Hawk Quest (66 page)

‘I’ll pay for your food and lodgings,’ Vallon told the Vikings. ‘Drink beer, but not to excess. If you get into trouble, don’t look to me for help. As for whores, you’ll have to make your own arrangements.’

Next they stopped at the Icelanders’ lodgings. ‘The house can sleep twelve if two share each bed,’ Andrei said. ‘The rest will have to sleep in the stables.’

Caitlin marched up to Vallon. ‘I’m not sharing a bed and I’m not sleeping in a house with strange men. And I’m not bedding down in a byre. I insist on separate quarters. I’ll pay from my own purse.’

Vallon shrugged at Andrei.

The steward gave an order and one of his men escorted Caitlin and her maids back down the road. ‘I can see that one’s used to having her own way,’ Andrei said. His brows arched in enquiry. ‘A lady of high birth?’

Vallon smiled. ‘A princess. In her own estimation.’

Andrei watched her stride away with her maids hurrying alongside. ‘Well, there are plenty of princes who’d be happy to make her their consort. I’ve never seen a woman so lusciously put together.’

When the Icelanders had disappeared into their compound, Drogo and Fulk stood outside looking at a loss. Vallon eyed them bleakly. ‘I suppose you’d better lodge with us.’

Andrei’s final stop was at a stockade enclosing a handsome house and outbuildings that included a bathhouse, stables and caretaker’s cottage. Knotwork carvings decorated the gables. Calling out, Andrei ran up steps to a porch leading to a lobby. A raised door gave entry to a communal hall where a team of peasant women were whisking the plank floor under the supervision of the caretaker and his wife. All the domestics made servile bows at Andrei’s entrance. He appeared not to notice them. Half a dozen sleeping benches lined the walls and a
domed clay stove belched smoke in a corner diagonally opposite the door. There was no chimney and the only ventilation was provided by a roof hatch and tiny slotted windows. Andrei spoke sharply to the caretaker. He in turn barked an order and one of the drudges knelt by the stove and tried to fan it into flame.

Andrei pushed open another door into a chamber furnished with a single cot, a table and a bench. An icon of the Virgin with Child hung in the right-hand corner. ‘This is for you,’ he told Vallon. ‘It’s small, but you might be grateful for the privacy.’

‘To a man who’s known only cold ground for bed and empty sky for a roof, it’s a palace.’

‘Lord Vasili reserves the property for his special guests. He requests that you do him the honour of feasting with him the day after tomorrow.’ Andrei smiled. ‘Bring the Icelandic princess and her attendants. A degree of formality is in order, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re presentable.’

Anyone walking through the compound next morning would have sworn that the house was untenanted. Inside, the voyagers sprawled like dead men, Drogo and Fulk curled up together on a shelf above the stove, both of them still dressed in their foul garments. Even Wayland didn’t stir until after dark and he had to ask the caretaker what day it was before shuffling out to feed the falcons.

Next day the caretaker rounded up the male guests and shepherded them into the bania, while his wife took Syth off to Caitlin’s lodgings. He made them strip off in the lobby, and as they shed their clothes a servant gathered them up and threw them outside to be burned.

‘Hey,’ Hero called. ‘Those are the only garments we possess.’

The caretaker chivvied them into the steam room. They sat naked on low benches, sweat carving pale tracks down their filthy skin. When their bodies were passably clean, the caretaker handed out bundles of birch twigs and showed them how to scourge each other’s backs. Then he drove them out into the courtyard where servants threw buckets of cold water over them before herding them back into the bania. After three sessions of the steam- and ice-water treatment, the company ran back into the lobby to find clean clothes waiting. Servants handed each man a plain linen shirt cut square at the collar,
a pair of loose-fitting trousers, and leather shoes that tied above the ankles. ‘A gift from Lord Vasili,’ said the caretaker.

‘What does he want in return?’ Hero whispered to Vallon.

Another surprise awaited them when they returned to the house. In their absence the hall had been converted to an emporium where half a dozen tailors and furriers had laid out woollen or silk caftans and pantaloons, robes and capes of marten, bear, wolf and squirrel, sable and beaver. There were jewellers, too, displaying wares of silver, enamel and cloisonné.

Vallon looked at the finery and then he looked at Hero. ‘There’s your answer. We can hardly refuse to buy and I’ll wager Vasili takes a generous commission.’

But he blenched when the outfitters told them the prices of the garments. ‘We can’t afford that sort of money.’

