human outline. ‘It’s Wayland,’ he said. ‘Wayland and his dog.’
Raul slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I don’t deny it, Captain. I feel happier with him back. If anyone thinks they can spring a surprise on us, they’d have to get up a lot earlier than Wayland.’
‘There’s someone with him,’ said Hero.
‘It’s the boy from the tavern,’ said Vallon. He looked the other way. ‘Stay hidden.’
Wayland swayed to a standstill in front of them. He’d roped the boy to the dog’s collar. Looped over his shoulder was some kind of ragged and leafy garment.
‘Raul, find out what’s happening.’
Vallon scanned the road while the German questioned Wayland.
When Raul rejoined him, he was as solemn as an owl. ‘You were right, Captain. There are seven cut-throats waiting up ahead by an old oak. There were two others, but Wayland dealt with them.’
‘Killed them?’
‘The dog killed one. He tied the other up.’
‘He should have killed him.’
‘I know, but there’s a tender streak in the lad.’
‘What’s the boy’s part in this?’
‘He was tracking us in case we slept in the forest. His father’s the leader. The outlaws start them young in these parts.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Hero whispered.
‘Wayland knows where they’re lurking,’ Raul told him. ‘We’ll be long gone by the time they discover we’ve taken a different path.’
Vallon looked at the falconer. ‘Can you guide us around the ambush?’
Wayland looked uncertainly at Hero and Richard.
‘They ain’t up to it,’ said Raul. ‘They’re dead for lack of sleep.’
‘They’ll be dead all right. We have to get out of the forest before daylight.’
Wayland pointed at the boy, then at the dog, then made a sweeping gesture down the ride. He pointed at the fugitives and made the same gesture.
Vallon frowned. ‘I think he’s saying we should go on down the track, using the boy as a hostage.’
Wayland pointed at himself, then across the ride, and moved his hand in a half circle, indicating that he would make his way back until he was behind the outlaws’ position.
Vallon looked at the boy. ‘Find out his father’s name.’
At Raul’s approach, the boy backed to the end of his tether, breathing in and out through his nose. Raul wrapped one hand around the boy’s collar and hoisted him off the ground. ‘Give us your father’s name, you little shit.’
The boy uttered a choked syllable.
‘What was that? Ash, did you say?’
The boy jerked his head up and down. Raul dropped him. ‘Sounded like Ash.’
Wayland nodded.
Vallon’s eyes patrolled the dark avenue. ‘Imagine how many travellers have met their deaths along this road.’ He turned to Raul. ‘I think we should put back into Ash’s life some of the terror he’s dealt out.’
To the waiting outlaws it must have seemed like a cavalcade from fairyland, the boy lolling astride the giant dog, Vallon’s sword glinting across his shoulder, the other fugitives in close attendance.
The procession halted a bowshot short of the oak.
‘Ash?’ Raul shouted. ‘Ash? Your eyes don’t deceive you. That’s your son on the dog, and it will rip the life from him just as cruelly as it tore out Siward’s throat. Leofric’s dead, too. Wolfboy killed him. Do you want to know where Wolfboy is? He’s closer than you think. He’s watching you. He’s cloaked and hooded in your own uniform. Look at your neighbour. Look close. Are you sure he’s the man you take him for? Are you sure it’s a man at all? Wolfboy can change form. Listen.’
Stark silence, and then a sound that made the hairs on Vallon’s neck stand up. The dog that everyone thought was mute lifted its head and joined in. The mournful howling of hunting wolves rose up until it enveloped the forest, and then it fell away, leaving a tingling hush.
‘The show’s over,’ Raul cried. ‘Don’t follow us if you want to see your boy again. Do as I say and you’ll find him unharmed at the next village.’
The procession moved on. A mile beyond the ambush site, the trees gave way to open common. Raul puffed out his cheeks. ‘Captain, that was the longest walk of my life. My back felt as wide as a barn.’
Vallon frowned at him. ‘How did you know I fought alongside Rodrigo Diaz?’
‘The Cid? I didn’t. It was just showman’s patter.’ He missed a step. ‘Wasn’t it?’
‘Go on with the others.’
Raul’s footsteps faded. The road behind stretched away like a ribbon of blackened silver. Up ahead, a dog began to yap. Vallon touched his brow with the back of his hand. He felt as if he’d walked through a bad dream.
X
On a mild overcast afternoon at the beginning of April, the runagates gathered by a busy crossroads on the Ermine Way, a few miles south of Stamford. In the surrounding fields, peasants were sowing and harrowing, the same scene repeated all the way to the flat horizons, as though the peasants themselves were a crop.
The company lounged back on their elbows, legs outstretched, heels propped on toes, watching the passing traffic. Nobody bothered them. After three weeks sleeping rough, they looked a thoroughly villainous crew. So did many of the other itinerants on that highway. Carters, drovers, vagabonds and refugees criss-crossed the junction, where a makeshift bazaar of stalls and booths offered refreshments, charms and horoscopes. A squadron of Norman cavalry rode by looking neither left nor right and went highstepping south, towards London. Raul farted.
‘What are we waiting for?’ asked Hero.
Vallon stood and squinted north to the highway’s vanishing point where a small but important outline had appeared against the milky sky. It advanced slowly, slower than a man walks, gradually shaping itself into a wagon train of four great carts, each drawn by six oxen and piled so high with bales and kegs that they resembled lurching siege engines. Whips snaked and cracked. Two thuggish outriders flanked the convoy and crop-eared mastiffs stalked between the wheels. A feral-looking boy darted from wagon to wagon, greasing the axles with lard. The driver of the leading vehicle was whippet-thin with a face like a shrivelled wineskin. Beside him sat the train captain, an immensely fat merchant with dewlaps spilling over his fur muff.
Vallon walked into the road with Raul and held up a hand. The teamster drove back the mastiffs with whiplashes of stinging precision. Vallon leaned on the drawbar while Raul translated. When Hero saw the merchant turn his piggy eyes towards him, he had a premonition of ill fate.
Money changed hands. Vallon walked back, took Hero’s elbow and led him aside.
‘Are we going to London?’
‘You are. This is where we part company.’
Hero felt hot and cold at the same time. ‘How have I offended you?’
‘You haven’t. The truth is, we’re stepping deeper into danger, and you’re not cut out for it.’
‘I’m tougher than Richard.’
‘Richard has no choice but to flee these shores. You have better things to do with your life.’
‘But I vowed to serve you.’
‘I release you from that vow,’ Vallon said. He kissed Hero on both cheeks and stood back. ‘Don’t think I won’t miss your company. Evenings around the hearth won’t be the same without your stories and speculations.’
It was happening too fast for Hero to muster an argument. The teamster rolled his whip. Vallon raised his arm. ‘The fare’s been paid. The merchant’s a rogue, but he won’t harm you. I told him I’d be joining you in London.’
