Imperial Fire (26 page)

The delegation halted ten yards away and Hauk appraised the general. He had eyes like a jackdaw’s – silvery grey pupils ringed by dark irises, a quick unsmiling gaze. His eyes dwelt on Vallon’s armour, lingered on Wayland and glanced over Hero.

He gave a dismissive sniff. ‘Your commander has chosen a strange set of lieutenants,’ he said to Wulfstan. ‘I expected something more formidable than a one-armed soldier, a holy water clerk and a man with a dog.’

‘You can speak to me directly,’ Vallon said. ‘I’m Vallon the Frank, general in the army of His Imperial Majesty Alexius Comnenus. And Hero isn’t a priest. He’s a physician. Wayland’s an Englishman, a former hawkmaster to the Sultan of Rum.’

A slight widening of Hauk’s eyes betrayed his surprise at being addressed in his own language.

‘Where did you learn to speak such bad Norse?’

‘On a journey to Iceland and Greenland. We travelled the Road to the Greeks with Norwegian Vikings before going our separate ways. I continued to Miklagard where I took service with the Byzantine army.’

‘I’m Hauk Eiriksson, a prince of Uppland, grandson of a Viking who travelled to the Caspian with Ingvar the Far-Traveller some forty years ago. If you voyaged down the Dnieper, you might have heard of his exploits.’

‘By the time we ran the Dnieper, the Varangians were a fading memory.’

‘My countrymen still honour their venture. More than thirty runestones commemorate the men who made that voyage.’

‘I hope they returned home laden with riches.’

‘Six ships began that journey and only one returned. My grandfather died in Serkland with Ingvar. I hope to discover how he went to his doom.’

Vallon found Hauk’s lack of bombast encouraging. ‘Yet you’ve chosen to repeat the enterprise. I thought the days of the Viking raider were over.’

‘The king of Svealand exiled me after I killed one of his sons. I’ve won fame in my country, but not fortune. I intend to gain both in Serkland.’

‘He means Persia,’ Wulfstan said.

‘And you,’ said Hauk. ‘I understand you’re on a mission to the East.’

‘To a land called China. My orders are to establish friendly relations with its ruler. Tell me, Hauk Eiriksson, how you reached the Caspian.’

‘We crossed the Baltic last spring and travelled by way of Novgorod to Vladimir on the Volga.’

‘Surely you didn’t carry those drakkars across the portage.’

‘Of course not. We built them on the Volga last winter and sailed downriver when the ice broke up.’

Vallon’s gaze strayed to the longships. ‘Forgive me if I aggravate a sore, but I’d say you have many fewer men than you started with.’ He splayed a placating hand. ‘I speak as one with bitter experience of setbacks and losses. Our journey through the Caucasus has cost me nearly quarter of my force.’

Hauk relaxed. ‘Sickness claimed twenty of my men during the winter and I lost another dozen in a battle near the mouth of the Volga.’

‘I’m glad we speak so frankly. It seems to me that this meeting might breathe fresh wind into both our endeavours.’ Vallon waved at the sorry little fleet in the harbour. ‘We don’t have enough ships to cross the Caspian. You, on the other hand, have empty berths. Perhaps we can —’

‘I’m not a ferryman. I steer my own course.’

‘Hear me out. I’m not calling on your charity. Transport us to the eastern shore – a week’s sail at most – and I’ll pay you for each man you carry.’

Hauk’s eyes narrowed. ‘In silver.’

‘No.’

Hauk snorted.

Vallon held up a solidus. ‘In gold.’ He held it out. ‘Take it. Go on, take it.’

Hauk reached out and handed the coin to one of his lieutenants without looking at it. The man turned away like a dog concealing the theft of some dainty and assayed it by taste, texture and weight, his companions craning for his verdict.

A grin split the man’s face. Hauk plucked the coin from his hand and stuffed it into his purse. The sun struck silver flecks from his eyes. ‘One gold coin doesn’t persuade me of your honesty. You outnumber us two to one. If I take your soldiers on my ships, how do I know you won’t try to seize them?’

‘My word, for a start.’

Hauk’s laugh rang harsh.

‘If that isn’t enough, we can make some practical accommodation. Suppose you transport my muleteers and grooms, leaving my fighting men to take their chances on the freighters and fishing boats.’

‘You sound desperate.’

‘I can only go east. Even if I could bring my force back to Miklagard, I would face certain disgrace and probable death. There you have it.’

While they’d been talking, intermittent wails had drifted from the longships.