‘We can’t insult Vasili by turning up in his hand-outs,’ said Hero.

Richard rescued the situation. He took his treasurer’s role seriously and kept himself informed on matters relating to currency and exchange. From the Vikings he’d learned that central Asia was the traditional source of their silver. In the last fifty years the Asian silver mines had become exhausted, leading to a debasement of the currency. Most of the coinage circulating in Rus had a silver content of only one part in ten.

‘Our English pennies contain nine parts of silver,’ Richard said. ‘So the answer’s simple. Offer one-eighth the tailors’ asking price.’

It wasn’t that easy, of course, but Richard held firm and the merchants eventually slashed their prices by more than half.

While Vallon was looking through the clothes, he saw Drogo standing awkward and aloof. ‘You and Fulk had better choose something.’

‘I told you I don’t want your charity.’

‘You’ve accepted enough of it already.’

‘Then I won’t take more.’

‘Don’t be so stiff-necked. Consider it payment for services rendered.’

Drogo gave a curt nod. ‘What about Caitlin and the other women?’

Hero looked up. ‘Let her pay for her clothes out of the money she stole from the old woman.’

Drogo’s temper flared. ‘Apologise for that slander.’

‘It’s true,’ Richard said. ‘I heard her make the accusation.’

‘A malicious slur. Caitlin was keeping the money safe.’

‘Shut up,’ Vallon ordered. ‘All of you. We’ve come through hell and you’re squabbling about clothes.’ He rubbed his brow. ‘Wayland, get down to the women’s house and tell them they can choose new clothes at my expense. Richard, you go with him to negotiate a fair price. Oh, Wayland, tell the princess to show some restraint.’

They ran down the lane to Caitlin’s lodgings and found the women fresh from the bania, trying on costumes laid out by a bevy of seamstresses. One of Caitlin’s maids screamed and nudged a breast back into hiding.

Wayland blushed. ‘Oh, you’ve already started.’

Caitlin laughed. ‘Don’t worry. We’re just playing at dressing up. Even the cheapest outfit is beyond our means.’

‘Vallon said he’d pay.’

Caitlin’s face lit up. ‘Really?’

‘With me doing the bargaining,’ said Richard.

Syth put her hands around Wayland’s waist. Her breasts stirred under a sleeveless linen dress. ‘Do you mean it? Can I have a gown?’

‘You look lovely as you are.’

She nudged him with her shoulder. ‘Don’t be a goose. This is what peasants wear.’ She pulled his face down and spoke into his ear. ‘Just for once I’d like to dress like a lady. It won’t be long before I’m back in tunic and breeches.’

‘We’re making progress,’ Richard called. ‘A quarter off the prices already.’

‘Go on then,’ Wayland said.

One of the costumiers advanced on Syth displaying a misty blue gown with long sleeves edged with beaver.

‘What do you think?’ Syth asked.

‘It’s nice. It suits you.’

‘Can’t you do better than that?’

Wayland felt trapped. ‘It goes with your eyes.’

The assistant moved him aside with her hip and held up another dress in a light turquoise silk. Syth draped it against herself. ‘This one is tighter fitting. It will show my figure better.’

‘Whatever you decide.’

‘Wayland, you’re not even looking.’

One of Caitlin’s handmaids laughed.

‘A third off and we haven’t reached bottom,’ Richard announced.

Syth decided on the turquoise gown. She took from the assistant a padlock-shaped pendant enamelled with a pair of lovebirds. ‘This would set it off beautifully.’

‘I don’t know, Syth.’

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘It’s just that … after Raul’s death … the dog … it doesn’t seem right somehow.’

Syth handed the pendant back and looked down, a tear trembling on her lashes.

Caitlin pulled Wayland aside. ‘You really know how to make a maid happy, don’t you? Let her be a lady for one night. Isn’t she worth it?’

Wayland stared at her. He nodded and turned back to Syth. He took the pendant from the assistant. ‘I’ll pay for it myself.’ He coughed. ‘My first gift.’

Syth wiped her eyes, then leaned forward and gave him the lightest of kisses. ‘Not the first.’

He was at the door when he remembered the rider to Vallon’s message. Three dressers heaped with luxurious garments had homed in on Caitlin and others were waiting. ‘Vallon said …’

Caitlin gave him an imperious look. ‘Yes?’

Richard swung round, fired up by haggling. ‘We’re down to bargain prices.’

‘Don’t go mad,’ said Wayland, and fled to peals of laughter.

