Hawk Quest (21 page)
Hero put his finger to his lip, his mouth strained in concentration.
A vixen yipped.
‘That’s Wayland. He’s waiting below with a rope.’
Vallon frowned at the loophole.
‘Not that way,’ Hero said, and jabbed a thumb towards the roof.
Vallon smiled. He squatted. ‘On my shoulders.’
He straightened to full height and Hero wrapped his arms around one of the collar beams. Another boost from Vallon and he was lying across the beam. He swung his legs over and groped to his feet. Holding on to a rafter, he shuffled to his right and began wrenching out the spars threaded into the thatch.
Vallon jumped for the beam but couldn’t reach it. Raul had braced himself against the wall, trying to wrench out the ring anchoring his chain. Vallon lent his strength. There was a creaking and groaning and
the ring tore loose. Raul made a stirrup with his manacled hands and hoisted Vallon up to the beam. He and Hero ripped the battens out and tore at the thatch, straw cascading over their heads until Hero, spitting and blinking, saw the sky.
‘Keep going,’ Vallon told him.
They continued demolishing the thatch until they’d cleared a space between rafters and roof joists.
‘Move aside,’ Vallon said.
He bent and sprang, hooking his elbows over adjacent rafters. He dangled, grunting with effort, then hauled himself up through the gap. He lay on the thatch, one hand hooked around a rafter, the other stretched down.
‘Give me your hand.’
He grasped Hero’s wrist and dragged him up. Hero thrashed until he managed to locate a joist and braced his feet against it. Vallon manoeuvred alongside him and they sat looking out from the city. The sky was beginning to clear. Moonlight rimmed the top of a cloudbank. From somewhere on the ground came a snatch of voices and a gust of laughter.
Hero ripped open the seam of his tunic and pulled out the twine. He tied a lead plug to one end and paid out the cord. He was beginning to worry that he’d miscalculated the length when he felt it go slack. A moment later he felt three quick tugs.
‘Wayland’s got it.’
‘Give it to me.’
Vallon hauled in the line. A rope came snaking up over the roof. Vallon gathered it in coils. It went tight and there was a dragging clunk from below.
‘Careful,’ said Hero. ‘There’s an axe tied to it.’
Vallon drew it up as if it were a cargo of eggs. The rope went taut and wouldn’t move. Vallon slackened off, then pulled again. ‘It’s snagged under the eaves.’ He jiggled and teased, but couldn’t free the axe from the overhang. His face gleamed with sweat. ‘Hold this,’ he said, handing Hero the section of rope tied to the axe. Carrying the free end, he went back down the hole and lashed it around the crossbeam, leaving a length hanging to the floor.
Once more he heaved himself up on to the roof. He rested until he’d regained his wind, then walked backwards down the fixed rope.
When he reached the eaves, he leaned over at full stretch, feeling for the axe.
‘Give it some slack.’
Hero eased off.
‘Pull.’
Hero yanked and the axe came slithering up. Vallon hauled himself up the fixed rope, untied the axe and dropped it to Raul before climbing down himself. Everything was taking longer than Hero had expected.
‘Lie on your side and put your arms out,’ Vallon panted. He raised the axe and brought it down, severing the chain between Raul’s hands and feet. ‘Now your feet,’ he said, and brought the axe down again.
From his perch on the roof, Hero could see part way into the soldier’s quarters. One of the sergeant’s legs was in sight. He thought he saw it move. As he opened his mouth, Vallon shifted position, blocking his view.
‘Spread your hands,’ Vallon told Raul. ‘Don’t move.’
The axe descended and Raul sprang up. Vallon wiped his forehead with his arm.
‘Sir?’
Vallon looked up. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘The sergeant. I can’t see him.’
Vallon whirled and froze. Raul seemed to run in two directions at once, then scrambled for the dangling rope.
‘No time!’ Vallon shouted. ‘Break down the door.’
Raul attacked the bolt with blows that shivered the tower.
‘Hurry!’
The bolt splintered and Raul kicked the door open. He and Vallon charged through it shoulder to shoulder and grabbed their weapons.
‘What about me?’ Hero cried.
‘Climb down. Don’t wait for us. When you reach the ground, run.’
