The spectators waited, rubbing their necks. Most flights ended downwind of the slip, but nobody moved. Dusk began to hood the earth and pleats of violet shadow ran up the mountains.
Vallon rode over. ‘Do you think she took it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Pray God she does. A kill is your only chance of escaping punishment. I’ll plead for leniency, but I doubt if my words will carry much weight. What possessed you to defy the Emir?’
Wayland couldn’t answer. Turning away he saw Syth’s frightened face.
‘The Emir’s going to punish you, isn’t he?’
‘Not if the falcon takes the crane.’
‘If she doesn’t, he might kill you.’
‘Syth—’
‘Didn’t you stop to think what will happen to me – to our child?’
A Seljuk shouted. Wayland’s gaze whipped up, bright with hope. He saw the falcon falling … falling … falling. Stooping so fast that she seemed to descend in a series of flickers. Five hundred feet above the plateau her teardrop shape threw up in a tearing arc. She swung into the wind and rested on the rushing air. Suleyman’s men groaned and Wayland covered his face. It was over. The crane had outflown the falcon and he would suffer the consequences.
Ibrahim galloped up, grabbed Wayland’s reins and dragged him away. ‘Call her down.’
Wayland swung his lure. The falcon ignored it. She rode the wind, her wings curved back in a bow. She was still full of flying, waiting for fresh quarry to be flushed.
Ibrahim threw out a live pigeon on a line. At the second throw, the falcon flicked over. Wayland blinked. She was heading in the wrong direction, driving towards the setting sun.
‘She’s after something.’
For a moment he thought she’d spotted the crane. Only for a moment. She was chasing a pigeon. It had such a huge lead that if he’d been flying any other falcon, he would have groaned in dismay at her vain pursuit. But she wasn’t any other falcon and he concentrated on keeping her in sight. The pigeon flew towards the setting sun. Wayland shielded his eyes and saw it graze the fiery disc. The falcon flew straight into it. The glare burned the back of his eyeballs. He dashed tears away. When he picked the falcon up again, she was only a short distance behind the pigeon, reeling it in as if it were tethered. The pigeon went into a dive. The falcon lifted before powering after it. The two specks merged into one and then the sky emptied. Wayland marked the spot where they’d disappeared. Over the marshes fringing Salt Lake.
He turned to Ibrahim. ‘She took it.’
Riders were lashing towards them. ‘Find her,’ Ibrahim ordered. ‘No, wait.’
The nearest riders were only yards away when Wayland spurred his horse towards the lake. Ibrahim was trying to win him a reprieve. If he recovered the falcon, he was to wait until well after dark before returning to the encampment. Ibrahim would use the time to speak on his behalf. He’d tell Suleyman that Wayland had misunderstood the Emir’s commands. He’d explain that the falcon was so fired up that she’d broken loose.
The flight had ended more than a mile away and Wayland knew there was little chance of recovering the falcon before dark. The sun smouldered on the horizon and the falcon could have landed anywhere in the briny wastes. She might have carried her prey right across the lake.
Hooves clattered behind him and two riders drew level. One of them was Syth, the other Walter. He swiped a hand into Wayland’s face.
‘Base wretch! You’ve made Suleyman a laughing stock. There’s no saving you now. I’ve a good mind to cut off your head myself. I’ll plead with him for the privilege.’
Wayland rode on pell-mell. He reached the marsh stretching into the lake and pulled up. The sun was already halfway below the horizon and the wind cut like a knife. He studied the landscape. Over to his right and about quarter of a mile into the marsh, an eagle quartered the reeds, sometimes rowing back in a clumsy hover. It must have seen the falcon land with her prey and was searching for her. He cantered towards the spot. His mare splashed across a salt pan and stumbled as she broke through the crust. He slowed to a walk, his attention fixed on the area where he’d seen the eagle. Thousands of islets dotted the pools and creeks. He dismounted and led his horse, listening for the sound of bells above the swishing of the reeds. A hundred yards further on the water rose above his mare’s knees. She dapped a foot at the surface and refused to go any further.
‘You’ll never find her in there,’ said Walter.
Wayland handed the reins to Syth. ‘I’ll go on by foot.’ He took a few steps then hesitated. He looked back at Walter. ‘The falcon isn’t far away. Help me search for her.’
Walter flushed in anger. ‘Who do you think you’re speaking to? I’m not going into the marsh.’
