Hawk Quest

‘Shoot when you’re sure of your targets.’

With movements that were ritualistic in their deliberation, the huge warrior at the stem donned a conical helmet fitted with a visor that ringed his eyes and transformed him into a figure of menacing power. He hefted an iron-bossed shield painted in the same colours displayed by the rest of his company. Only two other Vikings wore mail armour.

Water hissed around the longship’s bow. Its dragon stem grew taller.

‘They’ll engage to starboard,’ Vallon said.

Wayland lowered his bow. ‘Out to sea. Something’s happening.’

At first Vallon couldn’t make sense of it. The horizon seemed to be fraying, lifting in a deckled edge. He’d seen the sea boiling where schools of whales were feeding and for a moment he thought that a herd of leviathans had driven a shoal of fish to the surface.

‘Great God!’

It was a wave — a broken wall of water churning down on the longship. One of the Vikings shouted a warning, but they had no time to react. The wave hit the longship in a welter of spray and advanced tumbling on Shearwater.

‘Hang on!’ Vallon yelled, grabbing the stempost.

Wave and wind struck Shearwater, knocking her astern and wrenching her round with a force that tore Vallon from his hold. He trotted backwards, the deck dropping away beneath his feet, and then he trod air before toppling over and whacking his head. He rolled helplessly, smacked into something solid and lay winded and dazed. When he tried to regain his feet, he couldn’t. He was lying almost upside down against the gunwale, the sea foaming at the same level as his head and the deck rising almost vertically above him. The squall had knocked them onto their beam ends. They were on the point of capsizing. He made another attempt to rise, struggling like a man trying to extricate himself from a tub. He managed to get his feet onto the gunwale and balanced with his hands leaning against the deck. The wind shrieked overhead. He grabbed a flailing shroud and looked around. Wayland and Syth had wrapped themselves around a thwart. Hero and Richard were clinging to the yard. Another cluster by the rudder.

The wind stopped as quickly as it had blown up. The churning sea quietened. With a slow sigh and a heavy splash, Shearwater swung back and settled at a steep list. Cargo and ballast had shifted. Vallon felt the lump on the back of his skull. He shook his head and looked for the longship.

It wallowed off to port, barely a foot of freeboard showing. Its mast leaned perilously and its sail hung loose from the yard, rent from top to bottom. Several crew members had been washed into the sea and a boat was being launched to rescue them.

Vallon hurried aft. A horse screamed in the hold.

‘Is everyone safe?’

‘We lost Father Saxo,’ Raul panted. ‘Never even saw him go.’

Father Hilbert was running from side to side, calling out to his companion.

Vallon searched the sea. The squall was heading towards Helgi’s ship.

Raul aimed his crossbow at the longship. ‘Like shooting fish in a barrel.’

Vallon slapped his arm. ‘Never mind that. Fix the ship. You and Wayland, repair the rigging. Garrick, do something about the horses. The rest of you, get us back on an even keel.’ He checked on the longship. Most of the hands were bailing with buckets and anything else that would hold water. ‘I don’t see the other knarr.’

Raul scanned the sea. ‘It must have sunk.’

Both crews laboured to make their vessels seaworthy, the men glancing up from their work to check on their enemies’ progress. Garrick reported that one of the horses had broken a leg and Vallon ordered him to kill it. The sea had taken Father Saxo. Judging by the mournful shouts coming from the search party in the longship’s circling boat, the Vikings had also lost some of their number. Shearwater had suffered only minor damage. By the time her company had trimmed the ship and replaced the broken shrouds, the Vikings were still emptying out the hull and trying to raise the mast.

Clean air from the north filled Shearwater’s sail. The Viking chieftain looked up from his work. Raul patted his crossbow and looked at Vallon. ‘I won’t get a better chance.’

‘Make your aim true.’

The bolt shot through the air so fast that Vallon couldn’t follow it, but the Viking leader must have seen it coming because when the blade thumped home, it was buried in his shield. He jabbed his axe into the air. Vallon turned away. The squall had dispersed back into its elements. He studied the coast.

‘What’s happened to Helgi’s ship?’

‘It’s lost its mast,’ said Wayland.

Raul spat. ‘Now let’s see how proud he is.’

Helgi’s knarr lay low in the water, its rudder half-torn off, its mast shattered close to the deck and everything above gone by the board. A human chain was bailing out the hold and the rest of the able-bodied were cutting away the wrecked mast and waterlogged sail. Helgi stalked about exhorting everyone to greater efforts. Vallon saw Caitlin working as hard as anyone. Drogo straddled the broken mast, slashing away at the lines that fixed the yard.

Vallon hailed him. ‘How badly are you damaged below?’

Drogo glanced at Helgi. ‘Some of the planks have sprung. We’ve tried to plug the leak but we’re still taking on water. As soon as we’ve cut away the mast, we’ll row in.’

Vallon gauged the distance to land. About two miles. He checked on the longship. ‘You don’t have time. We’ll tow you in.’

Drogo relayed the offer to Helgi. The Icelander gesticulated a furious negative. ‘We’ll manage without your help,’ Drogo shouted.

‘Let the fool sink,’ said Raul.

In the stern of the knarr stood a group of the old and the young, including the elderly couple who’d already lost one ship. A young mother was trying to soothe her crying baby. Three horses occupied the rest of the deck.

Vallon glanced back at the longship. ‘The Vikings took less punishment than you. They have more than twenty oars to your eight. They’ll catch you before you get halfway to land.’

Drogo searched for Helgi, then looked back at Vallon. ‘It’s not my decision.’

‘Are you going to let that fool dictate your fate?’

‘He’s in command.’

‘In that case, they can take what’s coming to them,’ said Raul.

‘No. Keep us hove to. They’ll come to their senses.’ He saw the expression on Raul’s face and cut him off with a gesture before he could give voice to it.

Vallon paced the deck, flicking looks between the longship and the knarr. The sun was halfway down the sky when Wayland confirmed that the Vikings were on the move again.

‘That’s it,’ Vallon said. ‘Bring us alongside.’

Shearwater closed to within twenty feet. One brave Icelander had crawled out to the end of the half-submerged yard to cut the remaining rope-bands from the sail.

‘This is your last chance,’ Vallon cried. ‘Accept a tow or we’re leaving you.’

His words were foreign to the Icelanders, but his meaning was plain and they left off their labours and looked at each other with dismay. Helgi yelled at them to get back to work.

‘You tell them,’ Vallon ordered Raul.

‘Captain, there are five men on that ship who want to see you dead.’

Vallon grabbed a fold of the German’s tunic. ‘I don’t want to save Drogo and Helgi any more than you do. But there are two dozen innocent souls who’ll be taken by the Vikings unless you can make that imbecile see sense.’

Raul went to the side and pointed at the longship. ‘See that. That’s death coming. Death for anyone too old or feeble to fetch a price in the slave market. For the rest of you, it’s the end of everything you cherish. Wives snatched away, children lost. Sold to the highest bidder. Lord high and mighty there will never see his sister wed,