across the river.’
Raul gripped his arm as he stormed away. ‘About time, Captain.’
Caitlin’s voice. Vallon stopped in his tracks.
Figures scrambled up around the fire and a furious argument erupted, Helgi shouting and Caitlin giving back as good as she got.
Raul tugged at Vallon. ‘Leave them to it.’
‘Wait.’
‘Captain, don’t go back on your word. We ain’t ever going to be trusting that lot.’
A crescendo from Caitlin, followed by the sound of someone storming off. Silence, and then Drogo’s outline advancing against the flames.
‘Vallon, are you still there?’
Raul gripped tighter. ‘No, you ain’t.’
‘Three good fighting men and I won’t settle for less.’
‘You’ve got them.’
‘Raul will choose them. Don’t fob me off with cowards.’
‘Very well.’
Vallon gave a sigh. ‘Garrick?’
‘Here, sir.’
‘I want you to row the ship across the river without alerting the Viking spies. You’ll be carrying the non- combatants.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Vallon felt around in the dark. ‘Hero, it was brave of you to offer your services, but there’s no need for you and Richard to go with Raul.’
‘Yes, there is. We talked about it and agreed that we didn’t want to stay with the women. Besides, we know how to fire the incendiary.’
XXXI
The fires were faint red smudges in the blackness when Vallon accompanied the women and old folk down to the riverbank. Even standing at the water’s edge, he couldn’t see
‘Garrick?’
‘Here, sir.’
In darkness Vallon helped the evacuees climb aboard. His hand closed around a woman’s arm, soft and resilient.
‘Let go,’ Caitlin said in a strangled whisper. ‘I don’t need your help.’
Vallon held on. ‘But I’m grateful for yours.’
She must have turned. Her breath feathered his face and he smelled her perfumed sweat. Her hand cupped his neck, drew him closer.
‘Vallon, bring Helgi back safe.’
She was gone from his grasp, only scent and sensation remaining. Garrick’s murmur restored him to the moment.
‘Everyone aboard, sir.’
Vallon stepped back. ‘What’s the state of the tide?’
‘Still rising.’
‘Make haste then.’
‘How will we know if it’s safe to return?’
‘You’ll know.’
Vallon listened for splashes that would betray their departure. He heard only a few muffled strokes soon lost in the random river noises.
‘I don’t like letting
‘One threat at a time.’
Vallon returned to the camp and lit a torch and made a pretence of inspecting the defences. The rain was still falling when he went to take up a waiting position by one of the fires. Drogo and Helgi had crept away to muster the Icelanders and saddle the horses. Vallon stared into the embers, the pulsing coals shaping patterns that might have been a prefiguration of his destiny if he’d had the means to interpret them.
‘Raul and his raiders are waiting by the river,’ Wayland murmured.
Vallon riddled his eyes. ‘I’m ashamed. You catch me napping while I run you ragged.’ He shook his head and snorted. He couldn’t see a thing. It was so dark that he almost lost his balance when he stood. ‘Take my arm.’
Wayland led him to the bank. Only the muscular swirling of the current told Vallon that he was at the river.
‘Everyone assembled?’
‘Aye,’ Raul answered. ‘And everything loaded.’
‘How will you fire the compound?’
‘Each of us carries a shaded lamp and a firebrand.’
‘The tide’s in rhythm with our plans. You won’t need to use your oars to approach the camp.’
‘Fat lot of good if we can’t see it.’
‘Come here,’ Vallon said.
One by one he embraced them and wished them good luck, the three Icelanders included. Then all six climbed into the invisible boat and pushed off into the invisible river.
Sightless as the blind, he returned to the camp. The fires were down to ash. He stoked them for the benefit of the watchers, then joined Drogo and the rest of the ambush party. In all they numbered fourteen — nine foot soldiers and five cavalrymen.
‘Ready?’
‘The night’s as black as a chimney.’
‘Not to Wayland. Let’s go.’
They used the same method that had served them for their flight from Olbec’s castle, each man holding on to a knotted rope with Wayland pathfinding. The dog went ahead to check that the route was clear and in the rear came the horses with their hooves muffled in sailcloth. It was a tetchy advance, the men tripping over branches and cursing the bogs and blood-sucking insects until Vallon grew so incensed with their racket that he felt his way down the line threatening to kill the next fool who railed against nature.
He and Drogo had decided on the ambush site with Wayland on their return from the Viking camp. It was on a broad ridge with a wind gap between the trees and it lay on the logical route between the rival positions. By day it offered a good view across to the next ridge and the river on their left. No river to be seen now, no trees, nothing. Vallon had only Wayland’s word that they’d reached the right spot.
‘See what the Vikings are up to. If they move, get back to us as soon as you can.’
The men dropped in their tracks and wrapped themselves against the rain and swarms of bloodsucking insects.
Drogo groped up to Vallon. ‘They won’t attack on a night as foul as this.’
‘Then we’ll have lost nothing more than a night’s sleep.’
Vallon knew that wasn’t true. He pictured the Vikings slumbering while his own force grew weary and demoralised. If the enemy didn’t come tonight, he’d be hard put to impose his authority tomorrow.
Impossible to measure time in the blackout. The mosquitoes burrowed into his hair and brows. His face began to come up in bumps and weals. Men complained at the torment.
