To Lie with Lions (49 page)

The priest dropped his handkerchief. ‘What?’

‘Ever since we came in, there’s been a Hanse ship hidden there in the harbour. The
Pruss Maiden
, they say. Her men watched us come in. And now she wants her full due of stockfish, or she’ll sink us.’

Apart from a carrying voice, the man who brought the bad news, by name Glímu-Sveinn, possessed the shape of a dicker of hides and a jaw as long as his beard, above which bulged two ferocious eyes in a ring of white lashes. Nicholas absorbed what he said and pondered all through Lutkyn’s translation, having already picked up the gist. He hoped the others were doing the same.

It was, of course, catastrophic. A mature man would have wept. Arrived at Ultima Thule, faced with six well-oiled aliens and a thundering threat from a Hanse ship, Nicholas experienced a jolt of pure juvenile pleasure. He said, ‘Lutkyn, Yuri and Mick: let’s have the ale up, and a brazier, and as much as there is of the beef. And then, my friends – then, my friends, let us see how we can help one another.’

It took an hour, but he got the help that he wanted. He had known that he would. It was the end of the winter. They had been living on dried saithe and blubber and poffin, and their beer had run out after Yule. They owed him for the boats. And after the
Svipa
had gone, they could fish for themselves and the
Maiden
.

He had to sober them up in the end, and they left thanking him and stuffing gifts into their jackets. They had to be reminded to appear on deck quarrelling, and to row away shaking their fists. Their faces were grinning, and Glímu-Sveinn, gesturing from the prow, revealed an astonishing pinch of pink silk between buttons. Fortunately the watchful Hanse boat was behind him. Then Nicholas ordered his own skiff to be launched, and stamped down into it with a great show of annoyance. He felt remarkably cheerful.

During all this time, in the cabin, John le Grant was obeying orders and enlightening his fellows, among whom he included the girl. ‘There’s only one harbour in the whole of the Westmanns, and the
Pruss Maiden
of Lübeck is in it. It came early from Bergen to trade. It’s licensed by Denmark. It came primed to buy the whole season’s dried stockfish. Now it hears the stockfish’s been sold and it’s sitting there brooding, because it’s sure no other ship beat it from Bergen.’

‘Will it know who we are?’ asked Father Moriz.

‘Its master’s acquainted with Crackbene,’ said John. ‘He kens the
Svipa’s
a pirate, but not that it’s bought all his stockfish. For a start, he’s sent his skiff to the cod banks to watch us. It’s the wee boat painted blue over there. If it sees fish coming aboard, it’ll turn tail and report to the
Maiden.’

‘We have the guns,’ Robin ventured.

There was a silence. Then the engineer said, ‘Aye, son, we have the guns. But the
Maiden
has more. It’s a merchant ship, as big as the
Unicorn
, but packed with goods to sell rather than salt. It isna equipped for fresh fish. So it’ll make a real murdering hunt for the stockfish.’

‘Which is where?’ Moriz said.

‘On the Westmanns, in caves. They’ll not find it. But if we try to bring it on board, they’ll see us.’

‘Sink the blue boat,’ said the boy Dmitri.

‘Then the
Maiden
itself would come out and attack us. The Icelanders couldna help. They can risk unleeful trade: they canna fight against cannon.’

‘So?’ said Dmitri.

‘So put yourself in the other man’s place,’ said their female hostage, who was a very good mimic. ‘What do you know of the
Pruss Maiden’s
master?’

‘Too much,’ said John le Grant. ‘Kathi, I dinna think you want to hear this.’

‘I think I’d better,’ she said. ‘Who is it? Someone who doesn’t like the Vatachino?’

‘Someone who doesna like Cologners, anyway,’ le Grant said. ‘Moriz, the master’s Paúel Benecke of Danzig. They’ve hired the de’il to bring the
Maiden
to Iceland. And so long as we’re here, he’ll suspect us of trying to corner his stockfish.’

‘Until the
Unicorn
arrives,’ Kathi said. ‘You’re going to save yourselves at the expense of the
Unicorn.’

‘Maybe not,’ the engineer said. ‘First off, we have to convince the
Maiden
that we don’t have the stockfish, and we dinna ken where it is. Nicholas is doing that now. Come and see.’

