Hawk Quest

but he’ll see her maidenhead lost a dozen times.’ Raul paused. ‘Accept a tow or go to hell.’

A moan went up and a mob surrounded Helgi. Voices rose and a scuffle broke out. Drogo emerged from the scrum and spread his arms. ‘We accept.’

Raul threw a line to the ship’s master. He lashed it around the stem and it thrummed as Shearwater took the strain. The longship was little more than a mile off, bearing down under its torn sail.

Raul shook his head. ‘It ain’t working. We’re towing a dead weight.’

‘We’ll pick up speed,’ Vallon said.

‘Not enough. Captain, this time you got to listen. We ain’t going to outsail them. You got to act quick.’

Vallon looked at the longship. Even with only half a sail, it was catching up. The knarr was shipping water faster than the crew could bail it out.

‘You left it too late,’ Vallon shouted. ‘You’ll have to abandon ship.’

Helgi waved his fists. ‘Never!’

‘Stay and fight with us,’ Drogo cried.

‘You had your chance. If you remain on your ship, you’ll face the Vikings alone.’

A hush descended. Vallon nodded at Raul. ‘Cut the tow.’

Raul lifted his sword. ‘I ain’t pretending, Captain.’

‘Cut it.’

Drogo waved his hands above his head. ‘Let me speak to Helgi.’

‘Make it quick.’

Drogo sprinted over to Helgi and swung him round to witness the threat sweeping up on them. Others joined him. He ran back to the bow. ‘I’ve brought him round.’

‘Send a boat-load of your strongest men and we’ll haul you alongside.’ Vallon turned to Raul. ‘Tell the Icelanders to bring only life’s essentials — food, clothing, bedding, weapons. No trade goods. Tell them not to leave the spare sail for the Vikings.’

Six Icelanders rowed up to Shearwater. With their aid the company dragged the knarr along Shearwater’s port beam. Before the ships had closed, baggage began to shower onto the deck. A young Icelander took a flying leap to safety. Raul slapped him in the chops. ‘Weakest first, you selfish little shit.’

The knarr grated alongside. Its crew passed ropes through the oar ports to make it fast and the passengers began scrambling aboard. The Vikings still hadn’t taken to their oars. They were saving their strength for a last spurt.

‘Hey! Are you deaf?’ Raul shouted at a man staggering onto the gunwale under two bales of woolcloth. ‘No trade goods.’

‘Let him be,’ Vallon said. ‘We’re nearly done.’

Only Helgi and his entourage remained on the knarr. Drogo sprang on board, followed by Fulk. They skirted Vallon and his company like rival dogs. Caitlin balanced on the rail, her face begrimed and her hair a mess. Her eyes, wide with appeal, engaged Vallon’s.

‘For God’s sake, what are you waiting for?’

Drogo assisted her to the deck. Her two handmaids followed, and then Helgi and two of the men who’d been with him at the lake came forward leading the three horses.

‘What do you think you’re doing with them?’ Raul bellowed.

‘We might need them,’ said Vallon. ‘For food if nothing else. God knows what’s waiting for us on that shore.’

Helgi’s men propped planks against the gunwale. Two of the horses were well-schooled and nimble. They negotiated the ramp and jumped down without putting a foot wrong. Helgi’s mount balked. He whacked its rump and tried to push it onto the ramp. As he did so, the oars on the longship flashed.

‘Leave your horse,’ Vallon shouted. ‘Get on board.’

Helgi grabbed the horse’s bit and stood on the ramp and began hauling it up behind him. The longship was three hundred yards away and flying through the water. ‘Cut us loose,’ Vallon ordered. Raul and Wayland ran down the ship, slashing through the ropes. All except for the one by Vallon. He hesitated. Helgi had managed to drag the horse to the top of the ramp and his men were holding him while he urged the beast to take the last step.

Raul darted past Vallon and wielded his knife. ‘I ain’t dying for no horse.’

Helgi hung on to the horse and his men hung on to him. The horse tripped forward too late. The ships were drifting apart and the horse bellyflopped into the gap. Helgi would have followed if his men hadn’t got such a tight hold of him. They dragged him onto the deck. He shook himself loose and reeled backwards in a half circle, reaching for his sword.

Raul ran at him and aimed his crossbow from a range of three feet. ‘Draw and you’re dead!’

Drogo flung himself at Helgi and dragged him away kicking and struggling.

Raul and Vallon ran to the stern. The doomed horse struggled in their wake, its head thrown back and its eyes rolling. Raul’s crossbow twanged. The longship was only three or four ship’s lengths behind them, coursing through the water. Raul cursed as he reloaded. The shields slung over the Vikings’ backs made them difficult targets. Their chieftain held his position at the prow. Golden hair streamed from under his helmet. At a distance he’d looked like a god. This close, only his stature was god-like. The giant had a face like a horse — massive jutting jaw filled with splayed and discoloured teeth.

Shearwater had reached her maximum speed. Not fast enough. The longship was only sixty yards behind, her stem throwing up wings of foam. Raul had reloaded and Wayland was drawing his bow. The chieftain crouched, only his helmeted head showing above his shield. ‘Aim for the helmsman,’ Vallon ordered.

Wayland shot first and missed. Raul loosed his bolt and the helmsman sagged over the tiller. The longship veered to port and some of the rowers crabbed oars. One of the Vikings pulled the helmsman away from the rudder and strained to bring the longship back on course. Even now it looked as if the longship would catch them. They were towing the boat from Helgi’s knarr and one of the Vikings in the bow swung a grappling hook to snag it. ‘Cut it loose,’ Vallon shouted.

Before Garrick could reach it, Wayland shot two more arrows, releasing the second while the first was still in flight. It flew in a hissing parabola and struck the new helmsman in the face. He reared up screaming, the shaft sticking from his eye like a ghastly wand. In almost the same moment, Raul’s next bolt pierced one of the rowers through the chest and left him vomiting blood. Vallon roared defiance, his cries echoed by Drogo and Fulk and half a dozen sword-wielding Icelanders.

The Viking chief glanced back at the carnage. His men were committed to their oars, unable to defend themselves. He hadn’t expected such lethal opposition. He shouted and his crew let their oars trail. The wave curling at the longship’s bow died. Like a carnivorous water beetle that hunts in short dashes and never wastes energy, the longship slowed to an idle.

Jubilant cries rang out from the Icelanders. They thumped Wayland and Raul on the back. Vallon watched the longship fall astern, turn and row back towards the abandoned knarr. They’d left it too late. It was sinking. Before they reached it the gunwales sank beneath the waves and gouts of air erupted from its hull. It was gone.

Vallon turned to find every square foot of Shearwater’s deck crammed with refugees. Their grins thinned when they saw his expression.

‘We haven’t seen the last of the Vikings,’ he told Raul. ‘Separate the fighting men from the passengers. Everyone who can lift a sword to port, the rest to starboard.’

Helgi tried to interfere with the muster. Vallon ignored him. When the two groups had been separated, he took stock. Twelve men, most armed with swords, represented the Icelandic fighting force. The non-combatants numbered five — the old woman and her husband, and two younger women, one of them carrying a baby in arms. Helgi’s party with Drogo and Fulk stood separate from both groups.

Vallon approached them in a tense silence. ‘Don’t you know which side you’re on?’

‘I won’t take orders from you,’ Helgi said. ‘Nor will the Icelanders. They’re my people. They’ll do as I command.’

‘In that case, choose a patch of shore where you and your followers would like to settle and I’ll drop you on