Knights of the Hawk

in all of England probably only to Lundene: a place where merchants from all corners of Christendom and beyond came to sell their wares, where slavers sometimes held their markets, where wealthy pilgrims sought passage to holy places in far-off lands, all of them accompanied by bands of men for protection, so that a group of armed travellers such as us was far from unusual.

We jostled our way along the quayside, past snorting oxen laden with packs and horses pulling carts, around groups of dockhands vying for the attention of captains, who wanted only the strongest lads to help them unload their cargo. I tried asking some of them where I might find a ship bound for Dyflin, but failed to get much of an answer from them, until one of the younger ones pointed a short way downriver to where a broad-beamed ship some twenty benches or so long had been drawn up above the tideline on the mudflats to the west of the city’s ramparts.

‘That’s Hrithdyr,’ he said. ‘Her master is a Dane, from Haltland or Orkaneya or somewhere like that. I don’t know his name but I’ve heard from some of the others who’ve worked her that this is his last voyage before winter, that he’ll be sailing back north before long. If you’re wanting passage across the sea to Yrland, he’s the one to ask.’

‘Are there any others?’

‘Not so far as I know, lord. One sailed that way two days ago, and there might be another in a week’s time.’

That was useful knowledge to have, for it gave me some idea of the position I’d be bargaining from. I thanked him and signalled to the others to follow me.

‘You won’t find him there,’ he called as we were about to walk away.

I stopped and turned. ‘Where, then?’

He gave a shrug, but I saw in his eyes that he knew. The lad wasn’t stupid. He’d realised that if we had money for passage across the sea, then we must have coin enough to spare a penny or two for his help.

I drew one from my purse and held it up. His eyes gleamed and he reached for it, but I closed my fist and snatched it away before he got so much as a fingertip to it.

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘Most of the ship captains stay in the town at a tavern called the Two Boars. That where he’s most likely to be at this hour.’

‘Show me to this tavern and the coin will be yours,’ I said. ‘Not before.’

He scowled but gave in, leading us through a series of narrow, rutted alleys until we stood beneath a sign on which had been crudely daubed a pair of tusked, four-legged animals that could, I supposed, if one squinted hard and for long enough, be taken for boars. I tossed him the coin I’d promised and he caught it deftly before scurrying away.

Inside, men sat at tables, drinking, playing at dice and at tæfl, a game not unlike chess, played on a squared board, of which I had been taught the rudiments but which I’d never been able to master. A woman with a brace of keys dangling from her belt, whom I took for the innkeeper’s wife, came to greet us, and I asked her where I might find the captain of Hrithdyr. She pointed towards one of the tæfl-players, a bearded, corpulent man in his middle years who was sitting close by the blazing hearth-fire, his brow glistening with sweat, his small eyes peering out from under heavy brows as he contemplated his next move. He and his opponent, a thin-faced greybeard, both glanced up as we approached.

‘What do you want?’ snarled the fat one in English. ‘Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a game?’

‘I’m looking for a ship to take us across the sea to Dyflin,’ I replied, unperturbed. ‘I hear that’s where you’re bound.’

‘Who wants to know?’

It was probably unwise to give him my real name, and so instead I gave him one I’d used before on occasion. ‘Goscelin,’ I said. ‘Goscelin of Saint-Omer, in Flanders.’

I extended a hand, but he did not take it. ‘I know where Saint-Omer is,’ he said curtly. ‘A few years ago I happened to meet a travelling monk who came from there. Talkative, he was, always babbling about some saint or another. He was called Goscelin, too, as it happens. He would have been around your size, though I don’t remember his face. You’re not him, are you?’

‘Do I look to you like a man of the cloister?’

He grunted, and I took that for an answer. ‘If you’re from Flanders, why are you wanting to go to Dyflin?’

‘My business is my own. I have silver enough to pay for the passage, and that’s all you need to know.’

The greybeard made to rise from his stool, saying, ‘If you’re going to spend the next hour-’

‘Sit down, Wulfric,’ said the Dane. ‘This won’t take long.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ the one called Wulfric grumbled. ‘You’ve won anyway.’ He took an enamelled ring from his finger and laid it down on the table. ‘There, as wagered. Perhaps next spring when you come, I’ll have the chance to win it back from you.’

‘Perhaps.’ The Dane grinned in a manner that put me in mind of a wolf while the old man shuffled off, then, when we were alone, he said to me: ‘What makes you think I want any passengers? Maybe I do well enough from my trade that I have no need for your money. Have you considered that?’

On my belt was a purse containing a clutch of gold coins that bore a strange curly script I couldn’t decipher, which had been part of Galfrid’s gift to us. I untied the knot, tossed it on to the table so he could hear the clink of metal within, and gestured for him to open it, which he did, loosening the drawstring and allowing the tiny discs to spill out into his palm. He examined them closely, holding them to the light and testing each one with his teeth.

‘Five of you?’ he asked, his eyes flicking to each of us in turn before settling on Eithne. A smirk came to his lips. ‘The girl as well?’

‘That’s right.’

He looked her up and down, and I saw hunger of a sort in his expression. ‘She’d fetch a fine price, I reckon. Does she belong to you?’

‘She’s not for sale, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘What is she then? Your wife?’

‘A fellow traveller.’

If the Dane was at all insulted by my terse manner, he didn’t show it. He shook his head. ‘I don’t have space aboard for that many. Three of you, easily, possibly four. But not five.’

Tæfl wasn’t the only game he knew how to play. I supposed I should have expected as much. I removed the smaller and thinner of the two arm-rings that I wore, and placed it in front of him.

‘Do you have space now?’

He fingered it, his sweaty brow furrowing while he contemplated whether or not to accept, and I stood watching, waiting, thinking that this was already a steep price to pay, and wondering how much more I could afford. Thankfully that was a decision I didn’t have to make.

‘We sail in two days, on the morning flood tide,’ he said.

‘Two days?’ I repeated. The sooner we could leave these shores, the better, and I’d been hoping to find a ship that could take us almost straightaway.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘In a hurry to leave, are you?’

I knew that to protest would be pointless, and might only further arouse his suspicions, of which I was sure he already had a few, and so instead I kept my mouth shut.

‘It makes no difference to me who you are or what it is you’re running from. But I’ll tell you this: we won’t wait for you. If you’re not there by the time we’re ready to cast off, you can swim to Yrland for all I care. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘You can keep your gold until we’re out on the water,’ he said. ‘So that you don’t have to worry about me sailing away with it. I’ve been called many things in my life, but a thief isn’t one of them. I have a reputation to maintain, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’

I knew only too well the value of reputation, marred though mine was in those days. He passed the gold and the arm-ring back to me, we clasped hands, and it was agreed. We were going to Dyflin.