None of you. Your Viking forefathers must be kicking in the cold earth. All right. Dream your dreams of mangels. Count your haystacks. Spend the rest of your days staring up an ox’s arse while you squelch through the mud with your toes sticking out of your shoes and the clothes raggedy on your back and your kids perishing at home from hunger.’
‘I’ll come.’
Raul swung round. ‘Show yourself.’
Out of the congregation limped a tall and bony labourer with knees and elbows staring from threadbare homespun, big hands dangling from knobbly wrists.
Raul eyed him dubiously. ‘Who might you be?’
‘Garrick, a widower and poor freeman. Death has separated me from my kin and I’ll soon join them if I stay here, for my fields are too few to furnish a living.’
Raul stalked around the peasant, sizing him up. ‘You’re lame. Was that done on the battlefield?’
Someone laughed. ‘He fell out of a tree when he was a boy. Bad luck and trouble have followed Garrick all his days.’
Raul shoved him aside. ‘Sorry, we want able-bodied men.’
‘Let me see him,’ Wayland called.
‘Vallon won’t thank us for signing up a scarecrow.’
‘Bring him here.’
Raul marched Garrick to the door. Hunger and toil were stamped on every feature, but a wry light gleamed in his hollow grey eyes. Something in Wayland warmed to him.
‘Are you ill?’
‘If hunger’s a sickness, then I’m mortally ill.’
Wayland smiled. ‘Show me your hands.’
Garrick spread blackened and calloused mitts as big as shovels.
‘The journey will be hard.’
‘Staying here will be harder. I ate the last of my harvest before Lent.’
‘He’ll do,’ said Wayland. ‘Find one more and then we’ll be off.’
Raul glared into the body of the church. ‘The angel Gabriel couldn’t sweet talk that lot through the pearly gates. I’ll just take whoever I fancy.’
‘I don’t want to separate men from their families,’ Wayland said.
‘You heard Vallon. Grab them, he said. We can’t dicker about waiting for these clodhoppers to make up their minds.’
The boys in the churchyard yelled and began jumping up and down, pointing at a rider and two men on foot hastening across the fields.
Wayland took a few steps down the path. ‘Who are they?’ he asked Garrick.
‘Daegmund the bailiff and his bullies, Aiken and Brant. The bane of our lives and the goad of our days.’
Wayland shaded his eyes. The bailiff was lashing his mule roughshod over the peasants’ crops. He jounced in the saddle, his pudding bowl haircut flopping up and down. Two footsoldiers in shabby leather armour trotted behind him.
‘We’d better not wait on their coming,’ Garrick said.
Wayland took up his bow and reached for an arrow. ‘Will they fight?’
‘Not Daegmund. The boldest thing about him is his collar, for it grips the throat of a thief daily. He uses his bullies for the rough stuff.’
‘Local men?’
‘No. Daegmund doesn’t trust men of the manor. He has too many sly dealings to hide. He hired those ruffians in Grimsby.’
The worshippers had left the church to spectate. The bailiff hauled up his mule beyond the graveyard. Pudgy and glandular, he cut an unvalorous figure for all that he wielded a sword and staff. His guards came panting up and stationed themselves on each side, scraping clods off their shoes and trying to disguise how winded they were. They carried old and abused single-edged Saxon swords. Their quilted leather gambesons leaked stuffing. Daegmund passed a hand across his eyes.
‘What’s this I spy? What’s this? Trespassers on my lord’s manor. Armed nuisances. Disturbers of the King’s peace. State your business.’
Raul spat carefully. ‘We’re recruiting men for a trading expedition.’
The bailiff’s eyes bulged. ‘These serfs are my lord’s possessions. Every man and his chattels exist at his will and disposition.’
‘He won’t miss a brace.’
The bailiff brandished his staff. ‘Arrest those rogues. Bind them. Each man who assists will have their week-work remitted for a month.’
Raul pushed out his cheek with his tongue. ‘Generous soul, ain’t he?’
The bailiff pointed a quivering finger. ‘I’ve raised the hue. Soldiers are on their way. You’ll hang.’
‘If they catch us, they’ll do a lot worse than hang us.’
One of the guards felt for the bailiff’s knee. Daegmund leaned down with a hand cocked over his ear and what he heard made him straighten with a start, his face as red as a cockscomb.
‘Those men are felons and murderers. They’re members of a gang that broke out of Norwich after slaughtering their guards. That’s the measure of their wickedness.’
‘That’s right,’ Raul shouted, silencing the buzz. ‘I stopped counting how many Normans we killed after the first twenty.’
The bailiff’s eyes shimmied. ‘There’s ten shillings on each of their heads.’
Raul advanced a step. ‘You’re a lying sack of shit. The price was more than a pound a fortnight ago, and that was before we sank a Norman ship. We must be worth at least double now.’
‘A share of the reward to every man who helps turn them in.’ Daegmund kicked out at one of his bodyguards. ‘Lead the way. Seize them.’
As Brant and Aiken advanced into the graveyard, Raul levelled his crossbow at the bailiff. ‘Keep them coming. You’ll be the first to die.’
Daegmund waved his men back as if he were trying to put out flames. Wayland studied his minders. Both of middling height, red-cheeked, built like small dray horses.
‘What about taking those two?’
Raul sniffed. ‘Could do worse, I suppose.’
Wayland checked the mood of the congregation. It wasn’t wise to underestimate peasants. He began to walk forward.
‘Help!’ yelped the bailiff, yanking his mule around.
One of the guards waggled his sword. Wayland stopped.
‘Which one of you is Brant?’
‘Don’t ye tell him,’ said the one on the right.
Wayland smiled at the one on the left. ‘You’re Brant.’
Brant gave a sly nod. He looked a bit simple.
‘We’re bound for the north on a merchant venture. Hiring crew who’ll work hard for a good wage. You and your partner look like likely lads.’
‘What’s he saying?’ cried the bailiff from a safe distance.
‘How much does that tub of guts pay you?’
‘Don’t answer,’ Aiken said. ‘You’ll only get us into trouble.’
‘You’re already in trouble.’
‘Four shillings each quarter day,’ said Brant. ‘And we’re still waiting for last quarter’s wages.’
‘Take service with us and we’ll pay you double and all found, plus a share of the profits. Show them, Raul.’
At sight of the silver, Brant slid his tongue along his teeth and looked sidelong at his partner.
‘Words are cheap,’ Aiken told him. ‘Once they’ve got you on their ship, fancy promises don’t mean shit. They’ll work you like a mule and kick you like a cur.’
