‘As good as,’ Raul said. ‘Mast gone, sail gone, oars gone, shrouds gone. The keel’s probably no more than scorched, but the strakes amidships must be burned to cinders.’
‘We didn’t wait around,’ said Richard. ‘We knew the main Viking force would soon return and might pursue us in the ship’s boat. The thought of what they’d do if they caught us kept us from flagging even when our strength was spent.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘And here we are.’
Vallon gazed at them in wonder. ‘Here you are.’
Grief-stricken wails rose from the camp. Garrick had rowed
Caitlin knelt over Helgi’s body, rocking back and forth. Her maids and her brother’s followers stood behind her. Drogo frowned and waved Vallon back. He hesitated. Caitlin lifted her distraught face and caught sight of him. She ceased her lamentations and made a sound low in her throat. Seizing the sword lying on Helgi’s corpse, she ran at Vallon mouthing gibberish. Drogo and her retainers raced after her, but she reached Vallon before they could catch her and drew back the sword with both hands. He shot out a hand and grasped her wrists. She struggled and then she went limp and dropped the sword. Her eyes gushed tears. She sagged against him and he had to gather her close to stop her falling. He hadn’t held a woman for years and it was the strangest sensation to be holding to his chest a princess who wanted to kill him.
Her voice bubbled through tears. ‘You promised to bring him back safe.’
‘I’m sorry. Take comfort in the knowledge that your brother died bravely, engaging the enemy with no regard for his own life.’
She batted her hands against his chest. ‘You threw his life away!’
Over her shoulder, Vallon saw Drogo striding up. ‘What lies have you been spreading?’ the Frank said.
‘No lies,’ said Drogo. ‘You knew the charge was pointless.’ He wrenched Caitlin from Vallon’s grip. ‘Get away from her.’
Caitlin’s maids took her by the arms and led her away. Vallon stood chest to chest with Drogo. ‘I should have known that you’d twist facts to your own end. Well, here’s another tale for you to distort. The longship is ashes and two more Vikings have gone to their doom.’
Drogo’s stubbled cheeks worked. He managed a stiff bow.
‘Don’t congratulate me,’ said Vallon. ‘It’s your brother who deserves the credit.’
He swung on his heels.
‘Vallon.’
Vallon wafted a blood-smeared hand. ‘Enough.’
Drogo caught up with him. ‘I grew close to Helgi. Last night, before we went into action, he asked me to act as Caitlin’s guardian should he be killed. I told him that I’d be honoured to accept. I pledged to protect her with my life.’
Vallon kept walking. ‘Very worthy and I’m sure you’ll honour your pledge. But how does it concern me?’
Drogo’s throat strained with emotions he couldn’t express. He jabbed a finger. ‘Just keep away from her. That’s all.’
Vallon had retreated to a quiet stretch of the riverbank before he fathomed Drogo’s meaning. Helgi must have dressed up the encounter at the lake to make it look like he — Vallon — was besotted with his sister. Drogo thought he was a rival for her affection. The Norman’s stupidity angered him. He turned and glowered.
Garrick was approaching, carrying a bowl and bread. ‘You haven’t broken your fast, sir.’
Vallon ate in silence, looking across the river.
‘What will we do now?’
‘We’ll set up camp on the far bank. It will take a couple of days to make the ship seaworthy. Wayland can use the time to gather food for the hawks. After that … ’ Vallon checked himself. He’d almost said, ‘We’ll go home.’ He smiled at Garrick. ‘We’ll continue our journey. Will you come with us to Constantinople?’
‘What would I do there, sir?’
‘Whatever you want. It’s the greatest city on earth.’
‘Cities don’t agree with me. I went to Lincoln once. All those people in one place made my head spin.’ He glanced shyly at Vallon. ‘I dream of buying ten acres in the place where I grew up. Live my life out and go to rest in the soil I sprang from, the place where my parents lie buried, the plot where my children sleep. I know it’s only a dream.’ He laughed. ‘That Daegmund wouldn’t be happy to see
Vallon gripped his arm. ‘You’ll have your ten acres. If that’s all I achieve by this endless wandering, I’ll be content.’
Garrick’s eyes found his, ducked away, face shadowing. ‘I can’t get quit of the sight of those women and what the Vikings did to them. They’re mother and daughter — only a girl. Can’t we save them, sir? I’d take up a weapon if you thought it would help.’
Vallon shook his head. ‘I can’t ask my company to make any more sacrifices. The season’s growing late and we have a great distance to travel. We must press on.’
He’d risen to his feet. Garrick remained seated with an expression of gentle melancholy. Vallon touched his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.’
XXXII
Wayland padded through the forest with Syth and the dog in ghostly attendance. To their right the horned moon laid a silver trackway across the river. From the Vikings’ camp on the opposite bank came a ceaseless chopping and hammering. Day and night they laboured to repair their longship. When Wayland had spied on them the day after the battle, he would have sworn that the hulk was unsalvageable, its mid-section burned to the waterline. Returning the next day, he’d found that they’d already started replacing the strakes and yesterday they’d made good the starboard timbers.
He crept into a grove of willows and peered up through the tracery. Two plump silhouettes sprouted from a branch twenty feet above the ground. He turned to Syth, laid a finger to his lips and worked his way round until both roosting grouse were outlined against the moon. He dropped to one knee and raised the miniature crossbow Raul had made for him. The bow was drawn, an untipped arrow slotted in the track. He aimed low to compensate for the spring of the bolt at such close range. He loosed. A solid thump and one of the grouse fell flapping in its death spasms on the forest floor. Its mate uttered a cluck of alarm and shifted along the branch. Wayland reloaded and took fresh aim.
Missed. The bolt clattered away through the boughs. The grouse shuffled almost to the tip. Wayland loaded another bolt. The branch bobbed under the weight of the grouse. Wayland tried to adjust to the rhythm. No good. He shut his eyes, took a breath, raised the bow and loosed as soon as the grouse came into his sights.
Wayland blinked. The branch was bare. The dog ran in to retrieve. He massaged the back of his neck. ‘That’s enough for tonight.’
‘How many have we got?’
Wayland counted the bodies looped around his belt. ‘That makes seven.’
Syth clapped her hands. ‘Six for the falcons. One for us. I’ll cook it right now.’
While she roasted the game, Wayland stared vacantly into the flames. He was worn out by his never-ending duties — tending the falcons, finding food for them, spying on the Vikings …
He ate his share of the grouse in silence. Across the fire, Syth watched him with eyes full of questions. He knew she was troubled by his moody silences, the fact that he hadn’t taken her in his arms since leaving Iceland.
‘This is half raw,’ he said, tossing the remains to the dog.
‘I know you’re tired, so I cooked it as fast as I could.’
Wayland lay down and pulled up a blanket. Syth settled beside him, not quite touching. He could sense her
