Hawk Quest (31 page)

Aiken raised his head. ‘Half the Norman army is hunting those pirates. You’ll be dead before next Sunday.’

Daegmund was shaking his fist and looking set to have a fit.

‘We’re done here,’ Wayland told Raul.

They began to back away. The parishioners watched with solemn expressions. They’d reached the graveyard wall when the bailiff spurred his mule around Aiken and rained sickening blows on his head.

XVIII

Heeling against a light easterly,
Shearwater
headed north about ten miles out from the coast. It was late afternoon. Shifting columns of yellow light fanned through the clouds. Hero compared the direction of the wind-vane on the ship’s stern with their actual course. He looked at the thin black line to westward.

‘Your move,’ said Richard.

Hero turned his attention back to the
shatranj
game. He advanced one of his pawns. ‘We’ll be lucky to reach Scotland without having to land again.’

Vallon had decided to stay at sea until they were out of Norman territory. Drogo would have posted news of their crimes to every coastal garrison. All likely landing sites would be under watch and fishing crews would have been alerted to report any sighting or rumour of their passage.

Richard looked up blankly.

‘We can’t sail closer to the wind than about forty degrees,’ Hero explained. He made an angle with his hands. ‘We’re not far off that now. If this wind shifts any further to the east, we’ll be driven on to the coast.’

‘It’s only another three days to Scotland,’ Richard said. He moved one of his knights and sat back. ‘Your move.’

Hero had scratched an eight-by-eight grid on a plank and collected pebbles of different shapes and colours for the pieces. This was only Richard’s third game, but he was a quick learner. He’d lost the first two, but somehow had managed to gain a two-pawn advantage in this one. Hero decided that he’d better concentrate. He examined the position, then advanced a
rukh
to threaten Richard’s general.

While Richard plotted his next move, Hero studied the new crew members. ‘Will the new men fit in, do you think?’

Richard glanced behind him. Garrick was leaning back against the gunwale, his lame leg propped up behind him, talking with Syth. She was describing something with her hands in a way that made him laugh and sketch his own version in the air.

‘Old Garrick’s a decent chap,’ said Richard.

Hero smiled. ‘What an appetite he has. At the rate he eats, we’ll run out of food before we reach Scotland.’

Richard’s hand hovered over the board. ‘I’m not so keen on Brant. He’s a lout.’

Hero didn’t take to Brant either. Right now he was sniggering with Snorri on the stern deck.

‘So long as he pulls his weight.’

‘He leers at Syth.’

‘Really?’

‘I saw him ogling her at supper last night.’

‘I hope Vallon didn’t notice.’

‘Of course he did. Vallon notices everything.’

Richard moved one of his elephants diagonally two squares, capturing another pawn. Hero forgot Brant in his effort to save the game. After much indecision, he moved a knight. Without hesitation, Richard slid a
rukh
up the board.

‘Check.’

Hero muttered to himself. He reached for his king, withdrew his hand, reached out again.

‘It won’t do you any good,’ Richard said.

‘He’s right,’ said Vallon, squatting down beside them. ‘If he moves his knight thus, and then his elephant so, he has you in checkmate.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

Hero knocked over his king and rocked back in disgust. ‘It’s these
crude pieces. I can’t tell one from another. I only improvised them to teach Richard the rules. I won’t play again until Raul has carved us a proper set.’

Vallon gave him a reproving look, then took both of them by their shoulders. ‘I have a favour to ask. Now that our venture is under way, it’s time we put our affairs on a businesslike footing. We need a treasurer to manage our finances.’

‘I don’t mind keeping the accounts,’ Hero said.

Vallon squeezed his shoulder. ‘I was wondering if Richard might take on the task. You said that he’s quick with numbers.’

Hero responded to the prompt. ‘Oh, he is. He even understands the concept of zero.’

A pained smile crossed Vallon’s face. On their journey through France, Hero had tried long and hard to convince him of the magical properties of zero. Vallon failed to see the value of a number that wasn’t a number, a signifier meaning nothing.

‘All I want is a tally of our transactions. How much we spend, earn and owe, tabulated on a daily basis. Richard, do you think that’s within your grasp?’

Richard flushed with pleasure. ‘I’ll do my best.’ Until now, Vallon hadn’t acknowledged that he possessed any talents.

‘Excellent,’ said Vallon. He stood. ‘One more thing. We’re outnumbered by English speakers. We won’t hear another French voice for months. If we’re going to trade with the Norsemen, we’d better learn their tongue. Wayland has agreed to teach us.’

