Vallon’s company unloaded their horses and hobbled them before turning them out to graze. Wayland and Syth went off to hunt game for the falcons. Vallon and Hero strolled to the tail of the island and watched the clay-coloured current coiling towards the gap in the granite walls. The sky was a glazed blue dish brushed with fair-weather cloud.
Hero glanced at Vallon. ‘Drogo will make another sabotage attempt. The closer we get to our goal, the more desperate he’ll become.’
Vallon nodded. ‘I’ll set him and Fulk adrift once we’ve run the rapids and are clear of the Cumans.’
‘They won’t survive long in the steppe.’
‘I’m not so pitiless that I’d condemn them to death. We’ll give them the spare boat and enough food for the journey to the Black Sea. If they reach it … ’ He broke off. ‘Here come Wayland and Syth.’
They appeared from the other side of the island and jogged down to join them. Vallon smiled. ‘No luck?’
‘Horsemen on the west bank,’ said Wayland. He took Vallon by the elbow and steered him round. ‘They’ve dropped from sight, but they’ll be watching. Better not let them know we’ve seen them.’
‘Are they shepherds?’
‘No, they carry shields and sidearms as well as bows. I counted four, but there may be more. We have to get off the island. The channel on the other side is shallow enough to ford.’
Vallon looked towards the camp. ‘This requires delicate thinking. The Russians might turn back if they find out there are Cumans in their path.’
On the way to the camp they agreed a plan of action. They found Richard alone by their fire and told him about the horsemen. No one else. Hero went to the Russians’ camp and invited the pilots to come over and discuss the journey through the gorge. Vallon greeted them cheerfully and Richard handed them cups of mead.
‘So,’ Hero said. ‘Tell us more about the rapids.’
Igor answered, chanting his response like a litany. ‘The first one is called Kaidac. It has four ledges.’ He mimed rowing. ‘Keep to the left. Next is the Severe One, called Sleepless by the Varangians. Very soon we are at the dangerous Wave-Waterfall, which has three ledges and many perilous rocks downstream. Then we come to the Echoer. As you pass it your heart quails at the terrible clamour of the Insatiable. Here the river pours down twelve ledges with the speed of a runaway horse. No time to think, no time to aim. Pray to God and put your life in his hands. A thousand souls and all their treasure lie at the bottom of the deep pools below. If you come through the Insatiable and the dangerous rocks downstream, your course turns west past a large island. For many versts the river flows gently. Don’t relax. Don’t cease your prayers. Ahead of you is the Place of Waves with billows that hold many hidden dangers.’ Igor rocked from side to side, his eyes
shut. ‘Hardly have you given thanks to God for your deliverance than you are in the Awakener. Below that the river turns south again and descends the Lishni. It offers only slight dangers. Now only the Serpent awaits, winding and twisting through six ledges before spilling into the Wolf’s Throat.’
Igor opened his eyes and quaffed his mead. Hero made a face at Vallon. ‘He says we’re in for a tempestuous ride.’
‘Ask him where the Cumans set their ambushes.’
‘Below the Serpent, at the Wolf’s Throat,’ Igor answered. ‘There the river narrows to less than an arrow-flight and the horse-archers can shoot down into the boats. If you survive their barbs, you still have to face their main force at the ford between the end of the gorge and St Gregory’s Island.’
Hero sipped his mead. ‘Have you ever run the rapids at night?’
Igor snorted. ‘Of course not.’
‘Is it possible?’
‘Only a madman would attempt such a thing.’
Hero smiled. ‘Fyodor told us you could run the rapids in your sleep.’
Igor looked away. ‘Yes, in the summer I could find the way with my eyes closed. But with the water so low everything will have changed. Some of the channels will be dry and others will be no wider than your boats. You can’t thread a needle in the dark.’ He drained his cup. ‘Why do you ask?’
Hero poured them more mead. ‘Because the Cumans know we’re here.’
The pilots froze with their cups halfway to their mouths.
Hero pulled himself closer. ‘Wayland spotted them on the west bank. By now some of them will be riding south to prepare an ambush. If we wait until tomorrow, there’ll be an army waiting at the ford. We have to start as soon as possible and run all nine rapids tonight. We’ve still got some daylight and there’ll be a moon to light the way after sunset.’ He saw Kolzak glance at the Russians. ‘Don’t tell them until we’re below the second rapid. Say that we’re moving downriver to be sure of making an early start.’