Hero heard their feet clattering on the steps, dying away. He peered in terror down the steep pitch of the roof. He knew he didn’t have the strength to climb down unaided. From the belly of the building came a muffled shout. There was a long interval of silence, then the sound of someone running from the tower, followed by a furious clanking, both noises fading away up the street. A shutter opened somewhere and a voice called out. Hero dithered, losing time, until he realised
that he had no choice but to take the stairs. He slid down to the beam, burning his hands, and dropped to the floor. The guard who’d fallen asleep playing chequers still lay slumped over the table. Hero tiptoed to the door and looked down into the soldiers’ sleeping quarters. The stairs were empty and two of the guards lay in drugged abandon on their pallets. Hero crept down step by step, one hand brushing the wall. When he reached the next floor, he listened as hard as he could, then went through the door. Halfway down the next flight the sergeant lay spread-eagled with his head cleft from crown to neck. At the bottom another soldier slumped half decapitated against the door-jamb. Blood everywhere – sprayed up the walls, pooled on the floor. Hero’s feet slipped in it. Behind the door sat another soldier, holding his stomach. He was still alive. When he saw Hero, his lips moved.
‘Help me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Hero whimpered. ‘I’m sorry.’
The guardhouse was empty, the brazier still burning, the dice lying as they had fallen. One of the soldiers sprawled face down outside the entrance. Hero found Vallon struggling to lift the beam barring the gates. He swung round, his face freckled with blood. ‘Take the other end.’
‘Where’s Raul?’
‘One of the soldiers got away. Raul went after him.’
Between them they lifted the beam. Vallon barged the doors open. There was a jangling up the street and he spun and raised his sword. Raul staggered towards them clutching his side, still wearing manacles and dragging the severed chain. ‘Lost him,’ he gasped.
Shouts carried from the city centre.
‘Let’s go,’ Vallon said, then checked. ‘Did you bring the mules?’
‘They’re with Wayland.’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘Not enough. We won’t get clear on foot.’ Vallon made for the stable at a dead run. ‘Raul, give me a hand. Hero, watch the street.’
Hero was dimly aware of shutters opening and householders crying out in alarm. He kept seeing the pleading stare of the dying soldier on the stair. Someone touched his arm. Wayland had materialised out of the dark. He gestured with his chin at the guard lying near the entrance.
‘There are more inside. It’s a charnel house.’ Hero’s stomach heaved.
Vallon and Raul ran two saddled horses out of the stable. Lights were beginning to spark on the castle ramparts. A bugle blew.
‘They’re coming,’ Vallon said. He helped Hero on to one of the mules, then mounted his horse. ‘Ride like the devil.’
They galloped clear of the town, Vallon dragging Hero’s mule by its reins. They reached a river and forded it, the water cold to their knees. On the other side Vallon pulled up. The city cast a shadow in the night, three columns of lights crawling out from its base.
‘It isn’t just Drogo now,’ said Vallon. ‘The Normans won’t leave a rock unturned until they’ve caught us. They’ll be watching all the ports. We’ll have to turn west, lie up in a forest.’
‘We found the ship.’
‘You found it! Where?’
‘Wayland will tell you.’
‘It’s damaged,’ the falconer muttered.
Vallon’s jaw dropped. ‘He spoke. Am I dreaming? Is this a night of miracles?’ He grasped Wayland’s arm. ‘Damaged, you say. How badly? How long to make it seaworthy?’
‘I don’t know. Days, Snorri said.’
‘We don’t have days,’ Raul said. ‘Drogo will find out about the ship from the moneylender.’
Vallon thought about it. ‘Aaron won’t admit to knowing about the ship, and even Drogo will think twice about harming one of the King’s money-spinners.’ He turned back to Wayland. ‘Where’s the ship berthed?’
‘It’s not in a harbour. It’s hidden in the marshes.’
One of the torchlit columns was bobbing in their direction. ‘Better get moving,’ Raul said.
‘Ride on,’ Vallon said. He heeled his horse alongside Hero. The moon emerged from the clouds, lighting one side of his blood-spattered face. He spread his arms in an embrace, but Hero beat them away.
‘We had to kill the soldiers,’ Vallon told him. ‘If we hadn’t, all three of us would be dead. We wouldn’t have suffered clean deaths. Before they hanged us they would have broken us on the rack. They would have wound ropes around our temples until our eyes sprang from their sockets and our brains leaked from our ears.’
‘This isn’t why I came back,’ Hero shouted.
‘And that’s why I sent you away.’
Tears and snot ran down Hero’s face. ‘I was going to be a doctor. I was going to save lives.’
