Hawk Quest

moon, only one day off full, would rise and light the seascape as bright as day.

Vallon looked up at Wayland, balanced on the yard thirty feet above deck. ‘Can you still see them?’

‘Yes. They’re holding the same course.’

Snorri and Raul emerged from the hold. ‘Just a little leak,’ said Raul. ‘We plugged it. The girl’s keeping an eye on it.’

Snorri took the tiller. They sailed on. A subterranean glow spread up from the east and the moon rose huge and tremulous, gold at first, paling to a marbled eggshell. The Norman ships appeared again like pale lanterns.

‘Will we beat them to the entrance?’ Vallon asked Snorri.

‘It’ll be ticklish close.’

‘You said that Shearwater can outsail any English mudskipper.’

‘Aye, but they’ve got a clear passage up the Lynn channel, while we got to steer round the Mare’s Tail.’

‘A sandbank?’

‘Girt big island more like. Three miles long and curves south.’

‘Forcing us towards the Norman fleet.’

Snorri tittered, as he did when stressed. ‘Aye. Right into their path.’

Wayland stayed aloft with instructions to keep an eye out for shoals. Raul reloaded his crossbow, standing with both feet on the arms and then, after inflating his chest, pulling up the string in one vein-popping effort. He claimed that it had a three hundred-pound draw and could shoot a bolt clear through two armoured soldiers. Vallon didn’t doubt it. In an idle moment, he’d tried to span the weapon and found that he could barely deflect the cord. Since their journey began, Raul had kept up a running debate with Wayland about who had the more deadly weapon, Raul insisting that the crossbow was more accurate and powerful, Wayland — when he could be bothered to reply — pointing out that he could loose six arrows for every dart that Raul shot.

‘Sandbank ahead,’ Wayland called.

It broached the sea like the back of a half-submerged whale. Snorri steered the ship a few points to starboard, while Raul used a tacking boom fitted to the sail’s forward leech to keep it exposed to the full draw of the wind. Shearwater’s speed hardly lessened, but now they were angling towards the enemy. The Norman ships were pulling ahead. Vallon could see the headlands on each side of the Wash’s mouth and knew that the two leading ships would reach it first. Even if Shearwater evaded their initial attack, the manoeuvres would allow the other vessels to join the action. The nearest of them wasn’t more than a mile to starboard and Shearwater still hadn’t reached the end of the Mare’s Tail.

Vallon tapped his foot without being aware of it. They still hadn’t cleared the sandbank and all but one of the Norman ships were showing their sterns. The laggard was square on to Shearwater, so close that Vallon could see figures moving along its side.

‘The leading ships are reefing sail,’ Raul shouted. ‘They’re going to lie in wait.’

Vallon watched the slow convergence. The two leading Norman ships were separating and the others were moving to fill the gap. Vallon joined Snorri. ‘Any ideas?’

‘We ain’t goin’ to smash through. Those ships are as big as Shearwater.’

‘Clear water ahead,’ Wayland cried.

‘We got one trick we can play,’ Snorri said. ‘Soon as we get round the Mare’s Tail, tack hard to port and run for a channel that’ll bring us out at the northern tip of the Wash. The Normans can’t turn into the wind. They’ll have to go round the far side of the bar.’

Shearwater slid out from the end of the sandbank. Vallon saw that Snorri’s proposed course would shave the edge of the bay.

‘We got to decide quick,’ said Snorri.

‘Do it.’

Snorri called out to Raul and leaned on the rudder. In the uncertain light the Normans didn’t spot the change of course, or perhaps they thought it was a feint. By the time they reacted and began to track across the bay, Shearwater was heading north, across the wind.

The two leading Norman ships still had the advantage of sea room. As the coast drew closer, Vallon began to think that Snorri’s gambit had forced them into a corner. Ahead was a channel between coastal mudflats and a narrow bar of sand. One of the Norman ships was shadowing them less than half a mile downwind, while its partner took a more seaward route. Like dogs coursing a rabbit. They were nearly at the entrance of the channel. Once inside they would be committed. If the Norman ship reached the other end first, inter — ception was certain.

Shearwater took the inshore passage. The Norman ship with a lead of perhaps two hundred yards kept to the other side of the bar. Vallon could hear its commander shouting instructions. On Shearwater there was silence. Wayland kept lowering his bow and brushing his sleeve across his mouth.

‘I think we’re gaining on them,’ said Hero.

Anxious minutes went by before Vallon dared to believe that he was right. They pulled level, the two ships sailing up different sides of the sandbank like shadows of each other. The Normans crowded the side, roaring a challenge.

‘Definitely gaining,’ Hero said.

The soldiers saw it, too, and their cries turned to wails of frustration. Out to sea they’d enjoyed the better of the wind, but in the lee of the coast, Shearwater was the more efficient vessel.

Yard by yard Shearwater increased her lead. When she slid out from the channel she was a bowshot ahead of her pursuer, only two bowshots from the shore. So close that Vallon could see a light in a coastal settlement.

Snorri cavorted. ‘They won’t catch us now.’

Vallon went aft, touching each man’s arm in passing. ‘Well done,’ he murmured. ‘Well done.’

Raul punched the air. ‘Fate spares the undoomed warrior.’

They headed into open sea. Vallon watched until the sails behind them were very small before turning.

‘Everyone stand down. Fill your bellies and get some rest.’ As Wayland walked past, Vallon reached out and caught him by the sleeve. ‘Not you.’

Wayland stood before him mute and defiant. His actions had been unforgivable. Vallon had hanged men for lesser offences. He had to make an example. God knows, discipline was lax enough as it was. If he let Wayland’s insubordination go unpunished, every man would take it as licence to do as he pleased. All this Vallon knew, and at the same time he recognised that he couldn’t afford to lose the falconer. He and the rest of the rabble were all Vallon had. The constraints on what punishment he could mete out made him even angrier.

‘You endangered all our lives by going back for the girl. If we weren’t so short-handed, I’d have left you to be killed.’

‘I thank you for your mercy. We both thank you.’

‘Never mind that. The girl can’t stay. A pet has no place on this ship.’

Wayland sucked in his cheeks and stared past him.

‘We’ll put her ashore when we next make land.’

‘She doesn’t have anywhere to go. Her family’s dead.’

Vallon thumped the gunwale. ‘We’re not a refuge for orphans. The girl goes.’

Wayland swallowed and lifted his gaze.

‘If you care about her, you must see that it’s for her own good. Think of the risks if she stays.’

‘She’s not afraid of the voyage. Her father was a fisherman.’

‘I’m not talking about the perils of the sea. A woman on a ship full of men is a recipe for disaster. You know how Raul behaves when he’s taken a skinful.’

‘Raul wouldn’t dare touch her.’

‘You see. You’re already contemplating the challenge.’ Vallon sank back. ‘We’ll be taking on more hands and I’m not in a position to pick and choose. Doubtless we’ll end up with some men of base character. I’ve seen the madness that infects soldiers when a woman is set loose in their company. God knows, I’ve buried enough of them.’

‘The dog will kill anyone who lays a finger on her.’