‘Some of your companions are wounded,’ Vallon said. ‘Whatever you decide, allow Hero to treat them. He’ll minister to them for no reward.’

‘Why?’

‘Treating the sick is his vocation, as tending men’s souls is a priest’s sacred calling.’

Hauk took another look at Hero. ‘I’ll discuss your proposition with my comrades.’

‘While you’re talking, I’ll send for water. I can hardly speak for thirst.’

Hauk’s party withdrew to the skiff and huddled together, punctuating their exchanges with emphatic gestures.

‘What do you think?’ said Hero.

‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit him,’ Wulfstan said.

‘I expect he feels the same about us.’

A trooper hurried up with goatskin bags of water. Vallon drank in long glugs, the liquid spilling down his chin. He took off his helmet and poured the rest over his head.

‘Here comes the answer,’ Wayland said.

Hauk advanced at the head of his men. ‘It’s not enough.’

‘Then name your own terms.’

‘I don’t have to. I could seize you here and now and hold you for ransom.’

Wulfstan laughed. ‘I’d like to see you try.’ He cocked a finger at Vallon. ‘The general’s the finest swordsman I’ve met.’

‘Hush,’ said Vallon.

Hauk’s escort fingered their swords. One Viking, his face disfigured by a purple cicatrice running from temple to jaw, partly unsheathed his blade. Vallon made no move.

‘Fighting would be stupid before we’ve finished negotiating. I’ve stated my terms. Now let’s hear yours.’

Hauk’s nostrils dilated. ‘Three solidi for each man we carry, plus another solidus for each beast of burden.’

‘Agreed.’

Hauk’s features froze. ‘What?’

‘I said I agree to your terms.’

Wulfstan hid a snigger. Hauk ground his teeth. ‘To be paid in advance.’

‘You’ll receive half the gold when we quit this shore. The rest when we make landfall on the other side.’

Hauk looked at the ground and then raised his face with a pensive smile.

Another gargling cry from the longships broke the impasse. ‘Your wounded need treatment,’ Hero said. ‘Let me collect my medicines and return to the ships with you.’

‘Wulfstan and I will come too,’ said Vallon. He half-inclined his head. ‘With your permission.’

Hauk gave a curt nod. ‘Come in your own boat,’ he said. In parting, his gaze lingered on Wayland. ‘He doesn’t speak much.’

‘He speaks when he has something important to say.’ Vallon smiled at Wayland and spoke in French. ‘Have I made a bargain with the devil?’

‘I don’t know. Hauk’s a lot smarter than Thorfinn. He reminds me of someone.’

‘Oh, yes. Who?’

‘You.’

Conditions on board the dragonships were worse than Vallon had expected. The Vikings were famished, dull eyes cupped in mauve sockets, sores on their faces. They were a mixed band, some of them barely into their teens and some old enough to have made their first raids when the men of the northlands still ruled the seas.

Hero took charge. ‘These men need food and fresh water.’

‘We have plenty to spare,’ Vallon said.

Hauk’s jawline tightened. He dipped his head a fraction.

‘Fetch them,’ Vallon told Wulfstan. ‘Don’t stint.’

Vallon and Hauk trailed after Hero while he examined the six wounded men, probing their injuries with an unflinching delicacy that both repulsed Vallon and filled him with admiration.

One man had taken a stab to the gut and was rotting from inside. Another, barely conscious with an indented skull, drooled and gibbered to old gods. A third, with no apparent sign of injury, clasped his stomach and implored Hero to put him out of his pain. The fourth stoically proffered an arm severed at the elbow and wrapped in a filthy bandage crawling with flies. The fifth had taken two deep slashes, one to the ribs and one to the shoulder, both exposing bone. And the last – one glimpse of the smashed leg, splintered bone sticking out of seeping, stinking flesh, made Vallon giddy. Dear Lord, he prayed, when death comes for me, let it be swift.

Hero rose, flicked a maggot from his hands and rinsed them in seawater. His expression was strained and distant. So far as he was concerned, Vallon, Hauk and the others didn’t exist.

‘You’d better go ashore,’ he said. ‘I’ll be at work all night.’

‘They’re as good as dead,’ Vallon said. ‘When they die, their companions will lay the blame on you.’

Hero towelled his hands dry. ‘Since when were you a physician? I might be able to save two of them if I attend to their wounds straight away. As for the others, I have physic to make their last hours bearable.’

Awkwardly, like a sinner reaching for a holy relic, Vallon touched Hero’s arm. ‘You’re a good man.’

