A scene of frantic activity greeted him. They’d floated
‘They’ve gone,’ Wayland shouted.
Vallon gave a wild laugh. ‘A full moon and a spring tide. Tonight’s the night.’
‘Do you need me here?’
‘No. Warn us if they come.’
Wayland returned to the coast. The sky faded to black. The night was very still and a long time passing. He sat listening to the sea breathing in and out. His eyes closed and his sister appeared before him in a dream. When he opened his eyes she was still there, pale as death in the darkness on the other side of the river.
‘Syth?’
The vision faded. Wayland crossed himself. No mortal being, but a marsh sprite or will o’ the wisp.
Fog rolled in during the small hours. When daylight came he could see no further than an arrow’s flight across the stagnant sea. Occasionally the murk thinned and a mournful gleam indicated the direction of the sun, then another veil drifted over and everything sank back into dismal half light. Sounds carried a long way. Wayland heard cries of frustration upriver. He checked the state of the tide. A knot began to tighten in his guts.
He jumped up when he heard a boat approaching. Raul appeared out of the clammy overcast, his beard and hair matted with mud. He gave Wayland a rancid grin.
‘Ain’t you the lucky one? While you’ve been twiddling your dick, we’ve been slaving up to our arses in mud.’
‘Can’t you get the ship out?’
Raul spat. ‘Floated her clear by midnight, rowed fifty yards downriver and grounded. Managed to work her free and then got stuck again. Snorri said we were drawing too much water, so Vallon had all of us get out and haul her off.’
‘Have the marshmen gone?’
‘All but the carpenter and the fowler, and they only volunteered at the point of the captain’s sword.’
‘How far have you got?’
‘I’d say we ain’t even halfway.’ Raul wiped a dewdrop from his nose. ‘What’s the tide doing?’
‘Coming up to full.’
Raul peered down the coast. ‘They won’t come by ship in this fog. And they can’t cross the marsh at high water. I reckon we still got time.’
Someone upriver gave a drawn-out cry.
‘That’s Vallon. You’d better get back.’
Raul climbed into his boat. ‘Wayland?’
‘What?’
Raul raised a clenched fist. ‘Fortune or a grave.’
Wayland watched the water level creeping up. A shoal of mullet drifted into the creek and marked time on slowly fanning fins. The water rose in jerks and shivers. It reached the high tide mark and went on rising. Wayland felt the lunar force dragging at his own blood.
The tide twitched and stopped. Flotsam circled in the slack current.
Wayland paced, slapping his thighs, willing the ship to appear. ‘Come on.’
The tide turned. The flotsam began drifting out to sea. Water sucked and gurgled as the marsh began to drain. Wayland breathed an ebbing sigh of his own. The Normans would have thrown a cordon around the marsh. The fugitives would have to go their separate ways. Wayland knew that he could escape, but after that … Disappointment pierced him.
He wandered down to the end of the sand bar. The saltings he’d crossed dry-shod on his first journey lay submerged, eelgrass waving under the surface like the scalps of a drowned multitude. Waterfowl babbled and squawked in the mist. The dog began to tremble. Wayland crouched beside it and laid a hand on its neck.
‘They’re on their way,’ he said, and stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle.
Very faint and far away he heard a cry. He ran to the river and peered upstream. The fog lay so heavy on the water that he couldn’t even see the other side. He cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Ho!’
No answer. Perhaps the ship had grounded again and they needed his help. He plunged into the reeds, following the river bank. He must have struggled quarter of a mile before he heard an uncoordinated splashing. The sound came closer. A shape gathered and
Vallon leaned out from the bow. ‘How close are they?’
‘Close.’
The ship glided level. Raul and the carpenter stood on the foredeck, fending off the bank with oars. Snorri manned the rudder, but the knarr was showing too much freeboard to be steered and spun in its own length as the tide carried it downriver. The ship’s boat tied to its stern drifted in its orbit like a wayward satellite.
‘You’ll have to jump,’ Raul called.
Wayland kept pace with the knarr, waiting for it to come within distance. Its sides were above the level of the bank and he had only a few feet of run-up. Grunting, he took his chance, got one foot on to the gunwale, and would have toppled back if Raul hadn’t seized his tunic. The dog sprang aboard unaided.
‘Take an oar,’ Vallon ordered. ‘Try to keep us in mid-channel.’
The ebb swept them downriver, Vallon calling out hazards. ‘That’s more like it. Hero, Richard, don’t just sit there. Lend a hand.’
The reed walls began to fall back as the river widened.
‘Nearly there.’
They passed Snorri’s shack and stared down the shore. It was empty.
The tide carried them out into the sea. ‘Ship oars,’ Vallon cried. He ran to the stern and put a hand to his ear.
‘What’s keeping them?’ Raul panted.
‘They might have lost their way,’ said Vallon. ‘The tide’s still high and some of the ditches are deep enough to drown a horse.’ He turned to Snorri. ‘Prepare to raise the mast.’
Snorri pointed back towards the river. ‘We can’t.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘It’s the ballast,’ said Raul. ‘Without ballast, the mast would capsize us.’
‘How much do we need?’
‘A ship this size … ten tons at least.’
‘Can we use sand? Dig it from one of the offshore bars?’
Snorri wailed. The shoals were more mud than sand. To carry it back to the ship would mean wading waist- deep. On the falling tide the ship might end up stranded.
‘Let’s sort out the ballast later,’ said Raul, casting nervous glances down the coast.
‘Later will be too late,’ Vallon said. ‘The Normans will come by sea as well as land. Drogo will commandeer every ship he can lay hands on.’ He turned to Snorri. ‘How many can he muster?’
‘A dozen at least.’
‘You hear that? The fog won’t hide us for long. We have to make the ship ready for sailing.’
The realisation that after all their labours Drogo still had the upper hand silenced everybody. Vallon clenched both hands on his head and walked to the stern. Everyone watched him.
Vallon lowered his hands. ‘We have to go back.’
Raul opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
They rowed standing up, walking two steps forward, two steps back.
‘The ship’s boat,’ said Vallon. ‘We’ll tow her in.’
Into the boat they clambered — Vallon, Wayland, Raul and the carpenter. Vallon raised his oar. ‘On the count of three … heave. Again. Heave. Once more. She’s coming. Now, deep and steady. That’s it. Keep to the channel or
