Hero and Richard capered and even Vallon grinned and back-slapped his companions. But it was too soon to be certain that they were in the clear. Bends upriver and down restricted his view to no more than a couple of miles.
He pointed upstream. ‘How far is Smolensk? How long would it take a boat to reach us?’
Ivanko pondered. ‘One long day, maybe two.’
‘And from the spot where Oleg wanted you to take us?’
‘Half a day.’
Uncomfortably close. Vallon studied the terrain. A warm breeze blowing from the river tousled the grass. A brown bear and her two cubs browsed near the river. When Wayland clapped, she rose on her hind legs, peering myopically in their direction, then dropped to all fours and lumbered away like a giant furry inchworm with the cubs gambolling in her wake. On the other side of the river, a herd of deer popped into focus. They watched the intruders as though paralysed, then melted away into the trees.
‘Nobody’s been near this place in days,’ Wayland said.
Vallon glanced behind him. ‘It will take time to prepare the boats. Stay here and watch our backs until you hear the signal.’
‘No one’s following us.’
‘And no one’s waiting for us. You’re the one who started this, so let’s not relax our guard. You know the signals. One long blast of the horn means we’re leaving. Three short blasts and we’ve run into trouble.’
XXXIX
A more tranquil spot would have been hard to imagine. Here in its upper reaches the Dnieper was less than two hundred yards wide, sliding down a long pool before spilling away in a series of sweet-sounding rills. Shoals of minnows darted in the shallows. Blue and yellow dragonflies hawked over the surface. At the tail of the pool was a ford, its banks churned up by cattle of extraordinary size. They’d crossed recently and if their spoor could be used as a yardstick, their herdsmen must have stood ten feet tall. Vallon could place his entire foot in one half of the cloven prints.
The porters slid the boats into the water, then Ivanko approached and said that their job was done. Richard handed out their wages, the men craning over each other’s shoulders to keep a reckoning.
The voyagers lay in the grass enjoying the warmth. Some dozed with their palms shielding their eyes.
Vallon clapped his hands. ‘Let’s get the boats loaded.’
Hero opened his eyes. ‘Can’t we eat first?’
‘No. I want to get away as soon as possible.’
Wulfstan walked up from the bank. ‘Our boat’s sprung a plank. It must have taken a knock in the forest. It’ll need recaulking.’
‘Damn,’ said Vallon. The porters were kindling a cooking fire. If they’d had any hint of treachery, they would have cleared off as soon as they’d been paid. ‘Repair the boat as quickly as you can. The rest of you may as well grab a bite. You two,’ he called, addressing Tostig and Olaf. ‘Take the skiff and keep watch on the other side of the river. Don’t look so long-faced. We’ll save some food for you.’
Hero joined Vallon with an ear-to-ear grin. ‘At last we can dream of reaching journey’s end.’
‘There’s a long way to go yet.’
Richard drifted up yawning. ‘When I get on the river, I’m going to sleep for days. Wake me when we reach Kiev.’
The Vikings lit a fire to melt pitch. Over it the travellers hung a pot of broth. Vallon remained edgy, infected by Wayland’s suspicions. Oleg must have reached the Dnieper two days ago. By now an ambush could have been set downstream.
The travellers were still eating when Wulfstan reported that his men had repaired the boat. ‘Time we were going,’ Vallon called. ‘That bread will taste just as good on the river. Where’s the man with the horn? Ah, there you are. Call Wayland and Syth.’
They knelt behind a windfall lime, watching the aurochs grazing in the clearing. Sixty or seventy yards away stood a solitary black bull with pale finching down its back. It stood taller than a man, longer than a wagon, its head armed with lyre-shaped horns. Behind it, at the far edge of the clearing, five young bulls grazed. A herd of reddish- brown cows and calves came and went in the sun-dappled wood beyond. The beasts looked like they’d stepped out from a more ancient world, and what made the scene even more magical was the flush of brimstone butterflies swarming in the clearing. Hundreds of them fluttered around the old bull, attracted by the warmth radiating from its coat. The battle-scarred patriarch looked as if it were spotted with flowers.
‘Don’t you dare shoot him,’ Syth whispered.
Wayland smiled and shook his head.
As the bull grazed, its pizzle slowly extended from its sheath.
‘Golly,’ said Syth.
Wayland coughed quietly into his fist.
‘Wayland.’
‘Ssh, you’ll frighten them.’
Syth slid a glance at the aurochs, then compressed her lips and blew into Wayland’s ear.
His jaw worked.
‘Way-Land.’
‘What?’
She lay back with a sigh, eyes closed, arms spread.
He looked down at her, then grinned and sprawled beside her. His hands reached under her tunic.
‘Wayland, they’re not puppies.’
‘I love the feel of them.’
She draped a hand around his neck. ‘I wish we’d had the chance to be together in Novgorod, when we had fine clothes and proper beds.’
Wayland nuzzled her ear. ‘Adam and Eve didn’t have clothes or a bed.’
‘I bet Eve wished she had.’
‘What? She fretted about not having fancy clothes to take off for Adam?’
‘It’s all right for you. You like living in the forest. Sharing a love nest with creepy-crawlies isn’t my idea of bliss.’
Wayland leaned over her. ‘You’ll wear fine clothes, I promise. We’ll live in a grand house. You’ll see.’
She smiled, her skin luminous under its film of grime and her eyes reflecting the sky.
‘Raul said you were a nixie. He said you could turn yourself into water.’
She reached for his belt. ‘I can do more than that. I can turn
When the horn blew, they were so absorbed in themselves and each other that they didn’t hear it. Yet Wayland must have registered some vibration because he wrenched his lips from hers and braced up on his arms.
Syth opened dazed eyes. Her chest was flushed scarlet. ‘Don’t stop.’ She wrapped her legs tighter. ‘Don’t. Stop.’
Vallon paced the bank, darting impatient glances up the meadow. A drawn-out cry floated across the river and the two Icelanders came sprinting down to the skiff. Vallon put his head in his hands and groaned. He looked up. ‘Everybody into the boats. Look to your weapons.’
As Tostig and Olaf jumped into the skiff and pushed off, the disjointed shapes of horsemen appeared through the trees behind them. Down they ambled, attired as if they were out on a rustic jaunt. Their leader waved in greeting, not at all surprised to find a body of armed men in his path. He put his horse to the water.
‘The porters are running away,’ Richard called.
Ivanko and his men were hurrying up the meadow, casting frightened glances over their shoulders.