‘Wayland?’

‘No one else can. It will keep his mind off the girl.’

Hero exchanged looks with Richard. Since the scene on the morning the raiding party went ashore, there had been an unofficial moratorium on the subject of Syth.

‘Are you reconciled to her presence?’ Hero asked.

‘I can’t fault her willingness. She cooks well, keeps things trim and adds a bit of cheer.’ Vallon shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’

Hero’s attention must have drifted towards Brant.

Vallon intercepted his look. ‘I intend paying him off as soon as we get to Scotland. He won’t interfere with Syth while she has the dog to protect her. Even I tread warily around that brute.’

*

Two days later Brant was dead, fulfilling Aiken’s prophecy with time to spare.

He was lucky not to have been killed a day earlier, just north of the Tyne river. The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the coastline contoured in crimson. Hero and the other students were seated around Wayland on the foredeck, having an English lesson. Syth was cooking supper below. A vicious snarling down in the hold shattered the peace. Wayland sprinted aft and the others ran after him. When Hero got there, Brant stood backed into a corner, swinging a bailing bucket in a flimsy effort to ward off the dog. Wayland must have given an order because the dog turned its head and leaped up on to the forward half-deck. Only then did Hero see Syth, crouched by the brazier.

Vallon seized Wayland as he made to jump down. He spoke into his ear, gripping so tightly that both men quaked. Whatever he said was enough to make Wayland back off and walk away, shooting murderous looks over his shoulder.

Vallon pretended to be surprised to find the rest of the crew spectating. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do?’

Snorri crowed as Vallon climbed into the hold. ‘I told ye the little mother would stir up trouble.’

When Vallon returned to continue his lesson, he acted as if nothing had happened.

‘So where were we?’

Next day a spitting easterly threatened to pin them to the coast. Only determined rowing kept them off the shore. On their seaward side, surf broke around a swarm of islets and reefs. To the west, a massive ruin commanded the coast.

‘That’s Bamburgh,’ Richard said. ‘It used to be the stronghold of the Northumbrian kings. My father told me the Normans plan to rebuild it.’

‘Anyone see if it’s manned?’ Vallon asked.

Hero’s eyes were too sticky with brine to see clearly.

‘There’s scaffolding on one of the walls,’ Wayland said.

‘Well, if anyone’s there, they’ve seen us. Keep rowing.’

Even with six oars manned, they struggled to make headway. They’d spotted the castle not long after midday and it was still in sight behind them by late afternoon.

Raul pointed. ‘Ship to starboard!’

A fishing boat carrying four men bore down on them out of the mizzle and cut across their stern almost within hailing distance. Vallon and some of the others raised their hands. The crew of the other vessel stared hard and none of them lifted a finger in greeting.

‘Don’t like the look of that,’ Raul said.

With the wind filling its sail, the boat rapidly made shore and disappeared into the mouth of a lagoon.
Shearwater
crept on. Directly ahead, an indeterminate smear hardened into a low headland poking a mile out to sea.

‘We ain’t going to get round that,’ said Raul.

Vallon dug in with his oar. ‘Keep at it. We’ll try to row into the lee before dark.’

On they struggled, their progress slowing the closer they came to the headland.

‘We’re caught in a tidal rip,’ Raul shouted. ‘It’s carrying us backwards.’

Vallon couldn’t work it out. Under the cliffs towards the point of the headland, the sea was as flat as pewter. Close inshore, the sea was combed into ragged lines of foam cutting across the waves. He pointed at the headland. ‘I think it might be an island.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Raul shouted. ‘We ain’t going to reach it on this tide.’

Vallon growled with frustration. ‘Drop anchor. We’ll wait for the tide to turn.’

The anchor dragged through the sandy bottom and then held, tethering
Shearwater
close to a long and lonely beach backed by high dunes. Vallon issued orders. ‘Raul, Brant, row Wayland ashore.’ He turned to the falconer. ‘Make your way up the beach and see what’s ahead.’

‘Can we go ashore, too?’ Hero asked. After four days at sea he yearned to feel solid ground underfoot.

Vallon glanced back towards the inlet where the fishing boat had disappeared. ‘We’re not safe here. Keep watch from the dunes. Don’t wander off.’

