but surely you’d make a profit.’
‘It’s complicated,’ said Fyodor. ‘Complicated.’ His gaze rested for a moment on the pitcher of wine. He sighed. ‘I purchased the slaves with money borrowed from my Byzantine partner. It was a short-term loan at high interest. I expected to pay it back within seven months, when the slaves reached Constantinople. With the profit from the Byzantine goods, I was certain to make a good return. But because of those three days, the seven months have stretched to twelve, and if I have to wait for next year’s convoy, I won’t see a penny for eighteen months. Imagine how much interest I’ll end up paying. And of course I have to pay for the slaves’ keep. Unless I can despatch them this month, I’m ruined.’
‘You want us to escort your cargo to Constantinople.’
‘It would be to our mutual benefit.’
‘How many slaves are we talking about?’
‘Thirty-one. Originally there were thirty-six. They keep dying. Every month that goes by, I’m losing money.’
‘How many ships?’
‘Two, each with a crew of eight.’
‘A dozen extra soldiers won’t count for much if we run into the nomads.’
‘You won’t. The Cumans will be in the steppes with their flocks. Since no convoys sail down the Dnieper in winter, there’s no point in them waiting by the river. A fox doesn’t sit by an empty burrow.’
‘Then what’s preventing you from sending your ships unescorted?’
‘Ah, yes. It’s the pilots. Without experienced pilots, I risk losing everything in the cataracts.’
‘So even you can’t hire pilots.’
‘Oh, I can find pilots if I’m prepared to pay their price. And do you know what price that is?’ He leaned close. ‘Three silver grivna apiece.’ He wriggled on his buttocks, one finger to his lips. ‘Three silver grivna each.’
‘How much are your slaves worth in Constantinople?’
‘Ten grivna apiece, but that’s not the point. There are my overheads to take into account, the interest to be deducted. Six grivna on top of those expenses will reduce my profit to less than nothing. But if you were to pay for the pilots …’
Hero’s brow furrowed. ‘Excuse me. Did I hear you say that we should pay for the pilots?’
‘You won’t find one without my help.’
Hero leaned back. ‘Fine. We’ll do without.’
‘Without an experienced man to guide you through the rapids, you’ll lose lives and cargo. Don’t take my word for it. Ask anyone who’s made the passage. Anyone. Even with pilots, ships and men are lost in the cataracts every year.’
Hero traced meaningless patterns on the table. ‘When you entered, I had the impression that you were asking for our help. Now it seems that you want us to pay for the privilege of escorting your ships. What’s in it for us?’
‘My ships. Your boats aren’t big enough to cross the Black Sea and you won’t find any ships to charter at the mouth of the Dnieper. They’ve all left and won’t be back until spring.’
Exactly what Vasili had told them. Hero stroked his chin. ‘So if we pay for the guides, your ships will carry us to Constantinople.’
Fyodor bared his teeth. ‘Precisely.’
‘I need to talk to the captain.’
Hero laid out the proposition before Vallon. ‘I’m sure he’s playing down the threat posed by the nomads,’ he concluded. ‘I suspect there are other things he’s keeping to himself.’
‘Do you think he’s after our cargo?’
‘No. He wants us to cover his costs and perhaps more than his costs. I’d lay odds the pilots won’t see a quarter of what he claims they’re demanding.’
‘How much silver do we have left?’
‘Little more than twenty pounds. Novgorod was expensive.’
Vallon drummed his fingers on the windowsill. ‘We need a pilot and we need a sea-going ship. Fyodor can supply both. If we turn him down, we’ll probably end up being fleeced twice over in circumstances even less to our advantage. I don’t want to stay in Kiev a day longer than we have to. Gleb’s men could send word and have us detained on some pretext. The Vikings could slip their leashes and kill someone in a brawl. Every day that passes … ’ He broke off and stared over the rooftops at the Dnieper.
‘Sir?
Vallon turned. ‘It’s not as if it’s our own hard-earned money. Pay the rogue what he asks. Tell him I want to interview the pilots and that we must be back on the river without delay.’
Fyodor beamed when Hero announced their capitulation. He called out to his slave and the boy sprang away downstairs. ‘They won’t be long,’ Fyodor said. ‘I told them to be ready to present themselves.’ He seated himself on the bench and twiddled his thumbs.
Hero picked up the flagon of wine. ‘Perhaps you’d care to join us …’
‘Too kind,’ Fyodor said. He raised his cup. ‘To our mutual endeavours.’
Wayland and Syth stood under the central dome of St Sophia, holding hands like children and gazing up at a mosaic of Christ the Omnipotent surrounded by four archangels. They’d found their way into the cathedral after getting lost in Kiev’s teeming streets and now Wayland was too nervous to leave. Every aspect of the cathedral was designed to remind him that he was under the scrutiny of his maker. The saints portrayed in mosaics and frescoes on every surface followed him with their eyes. When he moved, his footsteps were amplified by earthenware sounding-chambers embedded in the walls.
A choir began to sing, the lead chant echoed by a polyphonic response.
Syth squeezed Wayland’s arm. ‘This is what heaven must be like.’
‘I’m not sure I want to spend eternity gazing at holy images and listening to a choir.’
‘What would your heaven be like?’
‘It wouldn’t be very different from life on earth, except that nobody would go hungry or suffer misery and oppression.’
‘Would Raul be there? Would Vallon? Would the dog?’
‘I hope so.’
‘But Raul was a sinner. Vallon murdered his wife. Dogs don’t have souls.’
‘I’d rather be with them wherever they end up than sit around with a bunch of saints.’
Syth pinched him. ‘Ssh! God will hear you and then you’ll go to hell.’
‘I don’t care.’
Syth thought about it. ‘Suppose we died and I was allowed into heaven and you were sent to hell. That wouldn’t make sense, because without you beside me it wouldn’t be heaven.’
‘That’s what I mean. You’d have to join me in the fiery pit.’
‘Don’t talk like that. You’re scaring me.’ She moved closer. ‘One of the priests is staring at us.’
He was a youngish man with a benign expression. When Wayland made eye contact, his smile widened and he moved towards them. Wayland took Syth’s arm and began walking her towards the door. The priest called out and lengthened his stride. Wayland increased his own pace, saw the priest do likewise, and broke into a run. Feet flapping on the marbled floor, he and Syth raced towards one of the great arched doors and burst into the open, vanishing among the crowd while Syth’s laughter was still echoing around the cathedral.
The pilots were brothers, sinewy men with faces as wrinkled as dried figs. One was called Igor, the other Kolzak. Igor had suffered some trauma that made his face when relaxed sag in chaotic folds, as if the strings holding it together had been cut. They stood before Vallon and Hero, their eyes straying towards Fyodor.
‘How well do you know the river?’ Hero asked.
‘We’ve been navigating it every year since we were boys,’ said Kolzak. ‘Our father was a pilot before us, and his father before that. We know every rock and whirlpool, every ledge and chute.’
‘How far do the rapids stretch?’
‘Fifty, sixty versts,’ said Kolzak, shrugging to indicate that distance wasn’t the most important
