Hawk Quest

‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘Come on.’

She led him to the fire and pointed at the rock eggs. ‘You have to carry them into there,’ she said, indicating the wicker tent. ‘Be careful. They’re very hot.’

Being a man, he had to test for himself by placing his fingers on a stone. He snatched them away and blew on them. Syth rolled her eyes.

He wrapped his hands in a fleece and trotted the scorching stones into the shelter. Syth had constructed the frame around two flat boulders and she told him to pile the stones between them. To one side stood a pitcher of water.

When the rocks were in place, she pushed him out and pulled a blanket across the entrance. ‘We mustn’t let them grow cold.’

The dog looked on, cocking its head first to one side, then the other. Wayland returned its puzzled look and shrugged. ‘Search me.’

Syth poked a hand out and dropped a tunic. Wayland darted a glance behind him. Out from the tent came a succession of garments, some of them discarded for the first time in weeks. Wayland ran a knuckle along his lips.

Syth stuck her flushed face out and blinked. ‘Now you.’

‘Now me what?’

Syth darted back inside. ‘Take your clothes off.’

The dog seemed to grin at him. He stripped off his outermost tunic. ‘All of them?’

‘The lot.’

He dragged off his stinking clothes and stood with his hands crossed over his groin.

‘What now?’

‘Are you bare?’

Wayland looked around. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you can come in.’

He parted the drape and shuffled inside. The heat from the stones beat up at him. Syth sat naked on the boulder across the firestones.

‘You sit there,’ she said.

Wayland subsided on to the seat. He’d never seen a naked woman before — not completely naked. Unclothed, Syth’s body was fuller than he’d imagined. Lust jostled with puzzlement. Syth’s face was set in frowning concentration. He placed his hands across his lap.

She picked up the pitcher. ‘I learned it from the women in Iceland,’ she said. ‘I hope it works.’

She poured water over the stones. They spluttered and hissed and Wayland snorted as a cloud of steam scalded his sinuses. Hot mist filled the enclosure. Sweat broke out on his body. Grubby runnels worked their way down his skin.

Her hand reached out of the fog holding a bone scraper. ‘It’s a way of cleaning. You clean me and I’ll clean you. Like this.’

She ran the scraper down his arm and showed him the sludge that had collected on its edge. ‘You’re really dirty.’

He took the scraper from her and slid it across her shoulder. ‘So are you.’

‘I’ll do you first.’

Slowly and thoroughly she removed the ingrained dirt that had accumulated on him during the journey. ‘Stay still,’ she ordered as she worked below his waist. ‘You’ve got a nice body,’ she said. ‘Just right.’

He cleared his throat. ‘So have you. You were such a skinny thing.’

She laughed merrily. ‘Wayland, you certainly know how to make a woman swoon.’

He looked away, tongue-tied. ‘I haven’t … I mean, you’re the first …’

She stopped laughing. ‘I know.’ She sat back. ‘Finished.’ She handed him the scraper and poured more water over the stones. ‘Now me.’

She drifted into a smiling dream as he cleansed her. ‘Turn round,’ he said huskily.

His confidence grew and with it desire. He couldn’t keep it down. She felt it and reached for him. ‘Not yet. I’ve thought about this.’ She gave him an appreciative squeeze and giggled. ‘I know just the thing for that.’

She seized his hand and dragged him out of the tent. She ran laughing towards the pool. Wayland dug his heels in at the edge. She plunged in screaming, throwing up handfuls of icy water. Wayland thrashed in after her. The freezing water burned. He embraced her and they stood pressed together looking up through the falling spray.

‘That’s enough,’ Syth said through chattering teeth. ‘Back to the steam bath.’

The atmosphere inside the tent was soporific. Wayland and Syth studied each other without embarrassment. ‘This might be the last time for ages that we’ll see each other naked,’ Syth said. ‘I want to remember.’

Wayland reached for her. ‘Syth.’

‘Not yet. We have to jump into the water again.’

‘Do we?’

‘Yes.’

They plunged in and then they dried themselves and clothed themselves in clean garments. Only the sun’s afterglow remained. Watching Syth comb out her hair, Wayland felt bewitched.

Her eyes widened. ‘The fish!’

She’d caught a char weighing about three pounds. Wayland wrapped it in wild sorrel and buried it in the remains of the fire. They ate it sitting side by side, blankets over their shoulders, watching the slow pageant of icebergs. When the fish was gone, Syth produced a bowl containing perhaps twenty bilberries. ‘That’s all I could find. It’s still too early in the season. You have them.’

‘We’ll share them.’

After they’d eaten, a gentle silence held them. Wayland had never felt so peaceful. He began to talk and Syth drew out of him all the poison of the past. She talked, too, telling him how her family had died one by one until only she remained to face the world. They pondered the trials that awaited them and pledged to face them together. Their conversation drifted to lighter topics, but everything they said was heartfelt and could never be unspoken.

Midnight came. Wayland drew Syth down beside him and they lay in each other’s arms, each trying to guess the other’s thoughts. Simultaneously they turned their heads and kissed. During their tender clinch a skein of geese flew overhead with the air singing through their wings, but Wayland never heard them. In her prison the falcon raised each leg in turn and bit at her tethers.

Syth drew away and looked at Wayland with cloudy eyes. ‘What about the dog?’

He motioned with his head and the dog rose and shook itself and went away to the edge of the fjord. It lay down panting, briefly looked back at the camp and then raised its head to watch the returning sun.

XXVI

Midsummer passed and no report of Shearwater reached Iceland. Vallon kicked his heels and grew morose. Hero and Richard were glad when trade took them away from Ottarshall. Vallon was left with Garrick, who had the knack of knowing when to speak to the captain and when to keep out of his way. June gave way to July and Vallon’s depression deepened. So long as he’d kept moving he’d been able to stay one step ahead of his demons. Now they came crowding in on him. Each day he rose late and spent hours staring across the blasted landscape. He grew careless of his appearance.

Rumours filtered in of a Norwegian ship wrecked on the Westman Isles. It wasn’t until the second week of July that a ship arrived from Greenland carrying news of Shearwater’s safe passage and her departure for the northern hunting grounds. Vallon’s spirits rose. Barring accidents or bad weather, the company should be back and ready to sail south by the beginning of August. With only two more weeks to get through, he shook himself out of his sloth. He resumed his English lessons and began a regime of exercise. It had been weeks since he’d practised his swordsmanship and his muscles had grown slack.