Watchmen were doing their rounds as Andrei escorted the guests in their finery to his master’s city mansion. An avenue of torches lit the way to the entrance of the house, where Lord Vasili stood in welcome – a spruce dark man of about fifty with a gold incisor and a trim beard flecked with grey. His clothes bespoke understated wealth – a grey caftan of shot silk with gold brocade cuffs, over it a dark-blue robe with a belt of gold and enamel. He greeted his guests in Norse, but when Hero was presented, he switched to Greek and Arabic, lamenting his inability to turn an elegant phrase in either language. After each introduction, each solicitous enquiry, Vasili’s steward directed the guest to his or her place at a banqueting table lit by a soft blaze of candles.

He seated Vallon and Hero at Vasili’s right and left respectively, with the other male guests opposite and the ladies grouped at one end of the table. Two retainers circulated with drinks and appetisers and the guests found that they could choose from beer, kvas and four different brews of mead. A train of servants entered with the main meal and the diners gasped. There was a roast sucking pig, platters of game, pies and pastries, jellied pike and salmon, pots of caviar and sour cream, half a dozen kinds of bread, including wheaten loaves made with grain from the south and a special bake flavoured with honey and poppy seed.

While the guests made their selection, Vasili engaged those around him in conversation. Looking into each man’s eyes by turn, he elicited their function and status while stating where their interests and experiences touched his own. He was a man of the world and therefore a friend of it. He’d built his fortune through trade with Kiev and Byzantium in the south; Germany, Poland and Sweden to the west; the Arab and Persian lands in the east. Twice he’d made the journey to Constantinople, and as a young man he’d traded with Arab caravans at Bolghar on the Volga bend.

While his guests ate, he listened to Hero’s account of their own journey and plans.

‘How many people will be travelling in your party?’

‘If the Vikings join us, about a dozen.’

Vasili laid be-ringed fingers on Vallon’s hand. ‘Honoured guest, I hate to dash your intentions. Early summer, when the Dnieper is swollen with snowmelt, is the only time it’s possible to travel the Road to the Greeks. At this season the rivers in the northern part are too low to navigate. Better wait until next year. Or, of course, you can sell your goods here.’ He glanced at Wayland before turning his attention back to Vallon. ‘I believe my steward mentioned that the falcons would find a ready sale with one of my Arab clients. He has a deep purse.’

Vallon watched Wayland chewing on a wodge of pork. Alone among the diners, he seemed immune to Vasili’s charm.

‘The falcons are the reason for the journey south. In a way, we’re not taking them; they’re leading us.’

‘Hero said that the ransom demanded four falcons. You have six. Sell me two of them, including the white haggard.’

‘No,’ Wayland said, not even looking up.

Vallon glared at him before smiling at Vasili. ‘We can’t afford to part with any of the falcons. We lost two of them on the White Sea coast and came close to seeing them all perish in the forest. If we leave here with six, I’ll count myself lucky if we reach Anatolia with four.’

Vasili withdrew his hand. ‘Then I’ll say no more on the subject.’ He dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

Vallon sensed a straining of the mood and eased it by changing the subject. ‘How do affairs stand in Rus?’

Vasili waved away a pastry offered to him by a retainer. He inclined his head towards Vallon and lowered his voice. ‘Not well. It grieves me to tell you that you’ve arrived in my beloved motherland to find her fortunes at a low ebb. Under Grand Prince Jaroslav – God keep his soul – the federation was united from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Jaroslav was called “the Wise”, but his wits must have fled him on his deathbed. Before he died he portioned out the realm among five sons. The three eldest formed a triumvirate – that most unstable of arrangements whether in love, war or affairs of state. Another poisonous element corrupted the realm. This was Prince Vseslav of Polotsk, an outsider from within, great-grandson of Vladimir the Saint. Vseslav is a sorcerer and werewolf. You smile, but I know the man and can vouch that he’s an adept of the magic arts.’

Vasili sipped from his beaker. ‘Five years ago the triumvirate imprisoned Vseslav in Kiev. Many people believe that his sorcery was responsible for our country’s woes. The following year the nomads of the southern steppes took advantage of the rivalry among the Rus princes and attacked in force. When they defeated our army, the citizens of Kiev rioted, released Vseslav and proclaimed him their prince. He was dethroned a year later and fled back to Polotsk, where he sits weaving his spells and planning his next move. The reason I dwell on this character is that you’ll have to pass through the wild country bordering his principality. A convoy as small as yours could disappear in the forests and no one would be any the wiser.’