Hawk Quest

stilled as Shearwater entered harbour. The sail came down.

Richard jumped off the ground. ‘There’s Raul. How savage he looks.’

Hero waved. ‘And Wayland. And Syth. She looks different. Oh, and the dog. They’re all safe. Oh, thank God!’

Wayland lifted his hand in what looked like a salute. On it sat a large white bird.

Hero clutched Vallon. ‘He’s got the falcons.’

Syth hung smiling from Wayland’s other arm.

Garrick chuckled. ‘Manned the maid, too, by the look of it.’

Hero and Richard locked wrists and cavorted like lunatics. The Icelanders looked on with smiles, most happy, some poignant. Many of them had stood on this spot waiting for the return of loved ones, and some of them had returned to their homes alone.

Silence fell as Shearwater glided towards her mooring. Raul stood at the stem and hurled a line to Garrick. He leaped ashore and balanced for a moment as though to see which way the ground would move next. He looked very rough, his eyes blinking between raw lids.

‘Ain’t any of you going to greet us? You’d think we were ghosts.’

Vallon stepped forward. ‘I’m not sure you are of this world. I’d given you up for dead. What the hell kept you?’

‘Ha! There’s a tale. But until there’s time to tell it, all you need to know is that a gale blew us back to Greenland. Twice.’

‘How’s the ship? Is she sound?’

‘Needs some attention. Nothing serious. Same goes for her crew.’

‘We’ll pamper you.’

The dog bounded off and rolled on the earth. Wayland handed Syth down and stepped after her. They looked altered. Hero felt almost shy in their presence.

Vallon hugged them. ‘So there really are white falcons as big as eagles. How many did you capture?’

‘I brought eight. I could have taken more.’

‘That ain’t all we’re carrying,’ said Raul. ‘We got seal and walrus skins. Ivory and whale gristle. And something you ain’t ever seen in your life.’

Last off the ship came the two monks, still shocked by their ordeal. ‘Only our prayers brought us back safe,’ Saxo confided. ‘We haven’t ceased praying since we left Greenland.’

‘We’re grateful to you,’ Vallon said. ‘You must conduct a service of thanksgiving. After that … ’ He swung round to face the Icelanders. ‘A feast to celebrate the return of the wanderers. Everybody’s welcome. Garrick, spread the word.’

Hero grinned at the crowd and then his grin froze. Bunched behind the gathering, Drogo and Helgi sat their horses with stone-cold expressions.

Hero felt for Vallon’s arm. ‘Is that wise? From what I’ve heard, in Iceland more people are killed at parties than die in war.’

Vallon smiled thinly at his enemies. ‘You’d better invite the bishop.’

Raul fell into his pit and snored for as long as it took the sun to circle the earth. Wayland woke every few hours to feed the young falcons. Hero watched him at his task. He kept all except the white adult cooped in darkened wicker cages. The haggard perched bareheaded on a block by his bed and showed little fear of man or beast. On one occasion when the dog strayed too close, she raked its flanks with her talons and sent it scooting off like a scalded pup.

Vallon and Garrick had stayed at the harbour to guard Shearwater. They hired a gang of shipwrights to patch her for the next voyage. High pressure had moved in, bringing limpid blue skies. Now it was the lack of wind that delayed the convoy’s departure.

The company held their homecoming feast in a field by the harbour. Hero and Richard had to keep revising the scale of the commissariat as it became clear that everyone who lived within two days’ ride intended to join the festivities. The bishop accepted an invitation and sent a request that the company take the two German monks back with them to Norway. The first guests turned up in the afternoon and they were still dribbling in after sunset. Many of them had brought tents and a touching number pressed contributions on their hosts. Some brought their own wood for the cooking fire.

A dozen sheep were butchered and relays of volunteers turned the mutton over a driftwood hearth the length of a room. Another great pile of wood had been built solely to provide light and cheer. In the purpling dusk the bishop called for silence and delivered a short homily, followed by prayers for the travellers who would soon be braving the ocean’s wrath. His words rang out over the bowed heads of the congregation. When he’d made the sign of the cross and sat down, Raul lit a brand from the hearth and set the torch to the bonfire. A cheer went up and the feast commenced.

Platters of mutton were borne to the bishop and the other honoured guests. The orderly ferrying of meat gave way to a free-for-all, men hacking off portions ad-lib. People Hero had never seen before pressed drinks on him. Signs of drunkenness became apparent. Somewhere on the fringes of the feast a fight broke out. Hero looked anxiously at the bishop, but his lordship turned a blind eye and ordered a second helping.

Chains of sparks flew up from the bonfire. Hero looked up to where the sparks expired and contentment welled up in him. He looked around, wanting to share his happiness.

Syth was passing around a narwhal tusk. ‘It’s proof against poisons and epilepsy and pestilence and, oh, every ill known to man.’

Wayland told a riddle of his own making.

I flew the skies, I sailed the sea,

I kept my master warm and dry.

One day he left me, went north by moonlight.

A fellow picked me up, took a knife to me and stripped me almost naked.

He plunged me into a black well.

Only when he took me out still weeping could I tell my story.

‘I hope it’s not obscene,’ the bishop said.

Wayland smiled and shook his head.

Richard stared upwards in a seizure of concentration. ‘I know the answer. Don’t say anything.’ He clapped his hands. ‘A goose quill!’

Hero watched Raul dancing with a buxom widow, romping around her with the clumsy formality of a trained bear. Behind them a group of horsemen wafted out of the dark. Six riders with faces bloodied by the flames advanced stirrup to stirrup and halted on the far side of the fire.

Vallon had already risen. ‘They won’t make strife in the bishop’s presence.’

Vallon had told Hero how enfeebled Drogo was, but he’d cropped his hair and filled out and looked much as Hero remembered him. Beside him was a handsome young man who could only be Helgi. Vallon had brushed aside Hero’s questions about the cause of the dispute, but Garrick had told him it must have involved Helgi’s sister. Many of the other guests had noticed the arrival of the riders and were drawing in to see what it meant.

‘The invitation stipulated no weapons,’ said Vallon. ‘I won’t ask you to join us.’

The men remained in their saddles. ‘We’re sailing first thing tomorrow,’ Drogo said. ‘We’ll be picking up my men before going on to Norway.’

‘Looks like you’ve had a wasted journey.’

‘There’s a long way to go before it ends. I’ll have you by the heels yet.’

Their stares bored into each other, then Drogo wrenched his horse around and the party retreated into the darkness. Vallon clapped his hands. ‘On with the celebrations.’

Day was beginning to crack open when the convoy cast off and rowed out of harbour, the ships’ wakes scribing the calm surface. A mile from shore the convoy caught a breeze and slowly bore south.

Vallon breathed out. ‘That’s the last we’ll see of them.’