Wayland cast off the first eyas. It flapped away with clumsy strokes, tried to land in a tree, missed its footing and tumbled down through the branches. Syth cried out and ran after it. The second falcon headed out to sea, circled back and pitched on the beach.
‘Will they survive?’ Vallon asked.
‘I’ve fed both of them a full crop. They won’t feel the pinch of hunger for several days and by then they’ll have learned to use their wings. Falcons are quick learners and … ’ Wayland drew breath and shook his head. ‘No. That’s what I told Syth to avoid upsetting her. Almost certainly they’ll die. They were the weakest of the eyases and haven’t been taught to hunt.’
Vallon saw how much their loss pained Wayland. ‘Don’t reproach yourself. It’s a tribute to your skilful handling that you’ve brought the falcons this far without loss. I confess I sometimes forget that they’re the be-all and end-all of our enterprise. It frightens me to think how much our fortunes depend on them. If there’s anything you need for their welfare, ask.’
‘Fresh meat. A sixth of their body weight every day.’
‘That much?’
Wayland nodded.
Vallon stared at the brooding forest. ‘If necessary, we’ll fast ourselves rather than let the falcons go hungry.’
The falcons weren’t the only precious things they cast off. After six months’ voyaging,
Over breakfast they debated the most fitting send-off. Scuttling was out of the question. Like drowning your mother, Raul said. Burn her, he suggested, or leave her nodding at anchor until the next storm broke her into driftwood. The breeze decided her fate. It was blowing offshore and so a party went on board and raised anchor and hoisted sail one last time. As the panels filled and the water began to bubble under her stem, they climbed back into the boat and rowed ashore and watched her slant away to the north until she was just a tiny silhouette on a sea as bright as the back of a fresh-run salmon.
The longship had already begun the journey upriver. In a deathly hush the company climbed into the boats, fitted oars and began to row against the sluggish current. The shore party plodded along the right bank. When Hero looked back, the sea was already out of sight. It was like a door had shut behind them.
A short way upriver they caught up with the longship stuck in rapids. It was afternoon before they struggled into calm water. At dark the two parties pitched separate camps and set guards. Next morning when they set off, rain dimpled the surface and cloud hung in rags among the treetops. Mosquitoes and blackflies plagued them, whining inside their ears, infiltrating their clothes, crawling up their nostrils. The travellers wrapped their heads and smeared themselves with dung and oil. Nothing could keep the pests off. Worst affected were the oarsmen. Unable to slap away the bloodsuckers, they rowed as if afflicted by a palsy, hunching up their shoulders to rub their inflamed cheeks and brows. By the end of the day some of them had raw wounds on their wrists and their faces were so swollen they could hardly see.
The going wasn’t any easier for the Icelanders trudging along the banks. They sank ankle deep in spongy moss that made each step an effort. They had to detour around sloughs of grey ooze and graveyards of fallen trees. Sometimes they were forced to stumble along in the river itself. Where the current was too deep and the forest impassable, the boatmen had to set down their passengers and return to ferry the pedestrians above the obstacle.
Wayland was right about the lack of game. He managed to kill enough grouse to keep the falcons on half rations, but most of the creatures he encountered were predators in a wilderness lacking prey. He saw a pair of sable streaking through the treetops like eels, and he surprised a pair of gluttons dragging out the entrails of a bear so grey and gaunt that it must have died of old age. These gluttons or wolverines were creatures new to him and he found their ferocity incredible. When the dog pranced up to them, they didn’t give an inch, spitting and snarling with faces that haunted Wayland’s dreams for nights afterwards. The dog rolled its eyes at him, asking for help. He called it off. All day it kept snarling round as if the gluttons were on their trail.
Four days upriver the boat carrying Vallon’s company passed an old woman sitting on the bank beside the body of an old man. It was the woman Helgi had escorted from the abandoned Icelandic ship. The dead man was her husband.
One of the Icelanders called out. She raised cloudy eyes and said she didn’t want any help.
‘What’s going on?’ said Vallon. ‘Why have the Icelanders left her behind?’
‘It’s her own choice,’ Raul said. ‘She doesn’t want to go on. Her husband was all the kin she had.’
‘Let me talk to her,’ said Hero.
Vallon glanced upriver. ‘Don’t take too long. There’s another rapid ahead.’
Hero and Richard stepped ashore. Raul tossed a spade after them. ‘We’ll be leaving them where they drop before the journey’s over.’
Hero approached the old woman and cleared his throat. She peered at him.
‘Goodness. You’re one of the outlanders.’
He sank down beside her. ‘How did your husband die?’
‘Weariness. Despair. His heart stopped and those two men of Helgi’s just slung him on to the bank. You’d think they didn’t have fathers of their own.’
Hero put an arm around her thin shoulders. ‘We’ll bury him and when we’ve said a prayer we’ll take you back to our boat.’
She looked up and Hero glimpsed in her features the ghost of youthful beauty. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Erik and I have been together sixty years. I’m not leaving him now.’ She patted Hero’s hand. ‘You go on. I’m quite content.’
Richard leaned over. ‘Don’t you have any other family? Isn’t that why you were sailing to Norway?’
Shadows flitted over the woman’s face. ‘All our children and grandchildren are dead. Ah, it’s a bitter fate to outlive your offspring. Our youngest died last spring. With him gone we were unable to work the farm. Erik decided to sell it and return to Norway. That’s where he came from. We met when he sailed to Reykjavik on a merchant ship. Such a handsome man. Erik has family near Nidaros and he said we’d go and live out our days near his sister’s farm. He never did take to the Icelanders. Too clannish, he said. Too busy looking after themselves to bother with the wants of others. We’d be happier among his own kind. I wasn’t so sure. Better stay with what you know, that’s what I told him.’
‘I’m sure Erik’s sister will welcome you.’
The old woman snorted. ‘Imagine the fit she’ll have if I turn up at her door. Seventy-eight years old, nearly blind and penniless.’
‘You said you had money from the sale of your farm.’
‘Helgi’s men took it from Erik when we left our ship. That Caitlin said they’d look after it for me.’ The old woman pulled Hero’s head down. ‘She’s a bitch,’ she whispered. She nodded emphatically. ‘When you see her in a new dress and brooch, remember who paid for it.’
Hero glowered upriver before turning back to the woman. She paid no heed to the mosquitoes crawling in her thin white hair. ‘Vallon will make sure they return the money. In any case, you don’t need silver to come with us.’
‘That’s kind, but what then? I won’t last long in this filthy forest. Even if I lived, I don’t want to end my days as a pauper in a strange land. No, here I stay.’
‘You’ll perish of cold or hunger. Wolves and bears will devour you.’
She smiled and patted their hands. ‘You’re nice young men. You’d better be going. It will be dark soon. Your friends will be starting to worry about you.’
Raul came jogging through the trees. ‘Vallon wants every man pulling.’ His eyes were on the woman.
