Blood of the South Read online

  ‘You Varangians appear to have thought of everything,’ he remarked.

  ‘We try,’ said Harald modestly.

  There followed a long time of slipping and sliding down endless steps, scrambling over unseen obstacles and crawling through impossibly tight tunnels lined with cold, damp stone. At one point they emerged into a vast open space, in which a series of deep stone-lined cisterns extended under a vaulted roof. ‘Emergency water supply in case of siege,’ Harald said. ‘The Romans built them.’

  At last they reached the end of the passage. For the final hundred paces or so, they had hurried down a long incline to a lower depth – Harald said they were going under the sea walls – and, just as abruptly, steep steps had risen up again. Rollo had been aware of passing through a succession of strong iron grilles, one at the start of the tunnel under the walls, one in the middle and one at the far end. Each had opened with a clang and a clatter as Harald wielded his keys and removed the chains that bound them shut.

  Now they stood close together in a small, cramped space, the opening of the tunnel behind them and, before them, a wall made of huge blocks of stone. Harald slapped it with the palm of his hand. ‘The outer skin of the sea wall,’ he said. ‘Hundreds of years old, and as impregnable as the day it was built.’

  Turning away, he bent low, and again there came the sound of jingling keys. Then, perhaps half a man’s height from the base of the wall, a small round aperture appeared, about the size of the top of a barrel. There was a sudden and very welcome inflow of fresh air. It was cool, and scented with the salt of the sea and the tang of seaweed. Rollo filled his lungs, once, then again. Looking up at him with a grin, Harald said, ‘There’s plenty more of that outside. Give me your pack – I’ll throw it out after you. Off you go,’ and indicated the hole.

  Rollo folded his shoulders forward and thrust himself through the gap. But Harald grabbed his arm, holding him back. ‘Best go feet first,’ he advised. ‘There’s a bit of a drop.’

  That, Rollo thought as he landed hard, instinctively bent his knees and landed in a heap on his side, was an understatement. He struggled to his knees, then fell back again, suppressing a cry of pain, as his pack landed on his head. A short time later, Harald jumped down beside him.

  Rollo stared up at the vast walls soaring up behind them. There was no sign of the hole through which they’d just emerged. ‘Where’s it gone?’ he whispered.

  ‘I shut it up again,’ Harald replied.

  ‘But – but I can’t even see it!’

  ‘That’s the general idea,’ Harald remarked. Then, suddenly serious, he added, ‘Don’t imagine the possibility of enemies gaining access that way didn’t occur to the men who made that tunnel. At the landward end, there are great tanks of sea water, and if ever an invader managed to discover that opening –’ he jerked a thumb up at the sea wall – ‘the tunnel would instantly be flooded.’

  An image filled Rollo’s head: men struggling through that dark, rough, narrow gap; single file, hampered by the weapons they bore; shouts and curses. Then a sound from hell: water, broiling and rushing down to engulf them. Panic as those in the front desperately tried to turn, to push back against the men crowding behind them. The first overwhelming attack of the water …

  ‘The tanks are always kept full,’ Harald said. ‘But, fortunately for you and me, they are very well maintained and they don’t leak.’

  Rollo shook the pictures of horror out of his mind. Then, firmly turning his back on the sea walls, he took his first proper look at the scene before him.

  They were right at the south-western end of the long shore that faced the Sea of Marmara, and the city rising up on its hills seemed already distant. Spinning round, he stared back along the quays and the many harbours, and the impression was of a stretch of water full of seagoing vessels of every kind. Many of the quays were well-lit and guarded, but the spot where he and Harald stood was in deep shadow. It was very still and quiet. Rollo could hear the sound of small waves splashing as they broke on the shore, and a soft rasp of pebbles as the water receded again.

  ‘You’ve brought me to a beach!’ he said in an angry whisper, turning to glare at Harald. ‘No ship can tie up here.’

  Harald grinned. ‘Not just a beach.’ He pointed, and, stretching out into the smooth water, Rollo saw the dark silhouette of a wooden jetty. ‘See?’ he added quietly. ‘I told them exactly where to meet us.’

  Hurrying forward, Rollo peered out into the darkness, hardly able to credit what lay alongside the jetty.

  It was a sinuous, graceful shape, perhaps twenty paces long, riding low in the water. The end nearest to the shore rose up in a narrow curve, tapering into a curl. The front end soared higher, and was topped with the long, slim, stylized head of a fearsome creature … a serpent? Rollo narrowed his eyes. No: a boar, its cruel tusks extending in sharp points that glistened in the starlight. Halfway along the vessel was a tall mast, the lines of its rigging stretching fore and aft to prow and stern, and from these lines hung down sheets of canvas, presumably sheltering those on board.

  ‘The Gullinbursti,’ Harald said beside him. Totally absorbed by the incredible beauty of the ship – and by the miracle of its presence out there on the water, waiting for him – Rollo had momentarily forgotten about Harald. ‘The name means Golden Bristler,’ Harald went on, ‘which was what they called the famous boar made by the dwarves Brokk and Eitri out of pigskin and golden wire, and given to Freya. Gullinbursti was fastest of all creatures, both over water and in the air, and the light that shone from him was like the sun’s rays.’

  It was hardly the time for myth-telling, Rollo thought. As his initial wonder had faded, it had been replaced with dismay. ‘This boat is so small,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe its master means to sail it all the way to England. You must be mistaken, Harald.’