‘I’ll come,’ Syth said. ‘I’m light of foot and I grew up in the fens.’
Wayland kept his gaze fixed on Walter. ‘I have something important to tell you.’
Walter frowned. ‘Concerning Drogo and Vallon?’
‘Concerning murder.’
Walter looked back, one side of his face burnished by the last rays of the sun. Suleyman and an escort of about thirty men were galloping towards them. Alongside rode Vallon and Drogo.
‘I knew it. Tell me how they intend to do the deed.’
‘Not here. Suleyman will reach us before I can explain.’
‘What’s this talk of murder?’ Syth said. ‘Why are you acting so strange?’
Wayland touched her wrist. ‘Wait until I return.’
The Seljuks were close. The last segment of sun had sunk, leaving a flaming band on the horizon and dimming fire on the twin peaks. Wisps of charcoal cloud floated high in a sky of purple and saffron.
Wayland entered the marsh, wading through brine, pushing through reeds. Walter followed, labouring in his armour.
‘Out with it then,’ he panted. ‘If I can turn the knowledge to my advantage, I’ll intercede for you with Suleyman.’
‘Let’s recover the falcon first.’
Walter gripped his arm. ‘If I save you, you’ll be my loyal slave.’
Wayland hurried on. The reeds grew so tall that only the light draining in the west told him what direction he was taking. Every few yards he stopped, listening for the sound of the falcon’s bells. It was hopeless. Suleyman’s entire army could search all day for the falcon and never find her. She would have dragged the pigeon into cover when she saw the eagle. Even if he passed within five yards, he’d probably miss her. Falcons froze on their kill if anyone approached.
He came to what looked like a shallow pool furred with weeds. Something warned him off crossing it. He skirted it, only to run into another. And another. His course was so erratic that he no longer knew where the eagle had been hunting. He was trying to find a way between bogs and he’d have only the stars to show him the way back.
Walter took a false step and sank to his knees. The surface quivered around him. Wayland helped him onto firm ground.
‘That’s far enough. My armour makes it too dangerous.’
‘There’s still enough light to find her.’
‘We’re already in too far. Take me back.’
‘You return if you want.’
‘I don’t know the way.’
‘Then stay with me. I won’t be long.’
Walter drew his sword. ‘Tell me what Drogo’s planning.’
‘We’re wasting time better spent on searching. Come on.’
Walter dragged him back and raised his sword. ‘You’re wasting
my
time.’
Wayland looked into Walter’s eyes.
‘Well?’
Wayland’s gaze darted. ‘I heard her bell.’
Walter yanked his arm. ‘Liar. The wind’s loud enough to drown a church peal.’
‘No,’ Wayland said, disengaging from Walter’s grip. He walked away, his eyes tracking right and left before stopping. He pointed. ‘It came from over there.’
Walter stumbled along beside him. Every few steps Wayland called out. The bell didn’t sound again. He slowed his pace, scared of treading on the falcon. He peered through the reeds, trying to sieve her form out of the darkness. ‘Where are you?’
The faintest of tinkles. Wayland placed a hand on Walter’s arm. ‘She’s close. Don’t move.’
He dropped on to hands and knees and crawled forward, mouthing sweet nothings. The rasp of the bell came again. He advanced a few feet and the haggard uttered an anxious
kack
from behind him. He turned and lay flat on his belly in an icy puddle, scanning around at ground level. Too dark to make anything out, but his gaze kept returning to a blur within the base of a thick stand of reeds. It didn’t move and it was the wrong shape. ‘Is that you?’
He pulled himself towards it. He was only a yard away when the blur shaped itself into the haggard, lying prone with her wings outspread. She was frightened by the darkness and wind, the threat from the eagle. His arrival reassured her and she stood and mantled over her prey. Her bell shivered.
Wayland stretched out his right hand. She hadn’t even started plucking the pigeon. If the eagle hadn’t menaced her, she would have gorged by now and flown off to roost.
His cold fingers fumbled before getting a grip on her jesses. No time to fit the swivel. Teeth chattering, he threaded the leash through the slits. When he’d looped the leash around his glove, his pent up breath burst out.
‘Where are you?’ Walter called. He’d been calling for some time.
Wayland lifted the falcon and her prey onto his glove and rocked back on his knees. ‘I’ve got her.’
The wind blew Walter’s response away.
Wayland slipped the hood on and made his way back.
