He pressed money into Hero’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I can’t spare more. I know you’ll reach home, though. Apply yourself to your studies. Write to me in Byzantium. Astonish me with news of your achievements. God speed you and keep you.’ He squeezed Hero’s shoulder and turned away.
One by one, the others came up to make their farewells. Richard sobbed openly. Raul grasped him in a bear hug. Wayland regarded him with cool blue eyes, looked like he might shake his hand, then nodded and turned.
The wagon train trundled into motion. Hero watched his companions walk away down the highway, travelling east. Vallon didn’t look back. Didn’t turn his head once.
Hero wept. All his life the men he loved had disappointed him. His father had dandled all five of his sisters and died three months before the birth of his only son. Cosmas, the man who could have taught him everything, had been with him for less than a month. And now Vallon, the captain whom he’d vowed to follow until death, had discarded him without a backward glance.
He really was all alone. His companions had crossed the horizon in one direction; the wagon train had disappeared in the other. Only the serfs remained, stooped and wretched in the clotted light. Hero dragged himself up and shuffled towards London.
Around the campfire that night, Vallon told the remaining fugitives that the first leg of their journey was nearly over: in two days they would reach Norwich.
‘Tomorrow we’ll hire three mules and buy new clothes. Next day we’ll enter Norwich separately. Richard, you’ll ride ahead and find lodgings and make contact with the moneylender. Wayland will escort you as far as the city walls. Go in by yourself. It will be safer. Use a false name and say that you’re travelling on family business.’
‘One of the soldiers might recognise me. If news of our crimes has reached Norwich …’
‘If the worst happens, tell them the truth about the ransom and the moneylender. Remember you’re Olbec’s son. You don’t take shit from common soldiers. Wayland, if Richard runs into trouble, wait for us outside the west gate. Raul and I will join you by sunset. We’ll be travelling as military engineer and engineer’s assistant.’
‘All the gates will be watched,’ Raul said. ‘The guards will ask for papers.’
‘Lady Margaret gave me documents carrying the royal seal. No soldier would dare open them.’ Vallon laced his hands behind his head. ‘Well,’ he said through a yawn, ‘the night after next we’ll eat like lords and sleep under goose down.’
His assurances fell into a queasy silence. Everyone knew that Norwich was one of the most formidable Norman strongholds in England. Three hundred soldiers manned its castle, and they would be alert. Less than a year ago the garrison had helped capture the Isle of Ely, the last redoubt of English resistance, only a day’s ride to the south. The rebel leader called Hereward had escaped the encirclement and was still at large, rebuilding his forces, it was rumoured.
Richard and Wayland left for Norwich at cockcrow. Vallon and Raul followed at noon, riding across the levels under a huge blue sky. Vallon wore his hair cropped short, Norman style, and was clothed in clerical grey. Miles before they reached Norwich, they could see the castle dominating the skyline.
They halted at a drinking trough well short of the west gate and mingled with other travellers watering their animals. Wooden walls surrounded the city and a guard tower bridged the gate. Curfew was approaching and the road was busy.
‘No sign of Wayland,’ Vallon said. ‘Let’s hope the Normans haven’t arrested him.’
Raul spat. ‘They’d have more chance of catching the wind.’
Vallon led his mule back to the road. They eased into the stream of travellers. The sergeant of the guard, a hard-bitten veteran, watched them approach.
‘That one’s trouble,’ said Raul.
The sergeant crooked a finger. ‘You two. Move to one side. Get down.’
Vallon stayed mounted. The sergeant strutted up to him. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’
‘I heard,’ Vallon said in a clipped voice, ‘and I’ve a good mind to repay your insolence with the flat of my sword. I’m Ralph of Dijon, military engineer, travelling on the King’s commission. As for my business, that’s not for you to know.’
‘Papers.’
The sergeant returned them after examining the seal. He hailed a soldier who was rubbing down a horse outside the tower. ‘Hey, Fitz, escort these two to the castle.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Vallon. ‘I want to take a look at the city’s outer fortifications while there’s still light.’
The sergeant’s jaw jutted. ‘The castellan doesn’t like visitors dropping in unannounced. I’ll send Fitz to let him know you’re on your way.’
‘No, you won’t. My job is to inspect the King’s defences any way I see fit. This is a surprise inspection. That’s why the castellan isn’t expecting me.’ He flicked the documents. ‘Understood?’
The sergeant stiffened to attention. ‘Sir.’
They could hear him muttering obscenities as they rode through the gate. ‘He won’t forget you in a hurry,’ Raul said.
‘I know. Let’s hope he doesn’t enquire about us at the castle.’
Raul stood on tiptoe. ‘There’s Wayland.’
The falconer turned his back on them and went up the thoroughfare, dodging through a crowd of vendors and shoppers. Vallon and Raul followed, pestered by a swarm of touts and beggars, the lame and the blind hopping and tapping in their wake. From every doorway children observed them with sharp urban eyes. Months had passed since Vallon had been in a city. He breathed in the pungent mixture of woodsmoke, sawn timber, meat, tallow, bread, livestock and shit. They turned a corner by a church with a round stone tower and left the stink and hubbub behind. Two turnings later they were in a narrow lane deserted except for a rooting hog. Wayland stopped at an iron- reinforced gate in a high wall and jangled a bell.
Richard opened the gate and led them into a courtyard paved with moss-grown cobbles. On three sides stood an ancient house with a timbered gallery, once level but now undulating and sprouting weeds. Doves cooed on the tiled roof. A well of silence filled the court.
‘You said you wanted somewhere quiet.’
‘It’s perfect.’
Richard beamed. ‘It belonged to an English merchant. I rented it from his widow, two months’ rent in advance. She thinks you’re a French wine importer. I took a room for Wayland and Raul at the White Hart, by the cornmarket.’
‘Did you find the moneylender?’
‘It wasn’t difficult. His house is right under the castle walls.’
‘Has he received the letters?’
‘Days ago. He’ll see us tomorrow, after sunset.’
‘Why so late?’
‘It’s the Sabbath.’
‘How did he react when you gave him our names? Did he seem nervous?’
‘I didn’t meet him. I wasn’t invited into the house. I spoke to someone through a grille.’
Bells were striking compline when Vallon and Richard set off for their appointment with Aaron. In the dusk- shrouded streets, shopkeepers were boarding up their premises and citizens hurried homewards. The castle keep loomed bone-white against the bruised sky.
‘I wish Hero was with us,’ said Richard. ‘He deserves to see our business brought to a successful conclusion.’
‘Success isn’t guaranteed. Drogo must have guessed our intention. There aren’t many moneylenders in England. He could have got to them first.’
‘He doesn’t have any power over the Jews. They’re not even Norman subjects. The King brought them from Rouen as his personal chattels.’
The street opened into a wide plaza surrounding the castle — a massive structure built on a huge artificial