He was climbing into the boat when he noticed the girl sitting alone in the stern of the second longship. From a distance and in the shallow evening light he formed an impression of dark hair and pale hieratic features.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

Hauk didn’t look round. ‘A slave.’

‘Why is she tethered?’

‘To stop her throwing herself into the sea. She’s already done it once.’

Vallon nodded at the oarsmen to begin rowing. He chuckled as they found their rhythm. ‘A year’s voyaging and all Hauk has to show for it is one wild slave girl.’

Wayland sat facing him in the bow, framed by the sun’s aura. ‘I’m not travelling in the company of slavers.’

Vallon yawned. ‘We’ll meet precious little else in the East.’

‘I mean it. If you recall, when we met, I was a slave in all but name. So was Syth.’

One startled glance and Vallon knew that Wayland spoke in earnest. ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’

‘Buy her freedom. I’ll pay.’

Vallon remembered how Wayland had fought tooth and nail to keep Syth with him on the northern voyage.

‘Wayland, I hope —’

‘The girl means nothing to me. I set her value at no more than a few of those coins you’ve been throwing around.’

Vallon’s mouth worked. ‘Stop rowing,’ he ordered. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Hauk Eiriksson.’

The Viking leaned over the side, his features burnished by the sun.

‘The slave girl,’ Vallon called. ‘Where did you get her?’

‘In a village near the Volga Bend. What’s it to you?’

‘Have your men used her?’

‘That would halve her value. In Serkland they employ witches to tell if a girl still has her maidenhead.’

‘What will she fetch? I only ask because I’ll be dabbling in the slave trade myself.’

‘A girl as rare as that one – at least five solidi.’

‘You overestimate her worth.’

‘I told you I’ll pay,’ Wayland muttered.

‘Row us back,’ Vallon told the oarsmen

Hauk received them with mild surprise. Vallon extended a hand. ‘Five solidi, you said. Here’s six.’

‘I didn’t say she was for sale.’

‘Yes, you did.’

Hauk laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have put a lust for virgins among your weaknesses.’

Vallon slid a glance at Wayland. ‘She’s not for me.’

Hauk regarded the Englishman in a new light before whisking the money from Vallon’s hand. ‘Take her and good riddance. A word of warning,’ he said to Wayland. ‘After you’ve taken your pleasure, stay awake unless you want to feel her teeth closing about your throat.’

A huge Viking hoisted the girl kicking and scratching over the side and dropped her into the skiff. Her struggles threw her ragged clothing into disarray, giving Vallon a glimpse of the dark triangle above her thighs. He tugged his cloak tight over his shoulder and set his sights on shore.

‘You’ll rue that purchase,’ the Viking said. ‘She’ll cut your balls off while you sleep.’

The skiff rowed towards shore.

‘What’s her name?’ Wayland asked.

Vallon stared past him. ‘How would I know?’

Wayland sprang forward to stop the girl throwing herself into the sea. Her struggles threatened to capsize the boat. Raucous jeers billowed from the longships.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Vallon said.

Wayland pinned the girl down. ‘Find out what tongue she speaks.’

‘I’m not your go-between, damn it.’

‘Just try her.’

‘Anyone else…’ Vallon growled. He turned and addressed the girl in Greek. Her expression didn’t change. Vallon tossed a hand and faced forward again. ‘She doesn’t understand Greek.’

‘She must be a long way from home.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

Wayland spoke to her in Persian, one of the languages he’d learned at the Seljuk court. ‘What’s your name?’

Vallon glanced round when the girl answered in a gush of words, first pointing south, then north.

‘She’s called Zuleyka,’ Wayland said. ‘The Vikings weren’t the first to carry her off. Khazar raiders captured her in Persia five years ago. She claims to be a daughter of the King of the Gypsies.’

Vallon gave a scoffing laugh.

Wayland stepped past Vallon and resumed his place in the bow. The sun had sunk into a bank of cloud and Vallon no longer had to squint to make out Wayland’s expression. ‘Why are you looking at her like that?’

‘See for yourself.’

‘I’m not interested.’

‘Her head hangs like a wild hawk hooded for the first time. Touch her however lightly and she’ll spit and bate.’

Vallon pointed a finger. ‘Wayland, if I thought you intended to man her…’

‘I don’t.’

‘Good,’ Vallon said. The skiff grounded and he clambered past Wayland. ‘Because she’s not coming with us.’

‘Thanks to you, she’s a free woman. She can go where she pleases.’