Vallon shook him. ‘You have. You saved mine. You saved Raul’s. You saved yourself.’ He wrenched at his reins. ‘Now shut up and ride.’
Sunset was gilding the reed tops as Snorri ferried the last of the fugitives to the island. Euphoria had given way to gloom. It seemed to Vallon that they’d reached a dead end rather than a sanctuary. All their hopes rested on a crippled ship and a man of barely human form. Even if the ship was salvageable, Vallon couldn’t see how they could float it out of the marsh. And if they did manage to reach the sea, they still had to find a crew. Wherever Vallon looked, he saw problems. No shelter except for a rotting lean-to. No wood for fuel, no fresh water except what little they’d brought with them. And, having left the horses and mules hobbled behind Snorri’s shack, they had only the punt for transport.
While Raul and Richard stripped the ship of its camouflage, Snorri scuttled about showing off its features.
The knarr was a sturdy workhorse, fifty feet from stem to stern and more than thirteen across the beam. Amidships was a hold with space for fifteen tons of cargo and two small half-decks at each end that could be used for shelter and cooking in foul weather. Stored upside down across the hold was the ship’s boat, about fifteen feet long. Thirteen overlapping strakes made up each side of
Shearwater
’s hull. In the topmost strake below the gunwale were eight oar ports – two on each side of the fore and aft decks. Snorri showed Vallon the side-rudder he’d removed from its fittings on the starboard quarter. He showed him the pine mast he’d set aside on trestles. Most of the damage was confined to the starboard hull, where timbers had been stove in over a length of about twelve feet. To row the knarr to its resting place, Snorri had lowered its draught by offloading tons of stone ballast at the mouth of the creek.
All this Snorri explained in a mixture of mangled English and mutilated French.
‘Where did you learn your French?’ Vallon asked.
Snorri rubbed thumb and forefinger together. ‘In Norwich market. Normans be me best customers.’
Vallon and Raul’s eyes met.
Richard and Wayland drifted away as the light began to fail. Vallon made another inspection and stood back, chin in hand. The ship was sounder than he’d first thought.
Snorri fawned in front of him. ‘What d’ye think, cap’n?’
‘Where will you find the timber and other materials?’
‘Norwich, cap’n. Ain’t nowhere nearer for what we need.’
‘How long to make it seaworthy?’
‘Three weeks iffen ye want her nice and shipshape.’
‘You’ve got five days.’
Vallon didn’t wait for Snorri’s response. He paced off the distance between the ship and the river. Ninety yards. He looked back along the mud-filled channel.
‘It will take us a month to dig it out.’
‘I been ponderin’ that meself. I knows a few sturdy fellas who’d be happy to work for a good day rate.’
‘Will they keep their mouths shut?’
‘Oh yes, cap’n. Marsh folk be tight as clams.’
‘We need a couple of boats to get about. And I want the horses brought here.’
‘You leave it to Snorri, cap’n.’ He bared his atrocious teeth. ‘We ain’t discussed fees and other particulars.’
Vallon studied the ship again. ‘Let’s cost the repairs.’
When he joined the rest of the company, a bloated spring moon was floating free of the marsh. Geese passed in relays across its face, crying like hounds. Snorri hovered at the fringe of the firelight, rubbing his hands.
‘Well, gentlemens, mebbes it’s time ye told Snorri what haven ye’re bound for.’
‘Sit down,’ said Vallon.
Snorri lowered himself to the ground, grinning cautiously.
‘The Normans are hunting us,’ Vallon said.
‘I knew ye were wrong’uns the moment I set eyes on that Wayland. I ain’t got no more affection for Normans than what you have, but it ain’t what ye’re running from that pesters me. It’s where ye’re going.’
‘Iceland. A trading expedition. We’re after falcons.’
Snorri’s grin remained intact. The others stopped eating and looked at each other. Snorri jumped up. ‘I ain’t going to Iceland.’
Vallon patted the bullion chest. ‘We’ll pay you well.’ He scooped up a handful of coins and poured them back. ‘A fee or a share of the profits. Your choice.’
Snorri’s tongue flickered. ‘What goods are ye trading?’
‘Whatever finds a ready market. You’d know more about that than me.’
‘Ye can’t go wrong with timber. There ain’t no forests in Iceland.’
‘Apart from falcons, what goods do they have in exchange?’
‘Woollens and down, whalemeat and cod. And they ship walrus ivory and white bearskins from the Greenland settlements.’
‘Snorri, it sounds to me like this voyage could set you up for life.’