Igor said something to Kolzak and they began to argue in Russian, working themselves into such a frenzy that the soldiers turned to watch. Igor made to jump up, but Kolzak pulled him back down. He
clenched his arms around his chest, his face a furious wrinkled sack. ‘Igor refuses to go,’ Kolzak said. ‘He’d rather suffer Fyodor’s punishment than face certain death.’
Hero craned forward. ‘Now listen. We haven’t told the Vikings about the Cumans. When we do, do you imagine they’ll let you scuttle back to Kiev leaving them to face the horse-nomads alone? And there’s the silver we paid for your services. Vallon isn’t the kind of man to overlook a broken contract.’
Igor sobbed into his hands. Kolzak spoke gently to him and helped him up. His arms flopped in resignation. ‘God curse Fyodor Antonovich. A plague of ulcers on his soul.’
A palm’s span separated the sun from the horizon when the convoy approached the gate in the plateau. The two galleys led the way, followed by Vallon’s company towing the spare boat, Drogo and the Icelanders bringing up the rear. They entered the mouth of the gorge and the sun disappeared below the western wall. The cliffs on both sides rose three hundred feet, their walls fissured by gullies overgrown with trees. The river swung left and the voyagers heard the mutter of fast water. Wulfstan stood in the bow of the company’s boat. ‘Keep to the same line as the galleys. Right a bit. Don’t look. That’s my job. Here we go.’
Hero’s stomach went light as the boat bucked. It bobbled down a ropy slither of broken water and glided out into slack.
Richard grinned. ‘That wasn’t too bad.’
‘That was the easy one,’ said Hero. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the gorge cutting south for miles. The sunlight had retreated up to the crests on the left bank, throwing the cliffs on the right into deep shadow.
Three miles on they reached the rapid called Sleepless. The water above it seemed to skin over and grow more solid, like a flexed muscle. The noise swelled. Wulfstan stood holding on to one of the mast’s straining lines.
‘Face the front for this one. Use your oars as paddles.’
They watched the galleys slide down the slant of water and pitch in a back-curling wave at the bottom. The boat followed, slapping into the current and scooting down before hitting the standing wave with a drenching splash. Then they were in the clear and only half a mile
from the next rapid. Something was wrong, though. The pilots were waving them toward the middle of a ledge that ran almost right across the gorge, squeezing quarter of a mile of river into a brawling chute against the rocky right bank.
The voyagers came alongside the Russian galleys. Kolzak shouted, pointing at a fan of water slopping over the ledge behind his ship.
Hero strained to make out what he was saying. ‘This is the line we’re supposed to take, but the channel’s disappeared. The river’s five feet lower than it is in summer.’
‘What are they going to do?’
‘Drag the ships over. Lever them onto the ledge with poles, then some of us go into the water on the downstream side and pull on ropes, while the rest push from behind.’
Vallon jumped onto the ledge. To clear it they would have to haul the ships a hundred yards down a natural weir left high and dry by the falling river. The late-afternoon sun had already sunk behind the rim of the gorge. ‘It would take all night just to get the galleys clear.’
‘There’s only one thing to do,’ Drogo said. ‘Our boats are light enough to carry down before dark. Take the pilots with us and leave everyone else.’
‘Abandon the slaves?’ said Richard.
‘They’re nothing to us.’
‘Nor are you.’
‘Vallon, you know it’s our only chance.’
Before Vallon could reach a decision, he heard his name called and saw Wayland beckoning to him from the edge of the waterfall. It spilled down like a giant millrace before plunging into a pool and dashing against a crag jutting into the river forty yards further on. Swells crashed upon the wall, climbing and spreading and then falling away before humping up for fresh attacks. Fangs of rock and black-eyed eddies showed in the waves. The thought of being sucked down into one of those dark vortices brought Vallon out in a cold sweat.
He pulled Wayland closer. ‘It would be suicide.’
‘Wulfstan’s got an idea.’
When Vallon heard it, he stared at the torrent and then he stared at Wulfstan. The Viking grinned. ‘Makes your arse pucker, doesn’t it?’
‘A pound of silver if it works.’
