‘God curse Fyodor Antonovich. A plague of ulcers on his soul.’
A palm’s span separated the sun from the horizon when the convoy approached the gate in the plateau. The two galleys led the way, followed by Vallon’s company towing the spare boat, Drogo and the Icelanders bringing up the rear. They entered the mouth of the gorge and the sun disappeared below the western wall. The cliffs on both sides rose three hundred feet, their walls fissured by gullies overgrown with trees. The river swung left and the voyagers heard the mutter of fast water. Wulfstan stood in the bow of the company’s boat. ‘Keep to the same line as the galleys. Right a bit. Don’t look. That’s my job. Here we go.’
Hero’s stomach went light as the boat bucked. It bobbled down a ropy slither of broken water and glided out into slack.
Richard grinned. ‘That wasn’t too bad.’
‘That was the easy one,’ said Hero. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the gorge cutting south for miles. The sunlight had retreated up to the crests on the left bank, throwing the cliffs on the right into deep shadow.
Three miles on they reached the rapid called Sleepless. The water above it seemed to skin over and grow more solid, like a flexed muscle. The noise swelled. Wulfstan stood holding on to one of the mast’s straining lines.
‘Face the front for this one. Use your oars as paddles.’
They watched the galleys slide down the slant of water and pitch in a back-curling wave at the bottom. The boat followed, slapping into the current and scooting down before hitting the standing wave with a drenching splash. Then they were in the clear and only half a mile from the next rapid. Something was wrong, though. The pilots were waving them toward the middle of a ledge that ran almost right across the gorge, squeezing quarter of a mile of river into a brawling chute against the rocky right bank.
The voyagers came alongside the Russian galleys. Kolzak shouted, pointing at a fan of water slopping over the ledge behind his ship.
Hero strained to make out what he was saying. ‘This is the line we’re supposed to take, but the channel’s disappeared. The river’s five feet lower than it is in summer.’
‘What are they going to do?’
‘Drag the ships over. Lever them onto the ledge with poles, then some of us go into the water on the downstream side and pull on ropes, while the rest push from behind.’
Vallon jumped onto the ledge. To clear it they would have to haul the ships a hundred yards down a natural weir left high and dry by the falling river. The late-afternoon sun had already sunk behind the rim of the gorge. ‘It would take all night just to get the galleys clear.’
‘There’s only one thing to do,’ Drogo said. ‘Our boats are light enough to carry down before dark. Take the pilots with us and leave everyone else.’
‘Abandon the slaves?’ said Richard.
‘They’re nothing to us.’
‘Nor are you.’
‘Vallon, you know it’s our only chance.’
Before Vallon could reach a decision, he heard his name called and saw Wayland beckoning to him from the edge of the waterfall. It spilled down like a giant millrace before plunging into a pool and dashing against a crag jutting into the river forty yards further on. Swells crashed upon the wall, climbing and spreading and then falling away before humping up for fresh attacks. Fangs of rock and black-eyed eddies showed in the waves. The thought of being sucked down into one of those dark vortices brought Vallon out in a cold sweat.
He pulled Wayland closer. ‘It would be suicide.’
‘Wulfstan’s got an idea.’
When Vallon heard it, he stared at the torrent and then he stared at Wulfstan. The Viking grinned. ‘Makes your arse pucker, doesn’t it?’
‘A pound of silver if it works.’
*
After unloading the horses and falcons, the two boat crews rowed away from the ledge with the spare boat in tow, aiming for the shore above the head of the cataract. Wayland and Syth followed in the skiff. When the crews reached shore, they drifted down until they felt the current begin to tug and then they jumped out and made fast to the bank. They struggled to keep their footing on the slippery rocks.
They tied walrus hide cables to the spare boat’s stern and stem. The men holding the stern rope wrapped their hands in cloths and sought secure stances among the boulders. Wulfstan gathered the bow cable and scrambled back to where Wayland and Syth waited in the skiff. Syth took the end of the rope and Wayland paddled away from shore. The slack cable payed out behind them in a dragging curve that threatened to pull them towards the chute. Wayland fought his way into calm water and made it back to the ledge. The pilots collected the rope and formed up the soldiers and slaves along the ledge at right angles to the rapid.
The sky had separated into lemon and burgundy stripes. Wayland raised a hand at the figures on the shore. The boat began to move, water creaming against its stern as the shore party braked its descent. It slid into the pool. A wave broke over its stern.
‘Pull!’
The soldiers and slaves strained on the cable, yanking the boat round and dragging it into the slack water below the ledge.
‘Now we’ll try one of the galleys,’ said Wayland.
Eight of the Russians rowed the galley to the bank. All of them tried to get out, but the Vikings pushed four of them back in. ‘We can’t take all of you in the boats,’ Wulfstan shouted. They secured the galley as before and Wulfstan carried the bow line back to Wayland. ‘The galley’s ten times heavier than the boat,’ he said. ‘We won’t be able to hold it once the current catches it. Start pulling before it hits the pool, otherwise it will smash into the cliff.’
Wayland and Syth paddled back to the ledge. The light was draining fast and the faces of the child slaves shone in the dusk like white flowers. From the ledge the figures on the bank were vague shadows. Wayland signalled and Wulfstan released the galley. It gathered momentum, the rope sizzling through the men’s hands. ‘Let go!’ Wulfstan yelled.
The galley leaped forward and buried itself bow deep before rearing up and careering towards the cliff. The Russian crew clung to the thwarts, screaming in terror. It was only ten yards short of colliding when the gang straining on the ledge managed to bring its bow round. The galley listed, pinned by the current, then the towers slowly hauled it out of the cauldron. One of the Russians on the shore was yelling, clutching a hand burned to the bone by the rope.
Both parties had the feel of things by now and letting the second galley down should have been straightforward. Everything went well until Wulfstan shouted the order to give it slack. One of the Russians hung on a moment too long and the galley’s surge yanked him into the water. If he’d kept hold of the rope he might have survived. Instead he let go and thrashed for the shore. He was almost within touching distance but the current caught him and carried him down and past the ship. The Russians on board didn’t see him and even if they had there was nothing they could have done to save him. He whirled towards the cliff, beating at the water, and then he went into one of the whirlpools and disappeared as if something huge had dragged him down by the legs. Everyone stared at the water, expecting him to bob up again. He never did. The river had swallowed him entire.
There was no time to lament his loss. It was all but dark as Wayland and Syth made their next run. Vallon turned to Wulfstan. ‘Whoever goes last won’t have anyone to slow their descent.’
Wulfstan’s teeth glinted. ‘My Vikings will do it for another pound of silver.’
‘Done.’
There were six in Vallon’s boat, including three Russians. He took a two-handed grip on a thwart and they were off, the current hissing past the stern. The movement grew jerky and the line vibrated under the strain. Then the pit of his stomach emptied and they were rushing down the spillway. The Vikings had released too soon and the boat raced across the pool towards the climbing wave. A fluke of timing saved them. Just as Vallon thought that the swell would upend them, the bulge collapsed, pushing them back. He felt the bow line dragging them round. The boat heeled and shipped water. Then it rolled back on an even keel and they were in the lee of the ledge.