By the time they stood at the rail, the shouting had stopped and the big dogger was already far off, pulling hard. Nearer at hand, the
Svipa’s
skiff was also departing, but in a different direction. M. de Fleury stood in the prow in a threatening attitude.

‘He’s going to the blue boat,’ said Kathi, in a voice of discovery. ‘He’s going across to the
Maiden’s
blue boat, and he’s going to accuse them of stealing his stockfish.’

‘That’s the idea,’ said John. ‘He’ll claim he’s just been told there’s none left, and doesna ken who to blame first. They can even board us and check that we’re empty. Then they can start to wonder where else to look.’ His voice faded.

‘Not for long,’ Kathi said. ‘Do I have to keep mentioning the
Unicorn?’

‘I think,’ said John, looking at Moriz, ‘that Nicholas might have a plan for all that. Why don’t I go down and find out?’

He and Moriz left the deck. Kathi returned to the rail. The
Svipa’s
cockboat was now further away. Robin said, ‘The blue skiff could keep him as hostage.’

‘M. de Fleury? He’s within bowshot. The archers are covering him. No one’s worried. Look at Dmitri. He’s giggling.’

‘I know,’ Robin said. ‘I know it’s a very good trick. But what will happen when the
Unicorn
comes? What will the
Pruss Maiden
do?’

‘Ask yourself,’ Kathi said. ‘You know M. de Fleury, or you ought to. He won’t kill my brother. Enjoy it.’

It was the way she sometimes addressed her young cousins. She shut her lips, and Robin looked at her in surprise. Then he said, ‘Of course it’s going to be all right,’ and settled his young arms on the rail close to hers.

Chapter 23

T
HE
UNICORN
TOOK
three days to arrive, the delay being purely strategic.

On its very first landfall, near the island of Papey, the man Mogens got news of the Lübecker. The
Pruss Maiden
had left Bergen early, and was already inside the Westmann Isles’ harbour. An unknown ship had since passed the same way. As to stockfish, Mogens added, there was hardly any to be had in this fjord, but he was arranging to barter for what there was. A pair of shoes for three fish; fifteen fish for a firkin of honey. They bought, and moved on.

The second ship must be de Fleury’s. Having suffered the tantrums of Sersanders all the way from the Faroes, Martin would willingly have kept the news from him; as it was, it precipitated another outburst of temper which made Martin twitch. He wished the young lord and his sister to perdition.

The Vatachino, in his view, had had no need to resort to a syndicate. His invisible chiefs had insisted. The ship was Adorne’s, and so was that part of the risk. His sea captain Svartecop was good. It made sense to include Cologne merchants, since that prince-bishopric had renounced its Hanse partners. He understood all of that. But Adorne had been unable to come, and Martin was saddled with this young Flemish aristocrat who couldn’t keep his own sister in check. And de Fleury had found a new ship and, enticing the girl, had attempted to handicap Martin.

Well, de Fleury could try. But now the head of the Banco di Niccolò faced a far greater threat in the
Pruss Maiden
. The Lübecker was a big ship: at least as big as the
Unicorn
. And it had the right to sink the
Unicorn
and the
Svipa
whenever it pleased.

It seemed to Martin that there was no immediate call to arrive at the Westmanns. He would have to go there eventually, and put his boats down, and his cod-lines, and fish. Half his cargo was salt. It would be shameful not to utilise that, or his barrels. He would, of
course, invite the wrath of the virtuous
Maiden;
but bribes might work, and a certain low cunning. Also, the more Martin delayed, the greater the chance that the
Maiden
would clash with the
Svipa
. The smaller vessel could never prevail, but de Fleury might damage the other. A crippled
Maiden
might not relish more fighting. And de Fleury wrecked, sunk or captive would be a truly acceptable bonus.

The
Unicorn
lingered, therefore, off the uncomfortable surf of the coast. It didn’t suit Adorne’s nephew, of course. But as Martin did not fail to point out, it was Anselm’s fault that the girl had come anyway, and if the
Svipa
fell to the
Maiden
, she would be treated well as a valuable hostage. Whereas with three ships in battle, who could control where the missiles would fall?

Privately, he was amazed at Sersanders’s naïveté. The child was known as a pert little madam. If de Fleury hadn’t got to her first, presumably all the crew had, from the mariners downwards. A round of shot would be the kindest solution.

