mutiny.’ Ignoring the fresh wave of protests, Vallon turned to Garrick. ‘Bring her in. Load the horses first.’
When they’d been lowered into the hold, the Icelanders began filing onto the ship. Raul and Garrick collected their weapons. Hero and Richard gathered in the provisions. As one man jumped to the deck, Raul seized him by the arm, reached into the man’s tunic and pulled out a small sack. He opened it and sniffed the contents. ‘Barley,’ he said, and cuffed the smuggler across the deck.
The stern deck filled. Caitlin stood arguing at the foot of the gangplank with Tostig and Olaf, Helgi’s men.
‘We haven’t got all day,’ said Vallon.
Tostig looked up. ‘We won’t lay down our swords.’
‘Then stay here. You’ll be doing me a favour.’
Caitlin said something Vallon didn’t catch. Tostig and Olaf climbed the plank in a fury, hurling down their swords so violently that Raul had to use both hands to wrench them from the deck.
Dressed in a plain wool shift, Caitlin mounted the plank with her maids. Hands helped her down and the Icelanders parted before her.
Only the two Normans remained on the bank. ‘Fulk will hand over his sword,’ said Drogo. ‘You know I can’t surrender mine.’
‘I understand,’ said Vallon. ‘Garrick, raise the plank and leave Drogo with his honour unblemished.’
‘You were glad enough of my sword the night we fought the Vikings. You’ll probably need it again before this journey is over. I give you my word that I won’t raise it against you until we reach a place of safety.’
Vallon glanced at his company, saw Raul shrug. He turned back to Drogo. ‘I accept your promise. Now get aboard. We’re wasting the tide.’
The Icelanders crammed the stern deck. Raul stood on a thwart to count them. ‘Twenty-three. Captain, even if we could rescue the prisoners, there ain’t no room for them.’
Vallon nodded, then called for silence. ‘Most of you were sailing for Nidaros, but we don’t have enough food and water for such a long voyage. We’ll take you to the nearest haven. From there you’ll have to make your own arrangements. In the meantime, here are some more rules. Some of you know that I campaigned against the Moors in Spain. I noticed that our Muslim enemies enjoyed better health than the Christian armies did. The Moors avoid fevers by washing their hands before handling food and after attending to the wants of nature.’
Raul was translating. ‘Not sure they follow you, Captain.’
‘Tell them to shit in the buckets provided at the stern and rinse their hands afterwards. No personal cooking fires. Meals to be taken in shifts.’ Vallon lifted a hand. ‘One last thing. The foredeck is reserved for my company. Nobody steps on it without my permission. That’s it.’
Father Hilbert called for attention. ‘Before we commit ourselves to the perils that await us, let us fall to our knees in earnest supplication of God’s mercy and forgiveness for all the grievous wrongs-’
‘Say your prayers on the move,’ said Vallon. He nodded at Garrick. ‘Hoist anchor.’
‘Keep to the left bank,’ Vallon ordered. ‘Raul, prepare to hand out the weapons.’
‘They won’t be able to launch their ship in time,’ Wayland said. He’d returned from last night’s prowling to report that the pirates had beached the longship for further repairs.
The tide bore them downstream at strolling pace. The bay came in sight.
‘There they are!’
The Vikings streamed down to the shore, yelling and shaking their weapons. One group dragged behind them the roped and wretched prisoners. Their captors herded them to the water’s edge, where they fell to their knees, raising arms in supplication, beating their chests, tearing their hair.
‘We must save them!’ one of the passengers shouted, and other Icelanders took up his cry. Many were relatives or neighbours of the captives.
‘Keep going,’ Vallon said.
‘There’s Thorfinn,’ said Raul. ‘Christ, he’s a big bastard.’
Naked to the waist, the Viking chief ran into the river, pushing out the longship’s boat. He jumped into it as
‘What’s he after?’ said Raul.
‘I believe he wants to negotiate.’
The rowers strained to catch up, keeping out of crossbow range. Four or five Vikings scrambled along the bank behind them. The boat drew level and Thorfinn cupped his hands around his mouth.
‘Raul, tell the Icelanders to be quiet. Garrick, bring us within earshot.’
‘That’s close enough.’
Thorfinn stood up. ‘Hey, Frankish. Where are you going? You think you’ll sail around the North Cape? No, you’re too late. Hey, Frankish, listen to me. Even if you get round the cape, you’ll starve before you reach the nearest settlement.’
‘You understand what he’s saying?’ Raul asked.
‘I get the drift.’
‘Hey, Frankish, let’s talk.’
‘Raul, what do you think?’
‘I say we keep going.’
‘What about you, Hero?’
‘I think we should find out what he has to say. We know the journey down the Norway seaboard is dangerous. The currents are treacherous and the mountains fall straight into the sea. Thorfinn knows those waters. We might get some useful information out of him.’
Vallon faced downstream, the forest sliding away on each side. At this rate, they would meet the sea before noon and then their fate would be determined by nothing more complicated than wind and weather.
‘Heave to.’
‘Captain, we ain’t going to get nothing out of Thorfinn.’
‘Anchor in the middle of the channel. Wayland, tell Thorfinn to approach.’
The Vikings stroked towards
‘Come closer,’ Vallon shouted. ‘I can’t hear you.’
Thorfinn mimed rowing motions. ‘You come to me.’
Vallon looked for a way to end the impasse. Not far downstream the current divided around two smooth tongues of rock separated by a deep channel. After many false starts and cross-purposes, Vallon made it understood that he and one other would parley with Thorfinn and another Viking delegate, each pair to occupy a separate boulder.
Thorfinn waved agreement. ‘You go first, Frankish.’
‘Come with me,’ Vallon told Wayland. ‘Leave your bow.’ They climbed into the spare boat, rowed down to the boulders and climbed onto its polished surface. Wayland kept hold of the boat. Thorfinn put ashore to offload his men, then he and one of his lieutenants headed towards the rendezvous.
The Viking chief stood in the bow dangling his axe from one hand. Its crescent-shaped blade must have weighed fifteen pounds, yet he hefted it as casually as if it were an item of cutlery. In addition, he wore at his waist a plain broadsword and carried at the back of his belt a short stabbing blade or scramasax. He leaped on to the rock, appeared to trip and teetered at the edge of the channel. He recovered himself and looked up, his jaw split in a splayed ochre grin.
Vallon frowned. ‘He’s clowning.’
Thorfinn’s grin died. He raised his axe one-handed and pointed it at each enemy in turn, sighting on them with eyes as cold as a gull’s. He was built on a prodigious scale — close to seven feet tall, with thighs like wine tuns and a chest slabbed with muscle. Years of axe- and sword-play had made a hump of his right shoulder. Across his