Walter seized his arm. ‘Now tell me how Drogo and the Frank intend to murder me.’
‘Wait until we’re clear of the bogs. Stay close. Tread where I tread.’
He took his bearings by the twin peaks and set off. The wind had strengthened to a gale and the reeds lashed over his head like swords.
‘Slow down, damn you. I can hardly see you.’
Wayland increased his pace and reached one of the quagmires. He stepped onto it and felt the surface give. He looked behind him.
Walter was out of sight, thrashing through the reeds. ‘Wait for me.’
Wayland took a breath and crossed the bog at a gliding run. On the other side he stopped with a hand held over his thumping heart. He heard a splash and a shocked cry.
‘Blood of Christ! Another foot and I’d have been lost. Where are you, damn you?’
‘Here.’
Walter’s dim outline appeared on the far edge of the bog. ‘Why do you go so fast? What path do I take?’
‘Straight across.’
‘This isn’t the way we came. It’s a bog.’
‘It’s the path I’ve just taken. There are my footprints.’
‘You aren’t wearing sixty pounds of armour.’
‘The surface will bear your weight.’
Walter took one cautious step. ‘It trembles. I’m going to find a way round it.’
‘It’s too late to find another way. Walk towards me. Don’t linger on one spot.’
Walter shuffled forward, knees bent, hands outstretched. Wayland watched with detachment. If he reaches me, he thought, I’ll let him live. Step after step he came closer, muttering to himself. The surface around him wallowed in slow undulations. He looked up, face white with fear in the starlight. ‘It won’t hold.’
‘Keep moving.’
Walter took three more steps and was halfway across when the surface gave way and he plunged into the bog like a man falling through the hangman’s trap. He floundered waist-deep. ‘I can’t move,’ he gibbered. ‘The swamp holds me fast. I’m sinking. Oh my God! Help me!’
Wayland watched him.
‘Save me! Why do you stand there? Why don’t you speak?’
Wayland’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Walter stopped struggling. ‘Is this why you brought me? I understand now. It’s Drogo’s doing. You’re the instrument of his hatred.’ His voice fell away in a moan of despair.
Wayland recovered his voice. ‘It’s nothing to do with Drogo or Vallon!’
Only the stars for witness. Walter’s teeth chattered.
‘Why do you want to harm me? I rescued you from the wilderness. I gave you house space, made you my falconer. Why do you want to harm me?’
Wayland bent forward, his face ugly. ‘Because you cut off a man’s head.’
‘I’ve killed many men in battle. What are you talking about?’
Wayland dropped to a crouch. ‘It was my father’s head.’
‘I don’t know your father. I can’t remember every English warrior who fell by my sword.’
‘He wasn’t a warrior and you didn’t kill him in battle. He was a farmer and you rode into his farmstead one evening four years ago as he was splitting firewood. Your men held him down over the chopping block and you hacked off his head and you laughed. When he was dead, you took my mother and my older sister into the cottage and raped them. Then you cut their throats and set fire to the house with my grandfather inside.’
‘That wasn’t me. It must have been Drogo.’
‘It was you and Drax and Roussel and others. I was there. I was watching.’
Walter began to pant. ‘I did no more than any other Norman would have done. Your father was poaching my deer. The penalty for poaching is death.’
‘My mother and sisters weren’t poachers.’
Walter groaned. ‘Wayland, I could have killed you when I found you in the forest. Show me the same mercy I granted you. Drogo wouldn’t have spared your life.’
Wayland straightened. ‘Confess your crime and repent.’
‘Confess? To an English peasant?’
‘Repent or die.’
‘I repent nothing. My only regret is that I didn’t kill you.’
Wayland’s voice fell to a mumble. ‘All you have to do is repent. Beg forgiveness and I’ll save you.’
‘Never.’
Wayland clawed at his face. All his dreams and hopes had turned rotten. Before the night was much older, he too would be dead, leaving Syth and their unborn child alone in an alien land.
Walter breathed in juddering spasms. ‘This is your own revenge, isn’t it? Vallon doesn’t know.’
‘I’ve told no one.’
Walter’s voice rose to a screech. ‘You fool. If I die, the secret of the gospel dies with me.’
Wayland stared in incomprehension. ‘What secret? What gospel?’
‘The Gospel of Thomas and a letter from Prester John. Treasures beyond price. Why do you think Vallon risked his life to save me? Why do you think Cosmas negotiated my ransom?’