They got even less stockfish at Horn, and plunged along the black and grey shores to Dyrhólaey, a nightmarish outcrop of rock with two holes in it. The boat going ashore half capsized in the thundering surf, and all they got was a Gothic halibut, a bundle of saithe and some feathers. He paid them in cloth, and was glad to explain that he had no packets of iron, or timber, or flour. Even so, had the sea been less rough, he had a notion that the Icelanders would have rowed out and boarded him. Rowing back, they had to tow out the halibut, and it fell twice from the hook of the pulley.

That afternoon, the sun dimmed, the sky darkened, and they had their first fall of snow, reducing the horizon to the point where Mogens refused to sail further. It might have been worse. The
Unicorn
was a commodious ship, with plenty of fuel for her cook-fires and braziers, and they had grown inured to the pitching and rolling. Only, when the snow finally ceased, Mogens decreed that they could not reach the Westmanns by dark, and must therefore remain one further night where they were.

It meant that he had to give up the advantage of surprise: his masts would be seen by the Lübecker, and alert what remained of the
Svipa
. They had expected, all through the night, to hear gunfire, but nothing penetrated the shriek and bluster of wind and the incessant thunder and boom from the surf.

He hoped that bastard Crackbene was dead. He was in two minds about de Fleury himself. It had been dinned into him often enough. The Vatachino wanted him spectacularly ruined before anything else. Martin had an idea that, back in Cairo, his friend David had deviated from company orders, but de Fleury had somehow survived. Martin
didn’t mind. He didn’t refuse easy prizes. But he also enjoyed the occasional personal campaign against a man he truly disliked. He had disliked Nicholas de Fleury ever since he, Martin, had been made to tumble down a Venetian staircase. Naturally, he discussed none of this with Sersanders. Girl or no girl, he didn’t need permission to ram and scuttle the remains of the
Svipa
. The Lübeckers would get all the blame.

If Martin had prayed, you could say he was partially answered. The weather next day was fair enough to set sail before dawn at slack water, and presently cleared to reveal in the distance the scattered grey and white rocks of the Westmanns, with a haze of gulls finer than gnats, and a dissolving speckle of minuscule fishing-boats, rising and sliding over the crests. He glimpsed the needle-tops of three masts, too far off to identify. One ship. One victorious ship, no longer lurking in harbour, but fishing at ease off the cod banks. One ship which, having dispatched its first prey, might be persuaded to share the grounds with a generous rival. With a ship that happened to be much its own size.

Then, the answer to the rest of his prayer, the weather closed in.

They made their way from that point without sails, even then pushed by the wind faster than Mogens wanted to go. The snow turned to slush on the decks, but slid from the leather and wool of the crewmen plying the lead, and peering chilled from the baskets, and craning down on each side of the prow.

Eventually, Mogens had them lower the boat, and took it himself, with a boy and two oars, digging against the receding tide. Sersanders went with them. Martin stayed behind with the Cologne agent Reinholdt, and Svartecop took the helm. The tide had turned an hour after midday. They were to arrive on the west-going stream with the wind at their backs, Svartecop said; and with ample time to deal with the
Maiden
by nightfall.

It was like the entry into Tórshavn in fog, except that this time they were forewarned and ready. They crept on through the haze. They were emerging with care from between the ghostly five-hundred-foot walls of two islands when Martin’s prayer failed, and the snow-curtains started to thin.

The first objects to darken the sky were the massive cliffs, white with foam, of Ystiklettur. Beneath them lay the mouth of the dangerous creek, the passage that led to the Westmanns’ sole harbour. They had reached the right spot. The mother holm of the group lay before them. Martin stood beside Svartecop and gazed.

No ships speckled the base of the cliff, or made themselves known through the roar of the surf. The outer passage was empty; the inner
harbour was hidden from view by an upheaval of unnatural heights. To the south, the horizon was bounded by the curve of the island’s steep shoulder, jutting into the thundering sea. Within its embrace, and at no very great distance, floated a packed mass with the appearance of birds: perhaps a raft of incoming poffins, preparing to return for the spring to their slopes.

They were boats. These were the fishing-boats Martin had glimpsed only that morning; perhaps two hundred makeshift small craft tilting and dipping at anchor, their lines streaming drowned in the sea. Beyond them, alone, was the three-masted ship. It looked small.