your mother’s money, that’s the last you’ll see of him. You should have talked to me before running away.’
‘But he swore an oath.’
‘Who wouldn’t if it meant saving his skin? Look at Walter and his lies. Everyone lies when it suits his purpose. I should know.’
‘You?’
‘From the beginning, our journey hasn’t been what it seems.’
‘What do you mean?’
Hero couldn’t stop himself now. ‘Ask yourself why Master Cosmas agreed to win Walter’s freedom.’
‘You told me that he wanted to visit Britain before he died.’
‘Walter possesses something that Cosmas wanted — something he offered on condition that Cosmas obtain his release.’
‘What is it?’
‘Suppose I told you that at the eastern end of the world lies a realm greater than any built since the reign of the Caesars.’
‘China? I’ve heard you speak of it.’
‘Not China. This is a Christian realm.’ Hero patted his pack. ‘I have a letter written by the ruler of that country. It’s addressed to the Byzantine Emperor.’
‘What does it say?’
‘The ruler offers to lead an army against the Turks and Arabs. That’s not all. As a token of his allegiance, he sent a gift with the letter — something that will stand the world on its head.’
Someone or something not far away gave a heavy sigh. Hero and Richard clutched each other. Raul had heard the noise, too. He crawled to the fire, blew life into an ember and lit a taper shielded inside a horn. Holding the torch aloft, he crept forward. Hero followed him, then stopped with a gasp, the dog’s snarl printed on his retina.
‘Tell Vallon,’ Raul said.
Hero scrambled up the hillside. ‘Sir? Sir?’
‘Over here. You two talk loud enough to wake the dead. And what the hell were you doing waving a torch?’
‘It’s Wayland. He’s back.’
Raul took Vallon to one side and muttered in his ear. Vallon looked down into Wayland’s sullen blinks, then turned to Hero and Richard. ‘Wait by the fire.’
‘Something’s wrong,’ Hero whispered. ‘I’ve never seen him look so grave.’
Richard glanced at the dark figures. ‘Go on with your story. You were telling me about a gift.’
Hero was regretting his indiscretion. ‘No, my tongue ran away with me. I gave my word to Cosmas that I wouldn’t repeat the secret to anyone.’
‘Not even Vallon?’
‘No, not even him.’
‘But-’
‘Ssh!’ Vallon was returning towards the fire. ‘You must forget about the letter.’ Vallon was only feet away. ‘Swear it, or forfeit my friendship.’
‘Very well. I swear.’
Vallon stared into the embers and spoke in a colourless voice. ‘I’d hoped that we’d be safe once we’d put ourselves beyond Drogo’s reach. We hadn’t committed any crime, and with Richard to vouch for us, we had every chance of reaching our destination. Not any more. Wayland has killed two of the count’s men — Roussel and Drax.’
Raul spat into the fire.
‘I’m not shedding tears for them either. But there’s no crime more serious than the murder of a Norman. From now on every sword will be raised against us. Richard, your name and title are no longer any protection. If we’re caught, you’ll swing alongside us. You’d better leave us at the next town. Tell the Count we took you against your will.’
Richard stirred one foot miserably.
‘Wayland killed the Normans only a few miles from here,’ Vallon said. ‘The others probably rode straight back to the castle. Drogo won’t wait until morning before coming after us. He could be here by daybreak.’
Raul loosened his breeches and pissed on the fire. ‘We’d better get started then.’
Vallon began to gather his belongings.
‘Is Wayland coming with us?’ Hero asked.
‘He can come or go as he pleases. The damage is done.’
Wayland guided them south-west, across the grain of the country. They crossed a barren common by starlight and dropped into a wooded valley as the first faint wash of dawn spread in the east. They began their next ascent with sunlight fanning through the gaps behind them. They climbed a steep moor dotted with wind-racked junipers. The sun grew warm on their backs. Around them curlews cried their liquid song and grouse burst cackling out of the heather. Vallon didn’t call the first halt until mid-morning. Everyone was struggling, Wayland included. After they’d eaten, Vallon told him to stay behind and watch for pursuit. The Frank led the others on. At noon they were still climbing, one false summit leading to another.
Vallon reached the top first. Against the sky an old grey druid leaned into the wind with his cloak blowing out behind him. When Vallon approached, he saw that the figure was an ancient runestone covered by a mat of shaggy lichens. He sat against it, pulled off his boots and looked at his blistered heels. He put his boots back on and waited for the others to straggle up. Hero and Richard could hardly put one foot in front of the other.
At last Wayland appeared, hobbling with the help of a stave.
‘Any sign of them?’
Wayland shook his head and went past and stopped on the western skyline. Vallon struggled up and joined him. Beneath their feet the land spilled into a broad vale chequered with fields and veined by tracks. Wisps of smoke rose from dozens of hamlets. On the other side, snow-capped mountains cradled lakes in crooked folds. Figures like mites crept along a road that followed the valley north-west towards a plain bounded by a shining firth.
Vallon studied Wayland. The falconer was a good-looking youth, tall and straight, with yellow hair and a disconcertingly clear blue gaze. Vallon’s anger at his wanton behaviour was tempered by curiosity and grudging admiration. It took courage to kill two Norman cavalrymen. More than that, it took grim intent.
Wayland became aware of Vallon’s scrutiny and turned to face it. Not many people could look Vallon straight in the eye. The Frank faced towards the south. They were on the spine of the country — a range of bald fells wearing rags of snow and curving away on each side like the hull of an upturned boat. ‘See this ring,’ he said. ‘This morning the stone was as blue as your eyes. Now it’s clouding over. The weather will turn soon.’
Wayland studied the ring, then glanced at the sky. He nodded as if he didn’t need gadgets to predict the weather.
They followed the felltops south and bivouacked among the ghostly grey spoilheaps of a lead mine abandoned in Roman times. Richard fell asleep at supper with his spoon half raised to his lips and had to be put to bed like a child. Next day they continued south through a needling drizzle and didn’t encounter a living soul. They camped under a ledge in a stony gill and chewed their food woodenly, hardly exchanging a word.
Dawn broke like blood percolating through dirty water. All morning showers scudded in from the north-west. The fugitives were already cold and wet when they turned to see a curtain of black cloud closing down on them. It cast the mountains to the west into darkness and spread over the vale like a contagion.
There was no shelter on the fell. The storm knocked them sideways. Pellets of rain lashed them. The rain thickened into sleet and then wet snow that clogged their eyes and balled on their feet. Hero came struggling up to Vallon, shielding his face in the crook of his elbow. The wind blew the words away.
Vallon cupped a hand to his ear. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘I said, Richard’s in a dreadful plight.’
‘It’s only a squall,’ Vallon shouted. ‘It will soon pass.’
