‘Have you told anyone we’re here?’
Syth shook her head — a single movement, like a tic. Her huge eyes were ringed with violet and her bones moved under her skin like shadows.
‘When did you last eat?’
Her head sagged and she began to shake with husky sobs. Looking down at the delicate architecture of her spine, Wayland felt clumsy and at a loss. He experienced another sensation, too — the beginnings of arousal. The dog came splashing through the reeds. It made straight for Syth and began licking her tears. She flung her arms around its neck and buried her face in its fur.
‘Wait here,’ said Wayland. ‘I’ll bring you some food.’
Vallon was supervising the dredging of the channel when Wayland reached the island. He broke off with a frown. Wayland went to the larder and collected loaves, biscuits, mutton, cheese — whatever he could lay his hands on.
Vallon walked over. ‘What are you playing at? You’re supposed to be keeping watch.’
‘The dog will tell me if anyone comes.’
Wayland began walking back to the boat.
‘Stop there.’
Wayland stopped. He looked down at his feet, then turned to face Vallon.
‘I need some money.’
The others had left off working. Raul came over.
‘I’ll deal with this,’ Vallon told him. He waited for Raul to leave. ‘What do you want money for? There’s nothing to spend it on.’
‘I need it, that’s all.’
Vallon seemed to study something vaguely interesting behind Wayland. ‘If you’ve made up your mind to leave us, I won’t stop you. But you’re not decamping until the rest of us have sailed.’
‘I’m not deserting. I just … I just … ’ For the first time in Vallon’s presence, Wayland’s composure deserted him.
‘How much?’
‘Whatever’s owing to me.’
Vallon regarded him gravely, then went to his treasury. He returned, but didn’t hand over the money immediately. ‘I’ve had all sorts under my command — thieves, murderers, rapists, the scum of the earth.’
‘I’m none of those things.’
‘I’d understand you better if you were. Here,’ he said, handing over some coins. ‘It’s more than you’re entitled to. Don’t leave your post again without good reason.’
Wayland took a few steps, then stopped and turned. ‘Sir?’ It was the first time he’d addressed Vallon by title.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever seen a gyrfalcon — a white one?’
‘No.’
‘But they do exist?’
‘I believe they do. Stay with us and you’ll see wonders undreamed of.’
Wayland found Syth shivering where he’d left her, the dog’s head in her lap. She paid no attention to the food. She looked at him red-eyed. ‘I only did those things to Snorri because I was starving. I never let him put it into me.’
Wayland closed his eyes. He thrust the money at her. ‘Go away.’
‘Go where?’
‘Away. It’s dangerous here.’
‘Why? What have you done?’
‘We’ve killed Normans. You mustn’t tell anyone you’ve seen us.’
She got to her feet. Her mouth trembled. ‘Let me stay. I’ll cook and sew for you. I’ll be worth my keep.’
‘Go away,’ he cried, making shooing motions. ‘Don’t come here again.’
She backed away, clutching the torn tunic. He raised his hand in a parody of threat. She turned and ran down the shore, elbows out, heels flying, getting smaller and smaller until her outline was lost in the grain of the distance.
When Wayland moved off, the dog didn’t follow. It lay stretched out with its head on its elbows, ears drooping.
‘Don’t say another word,’ Wayland told it.
XIV
Days of toil and waiting. On the third evening, Raul stayed on the coast until dark, but Snorri didn’t appear. Nor did he show up the next day. That night, passed in a limbo of uncertainty, was the low point of their time on the island. Wayland was glad when next day’s lookout duty took him away to the coast. The wind had swung west and strengthened, pouring through the reeds and blowing rainclouds across the Wash. The clouds thickened and the shining band marking the horizon dwindled until sea and sky merged into drab grey.
The dog twitched awake and sat staring across the river. Wayland called it into cover and fitted an arrow. After a little while Snorri emerged on the opposite bank and peered about. He wore new clothes and he’d trimmed his hair and beard. When he thought the coast was clear, he went back into the reeds and came out leading two heavily laden mules.
Wayland stepped forward. ‘We thought you’d given us up.’
‘Mercy!’ cried Snorri, clapping his hand to his chest. ‘You put the heart across me jumping out like that.’
Wayland poled across. ‘What took you so long?’
‘I been on the go from dawn to dark, ordering this, checking that. Four days it took for the timber to be milled and the ironwork forged. There wasn’t enough wool in all Norwich for the sail. I had to send to Yarmouth for extra ells.’ Snorri slapped a bulging pannier. ‘This here ain’t even a tenth of the load. Had to hire two carts to carry it all.’ He gestured towards the hinterland. ‘They’re back yonder.’
‘Are the Normans still looking for us?’
Snorri cackled. ‘Put it this way. I’d be ten pounds to the good if I’d given ye in.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Don’t ye be looking at me like that, Master Wayland. Snorri’s word is as good as a bond.’
Using all the men, mules and boats, it took the rest of the day to transport everything to the camp. Vallon and Snorri went over the goods item by item — timber, sailcloth, cordage, rivets, plates, nails, rawhide, skins, pitch, tallow, charcoal, linseed oil, turpentine, lard, horsehair, glue, adzes, awls, augers, an anvil, bellows, tongs, hammers, planes, saws, kettles, cauldrons, kegs, needles, thread, sacks …
Vallon discussed the programme of works with Snorri. ‘Who’s going to fit the new timbers?’
‘’Tis fixed. There’ll be a carpenter here tomorrow.’
‘That still leaves us short-handed. It’s a shame to waste Raul and Wayland on lookout duty.’
Snorri glanced at the fenmen. ‘I’ll have a word.’
Next morning the four dredgers arrived accompanied by two more fenmen. The carpenter was a tall, loose- limbed fellow with a face as placid as a saint’s. The lookout was small, bow-legged, with quick, deep-set eyes. ‘He’s a fowler,’ said Snorri. ‘Knows the marshes as well as what I do. Ain’t nobody can sneak past that ’un.’
Snorri and the carpenter set to work with adzes, trimming the planks to match the existing strakes. They were of graduated thickness, two inches at the waterline, slimming to half that at the gunwale. Raul looked on, wincing, until Snorri thrust his adze at him. ‘Ye have a go iffen ye think ye can do better.’
Raul hefted the adze. ‘Out of my way, you ugly heathen.’ He placed his feet each side of a plank, made a few practise swings, and then began paring off shavings almost as cleanly as if he were using a smoothing plane.
‘Ye’ve done that afore.’
