‘If we stop, the galley will go on without us,’ Drogo said.
‘Richard’s your brother!’
‘And Fulk was my closest comrade. I couldn’t save him and you can’t save Richard.’
Hero made a last appeal to Vallon. ‘Please. I’m begging you.’
Vallon stood shivering, supporting himself on the empty horse stall. Wulfstan and the other Vikings watched him from the other boat, their oars resting.
‘Row for the island,’ he said. ‘Tell Kolzak to wait while we treat a wounded man.’
They propped Richard against a giant oak that had given shade to the first Vikings to travel the Road to the Greeks. Deals had been struck under it, treaties signed and broken, sacrifices offered. From here one of the early Rus rulers had launched a thousand ships against Constantinople. Here Grand Prince Sviatoslav had stayed one winter before the Pechenegs killed him and mounted his skull with gold and drank fermented mare’s milk from his brain pan.
The Vikings stood around, shaking their heads in grim finality as Hero cut away Richard’s tunic. The arrow had struck at a shallow angle, entering between the third and fourth ribs and penetrating the left lung. It would have flown right through him if the head hadn’t struck the ribs on the other side, below the left armpit. A contusion showed where the arrowhead was buried. Hero led Vallon out of Richard’s earshot.
‘The point’s below the ribs. I think I can get it out.’
‘How? The arrow’s barbed.’
‘I have an instrument designed for removing barbs, but in this case the arrow’s too deep to draw without inflicting mortal damage.’
‘There’s only one method of dealing with a wound like that. Saw off the arrow close to the entry point and hammer the head through the ribs. Brutal, but I’ve seen it work.’
‘The shaft will break. Either that or the head will sever a major blood vessel. No, I have to cut it out.’
‘Hero, Richard’s almost certain to die whatever you do. Let’s direct our efforts at making his last hours as painless as possible.’
Kolzak yelled and pointed at the Cumans. They were separating, one group riding back to the ford, the other heading south, red dust trailing in their wake. ‘It’s too dangerous to remain here.’
‘Wait until I’ve treated Richard,’ Hero shouted.
‘You’re not the only ones with wounded men. We have to leave before the nomads set another ambush.’
Ignoring Hero’s pleas, the galley began to draw away, Kolzak shouting and pointing downriver.
‘What’s he saying?’ Vallon demanded.
‘If we don’t catch them up, they’ll wait for us at the estuary.’
‘No, they won’t,’ Drogo said. ‘Kolzak’s already lost his brother and half the slaves.’
Vallon spun towards the Vikings. ‘Wulfstan, stop them. Use force if necessary.’
Wulfstan’s gaze latched onto his, and Vallon knew what would happen next and could do nothing to prevent it. Wulfstan ran towards his boat. ‘Follow me, lads. There’s our booty getting away.’
The Vikings sprinted to the riverbank and shoved the boat out. Everything unravelled. Drogo grabbed Caitlin and dragged her after the Vikings. ‘Wait for me!’
The Vikings hesitated. Drogo reached the river and plunged in, towing Caitlin behind him. She broke free and Drogo lunged for her. He managed to seize one arm. With the other she whacked him across the face, knocking him backwards. She thrashed back to shore and Vallon caught her and held her while he aimed his sword at Drogo.
‘Go with the Vikings.’
Drogo turned, but it was too late. The Vikings were rowing after the galley like maniacs, and from the way the Russians redoubled their own efforts, it was clear they knew what fate awaited them if the pirates caught up. Vallon watched the Vikings overhaul the galley and storm aboard, hacking aside the feeble opposition. One of the conscripts toppled into the river and the Viking warhorn blew.
Wulfstan ran to the stern and cupped his hands to his mouth.
Vallon strained to hear him. ‘What’s that?’
Wayland stood beside him, his bow trained on Drogo. ‘He says it’s nothing personal.’
Vallon watched the galley draw away downriver. Drogo watched it, too, and then shook his head and began trudging to shore.
Wayland glanced at Vallon, waiting for the command to shoot. But right now, Drogo was the least of their worries. Without a sea-going ship, they were done for even if they reached the estuary.
Drogo stopped and managed a sick grin. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Vallon. You’d have done the same.’
‘Kill him,’ Caitlin whispered.
Vallon reached for Wayland’s bow and moved it aside. ‘I’ve seen enough death for one day. Now it’s time to look out for the living.’
Richard was breathing as if he’d run a mile, each intake accompanied by a mew of pain. He was still propped against the oak. In any other position, he couldn’t breathe at all and his heart went into alarming palpitations.
Hero stroked his face. ‘Can you hear me?’
Richard opened glazed eyes. ‘I feel like I’m drowning. And it hurts. God, it hurts.’
‘The arrowhead’s behind your ribs. Just here. Will you let me remove it?’
‘Will it make any difference?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ll give me some of your drowsy potion.’
‘Enough to dull the pain. Your heart is stressed and your lung is full of blood. If I send you to sleep, you might not wake up.’
Richard whimpered.
‘To reach the arrowhead I’ll have to make a cut about an inch deep.’
Richard’s face contorted. ‘Do what you have to. It can’t hurt any worse.’
Hero laid out his instruments. Caitlin heated water on a fire. When everything was ready, Hero gave Richard a spoonful of the drowsy mixture. He coughed it up together with a cupful of blood. Drogo stood watching in a baleful trance. ‘Lend a hand.’
Hero selected a scalpel and knelt at Richard’s side. Vallon gripped Richard’s shoulders. Syth lifted his left arm as if it were a broken wing. Drogo held his brother’s legs.
Hero didn’t know in which plane the arrowhead was lying. His hand trembled as he laid the blade against the skin. He had to be decisive. His hand steadied. He cut down hard and made an oblique incision centred on the middle of the bruise. He felt the blade nick bone. Blood sprang. Richard’s body bucked.
Hero held out a hand. ‘Water.’
Caitlin passed him a cloth soaked in cold river water. He applied it repeatedly, but the blood kept welling.
‘Another.’
At last the bleeding almost stopped. Hero pulled apart the lips of the incision, sponged it and saw the gleam of a rib before blood covered it again. He did this several times and then looked up.
‘There’s a fracture in the rib. The arrowhead must be directly behind it.’
‘Can you see the head?’
‘No. I’ll have to probe for it.’
He inserted the tip of the scalpel between the ribs to the left of the fracture and drew the blade to the right. He hadn’t cut deep enough and he had to make a second attempt. Blood covered his hands. This time he felt resistance.
‘I think I’ve found it.’
He made another probe, this time from right to left until the blade stopped. He felt a leap of hope.
‘The head’s jammed between the ribs.’
‘How will you reach it?’
‘I’ll have to prise the ribs apart.’
Vallon winced. ‘The pain will be unbearable. Let me try working it through from the other end.’
‘Be careful. The shaft is in the lung. It will snap if you push too hard.’