*
After unloading the horses and falcons, the two boat crews rowed away from the ledge with the spare boat in tow, aiming for the shore above the head of the cataract. Wayland and Syth followed in the skiff. When the crews reached shore, they drifted down until they felt the current begin to tug and then they jumped out and made fast to the bank. They struggled to keep their footing on the slippery rocks.
They tied walrus hide cables to the spare boat’s stern and stem. The men holding the stern rope wrapped their hands in cloths and sought secure stances among the boulders. Wulfstan gathered the bow cable and scrambled back to where Wayland and Syth waited in the skiff. Syth took the end of the rope and Wayland paddled away from shore. The slack cable payed out behind them in a dragging curve that threatened to pull them towards the chute. Wayland fought his way into calm water and made it back to the ledge. The pilots collected the rope and formed up the soldiers and slaves along the ledge at right angles to the rapid.
The sky had separated into lemon and burgundy stripes. Wayland raised a hand at the figures on the shore. The boat began to move, water creaming against its stern as the shore party braked its descent. It slid into the pool. A wave broke over its stern.
‘Pull!’
The soldiers and slaves strained on the cable, yanking the boat round and dragging it into the slack water below the ledge.
‘Now we’ll try one of the galleys,’ said Wayland.
Eight of the Russians rowed the galley to the bank. All of them tried to get out, but the Vikings pushed four of them back in. ‘We can’t take all of you in the boats,’ Wulfstan shouted. They secured the galley as before and Wulfstan carried the bow line back to Wayland. ‘The galley’s ten times heavier than the boat,’ he said. ‘We won’t be able to hold it once the current catches it. Start pulling before it hits the pool, otherwise it will smash into the cliff.’
Wayland and Syth paddled back to the ledge. The light was draining fast and the faces of the child slaves shone in the dusk like white flowers. From the ledge the figures on the bank were vague shadows. Wayland signalled and Wulfstan released the galley. It gathered momentum, the rope sizzling through the men’s hands. ‘Let go!’ Wulfstan yelled.
The galley leaped forward and buried itself bow deep before rearing up and careering towards the cliff. The Russian crew clung to the thwarts, screaming in terror. It was only ten yards short of colliding when the gang straining on the ledge managed to bring its bow round. The galley listed, pinned by the current, then the towers slowly hauled it out of the cauldron. One of the Russians on the shore was yelling, clutching a hand burned to the bone by the rope.
Both parties had the feel of things by now and letting the second galley down should have been straightforward. Everything went well until Wulfstan shouted the order to give it slack. One of the Russians hung on a moment too long and the galley’s surge yanked him into the water. If he’d kept hold of the rope he might have survived. Instead he let go and thrashed for the shore. He was almost within touching distance but the current caught him and carried him down and past the ship. The Russians on board didn’t see him and even if they had there was nothing they could have done to save him. He whirled towards the cliff, beating at the water, and then he went into one of the whirlpools and disappeared as if something huge had dragged him down by the legs. Everyone stared at the water, expecting him to bob up again. He never did. The river had swallowed him entire.
There was no time to lament his loss. It was all but dark as Wayland and Syth made their next run. Vallon turned to Wulfstan. ‘Whoever goes last won’t have anyone to slow their descent.’
Wulfstan’s teeth glinted. ‘My Vikings will do it for another pound of silver.’
‘Done.’
There were six in Vallon’s boat, including three Russians. He took a two-handed grip on a thwart and they were off, the current hissing past the stern. The movement grew jerky and the line vibrated under the strain. Then the pit of his stomach emptied and they were rushing down the spillway. The Vikings had released too soon and the boat raced across the pool towards the climbing wave. A fluke of timing saved them. Just as Vallon thought that the swell would upend them, the bulge collapsed, pushing them back. He felt the bow line dragging them round. The boat heeled and shipped water. Then it rolled back on an even keel and they were in the lee of the ledge.
Wayland helped him out. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ he said. He passed a hand across his face. ‘Fine.’
He remembered little of the Vikings’ descent except that they sang as they went down into the torrent and that Wulfstan, stepping coolly onto the ledge, said, ‘I’ll take those two pounds of silver now if it ain’t too much trouble.’
Between the rapids the river flowed as smoothly as watered silk. Stars stippled the sky and a pale aura showed over the eastern clifftops, where the moon would soon show itself.