it, at the far edge of the clearing, five young bulls grazed. A herd of reddish-brown
cows and calves came and went in the sun-dappled wood beyond. The beasts looked like they’d stepped out from a more ancient world, and what made the scene even more magical was the flush of brimstone butterflies swarming in the clearing. Hundreds of them fluttered around the old bull, attracted by the warmth radiating from its coat. The battle-scarred patriarch looked as if it were spotted with flowers.
‘Don’t you dare shoot him,’ Syth whispered.
Wayland smiled and shook his head.
As the bull grazed, its pizzle slowly extended from its sheath.
‘Golly,’ said Syth.
Wayland coughed quietly into his fist.
‘Wayland.’
‘Ssh, you’ll frighten them.’
Syth slid a glance at the aurochs, then compressed her lips and blew into Wayland’s ear.
His jaw worked.
‘Way-Land.’
‘What?’
She lay back with a sigh, eyes closed, arms spread.
He looked down at her, then grinned and sprawled beside her. His hands reached under her tunic.
‘Wayland, they’re not puppies.’
‘I love the feel of them.’
She draped a hand around his neck. ‘I wish we’d had the chance to be together in Novgorod, when we had fine clothes and proper beds.’
Wayland nuzzled her ear. ‘Adam and Eve didn’t have clothes or a bed.’
‘I bet Eve wished she had.’
‘What? She fretted about not having fancy clothes to take off for Adam?’
‘It’s all right for you. You like living in the forest. Sharing a love nest with creepy-crawlies isn’t my idea of bliss.’
Wayland leaned over her. ‘You’ll wear fine clothes, I promise. We’ll live in a grand house. You’ll see.’
She smiled, her skin luminous under its film of grime and her eyes reflecting the sky.
‘Raul said you were a nixie. He said you could turn yourself into water.’
She reached for his belt. ‘I can do more than that. I can turn
you
to water.’
When the horn blew, they were so absorbed in themselves and each other that they didn’t hear it. Yet Wayland must have registered some vibration because he wrenched his lips from hers and braced up on his arms.
Syth opened dazed eyes. Her chest was flushed scarlet. ‘Don’t stop.’ She wrapped her legs tighter. ‘Don’t. Stop.’
Vallon paced the bank, darting impatient glances up the meadow. A drawn-out cry floated across the river and the two Icelanders came sprinting down to the skiff. Vallon put his head in his hands and groaned. He looked up. ‘Everybody into the boats. Look to your weapons.’
As Tostig and Olaf jumped into the skiff and pushed off, the disjointed shapes of horsemen appeared through the trees behind them. Down they ambled, attired as if they were out on a rustic jaunt. Their leader waved in greeting, not at all surprised to find a body of armed men in his path. He put his horse to the water.
‘The porters are running away,’ Richard called.
Ivanko and his men were hurrying up the meadow, casting frightened glances over their shoulders.
Drogo watched the horsemen file onto the bank. ‘We can be away before they cross.’
‘Not without Wayland and Syth. God knows what’s keeping them. Blow the warning.’
He cursed their absence and he cursed the awful timing. The strangers were feeling their way across the ford, the water up to their horses’ bellies. All were armed, most of them carrying bows. An ill-sorted pack of dogs paddled behind the horses.
‘Perhaps it’s only a hunting party,’ Richard said.
Vallon kicked the ground. ‘Who just happen to be crossing the river at the precise spot where we’re embarking.’
By the time the Icelanders landed, the Russian column had reached mid-river. At its head rode a ruddy and compact man with a skull shaved bare except for a sidelock. He wore a sleeveless bearskin jacket over a linen smock and his feet were shod in green kidskin. He leaned back as his mount surged up the bank, then slackened reins and sat
with his wrists crossed on his horse’s neck, grinning down into the stony faces of the men and bowing lavishly to the ladies. From one ear hung a large pearl set between drops of filigreed silver. ‘Greetings, brothers and sisters. What have we here? A convoy of merchants. I can’t believe it. Why are you making the passage so late?’
‘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 company of Russians good enough for you?’