Hero stepped on to a strand that had been swept clear of all human traces except for the weathered ribs of a ship half buried in the sand. He and Richard scrambled up a steep dune capped with marram grass.
A miniature desert spread inland. Some of the dunes were aligned to the prevailing wind, others arranged as chaotically as the waves chopping at
Shearwater
. Looking back, Hero saw the anchored knarr straining against the current. Wayland and his dog were tiny outlines running up the beach. The sun was a pale blister in the overcast. Hero shivered.

He was run down. All of them were. Never really warm, never really dry, never a full night’s sleep. They’d eaten all the fresh food and their diet was a monotony of stale bread, salted herrings and porridge. Even the drinking water had run so short that Vallon had imposed rationing. Hero had noticed that cuts and scratches were slow to heal.

Beside him, Richard echoed his dejection with a sigh.

‘Don’t lose heart,’ Hero said. ‘We’ll soon be in Scottish waters.’

‘So much time and effort, and we’re only back where we started from. If I had a good horse, I could be home by daybreak tomorrow.’ Richard’s mouth twisted. ‘Imagine the reception I’d receive.’

Hero realised just how much Richard had sacrificed. ‘Do you regret your decision to come with us?’

Richard’s face grew still. ‘No. I could have borne my father’s contempt and Drogo’s blows if Margaret had shown me any affection. Even the hardiest plant shrivels in barren soil.’ He traced a pattern in the sand. ‘The only thing I regret is the blood that’s been spilled. I never imagined that Drogo would pursue his grudge so violently.’ Richard swept away his tracing.

‘There’s no stain on your hands.’

‘That’s not how my family will see it. I’ll never be able to return to England. Perhaps I could come to Italy with you. I was wondering about taking Holy Orders. Do you think I might be accepted?’

Hero smiled. ‘I’m sure that any monastery would be delighted to receive you.’

‘If I practise my writing, perhaps they would let me work in the scriptorium.’

‘Writing all day can be drudgery. It will make your sight grow dim and your back crooked.’

‘But think how much I’ll learn.’

‘Richard, if we complete this journey, you’ll have learned more than any book scholar.’

‘Hey! Are you two deaf?’

Raul stood on the beach, hands on hips. Wayland was jogging back towards the ship. The tide had begun to go out and
Shearwater
rode more easily at anchor.

Raul came puffing up the dune. ‘Vallon wants us back on board.’ He reached the crest and swept his eyes about. ‘Where’s Brant?’

Hero frowned. ‘How would I know?’

‘I thought he was with you.’

‘We haven’t seen him since we landed.’

Raul thumped his forehead with his hand. ‘Shit!’

‘He’s probably just stretching his legs,’ Hero said. ‘Do you want us to take a look?’

Raul glared around. ‘Make it quick. If he ain’t shown up by the time Wayland gets here, we’re leaving.’

Hero and Richard clambered over the dunes, clawing up the steep windward faces and scampering down the lee slopes. The sandhills formed a maze as convoluted as the ruins of a city. Each time Hero reached a crest, he called Brant’s name in a voice that fell muffled into the labyrinth.

‘Look,’ Richard said, pointing at a scattering of bones in the next hollow.

Hero prodded a human skull with his foot. The chalky cranium had been smashed in. Judging by the number of other bones scattered about, a massacre had been committed here. ‘They look very old,’ he said. ‘I wonder if the victims were from the ship we saw on the beach.’

Richard looked behind him. ‘Perhaps we should go back.’

‘Let’s climb one more ridge.’

From the top they scanned the waste. Grasses flickered in the wind. The sand crawled around their feet. Gulls hung stacked in the sky for as high as the eye could see. The glaucous shapes drifted slowly backwards on the wind, uttering woeful cries.

‘We’re wasting time,’ Hero said. ‘Brant’s deserted.’

‘Wait. I thought I heard a voice.’

‘Only the gulls.’

‘No. Listen.’

Hero raised his head. ‘You’re imagining it.’

‘There it comes again. Listen.’

‘It’s nothing. Let’s go.’

But as Hero turned into the wind he caught the tail-end of
movement over to his left. He picked it up again and thought it was an animal scuttling along a dune. It stopped and he saw that it was Brant, only his head showing. Arms flailing with effort, Brant gained the crest and threw a desperate glance behind him before flinging himself into the next hollow. Hero knew that he was fleeing for his life, yet his own reactions were strangely sluggish. It was as if he were spectating an event in some parallel world. When Brant appeared again, he was close enough for Hero to see the terror on his face. He must have noticed them because he seemed to shake his head in despair before floundering down into the next gully.