  But fiercely Harald shook his head. ‘I don’t make mistakes like that,’ he said indignantly. ‘Gullinbursti may have arrived here in Miklagard via ways other than the open seas, but there is nowhere she cannot sail, and she will go wherever her master directs her.’

  With a sick feeling of dread, Rollo remembered the storm that had blown his ship so far off course when he had tried to sail to Constantinople from Sicily. That had been a merchantman, and huge in comparison to the sleek and slender craft that now lay on the calm sea before him.

  ‘It looks so frail,’ he murmured. But, even as he spoke, something about the small craft seemed to be reaching out to him …

  ‘Don’t be deceived by the size,’ Harald replied. ‘In the hands of an expert mariner and a loyal, stalwart crew, such ships have travelled the known world.’

  ‘But—’ Rollo was quite sure he had other objections; sensible, practical comments to do with his great need to hurry urgently back to England, and his serious doubts as to this diminutive vessel’s ability to get him there. But, somehow, as he stood drinking in its beautiful lines, the objections seemed to fade from his mind.

  ‘You don’t have much choice, to be honest.’ Harald’s down-to-earth tone brought him out of his reverie. ‘Most of the other quays and harbours are manned, and the watch regularly patrols the most important ones. To buy your passage on a merchant ship sailing your way, I’d have had to pay for so many men’s silence that it’d have required you to sell your soul. Even then, one small slip and you’d have been discovered.’

  Slowly, Rollo nodded. Harald was right. ‘So what must I pay for my passage on this ship?’ he asked. He still had plenty of coins; the master who had sent him on this mission expected the best and was prepared to pay for it. Nevertheless, Rollo had been travelling for a long time, and his purse was not bottomless.

  ‘Ah,’ Harald said. Rollo spun round to stare at him, and saw that, for the first time, the old man looked discomfited. ‘Didn’t I explain?’

  ‘You’ve said virtually nothing about my voyage,’ Rollo said coldly. ‘When I asked if you’d found me passage on board a merchantman, you said, as far as I reca
ll, not exactly.’

  ‘Well, that was true!’ Harald protested. Then, in a rush, as if he was reluctant to say what he must and wanted to get it over with: ‘You’re not travelling as a passenger, but as one of the crew. The master lost men on the way here, and can’t sail on until he makes up the complement.’

  Rollo made himself take a couple of deep breaths. Then he said, ‘So I’m going to have to row myself back to England?’

  ‘Not all the way!’ Harald protested. ‘There’s a sail – see the mast? – and, whenever the conditions are favourable, you can all have a rest and let the wind do the work.’

  Rollo was beginning to accept the inevitable, but, before he gave in, he said, ‘Is there really no alternative?’

  ‘No,’ Harald said firmly. ‘And you’re only being taken on as one of Gullinbursti’s crew because the master has no choice. He’s desperate to start the voyage, and is prepared to do you a favour in return for one from you. It suits you both – you need each other!’ he said, his voice rising in frustration. ‘Can’t you see?’

  Rollo turned to him, aware suddenly that he was being very ungrateful. ‘Of course I can,’ he said. ‘And thank you, Harald, from the bottom of my heart, for this and all that you have done for me.’ He put out his right hand, and Harald clasped it, gripping tightly.

  ‘No need for thanks,’ Harald said gruffly. Then, meeting Rollo’s eyes: ‘You’ll do it, then? You’ll sail with the dawn aboard Gullinbursti?’

  ‘I will, and gladly.’

  Harald let out a sigh of relief. After a moment, he said quietly, ‘And once you are safely back in England, you’ll do what I ask of you?’

  ‘Yes. You have my word.’

  Harald nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Both men fell silent. The air between them was full of many emotions, and Rollo could think of nothing to say. Eventually Harald muttered, ‘I should leave you. I’m not proposing to return the same way we got here. Most of the watch know me, and I’ll have no trouble entering the city through the gates. All the same, I’d like to be safe back within my own four walls by daybreak.’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’ Rollo glanced into the east, where the indigo sky was beginning to lighten. ‘You’ll have to hurry.’ He picked up his pack, then followed Harald along the stony path that ran along behind the strip of beach, down to where the jetty angled out into the water.

  ‘They’re expecting you,’ Harald said quietly, ‘and, indeed, the lookout will undoubtedly already know we’re here.’

  They were on the jetty now, both walking soft-footed to keep the noise to a minimum. As they approached Gullinbursti’s high stern, the canvas awning was twitched aside and a face appeared in the narrow gap.

  ‘Is that you, Harald?’ a low, deep voice called.

  ‘Yes. I’ve brought your new crewman.’

  In the swiftly waxing light, Rollo stared at the man. The man stared right back, his intent blue eyes alive, as if fire burned within them. From what Rollo could see, he was a very big man; broad in the shoulder, barrel-chested, his bare arms thick with muscle. He had abundant, flowing hair and a long, bushy beard, and both were light coppery red.

  ‘You take the watch yourself, master?’ Harald said lightly.

  ‘I take my turn with my men,’ the man replied brusquely. ‘This morning, I was awake anyway. I have tarried here far too long, and I am eager to set sail and leave.’ He turned the hot blue eyes to Rollo, as if the delay had been his fault.

  ‘If I may step aboard,’ Rollo said courteously, ‘then I will detain you no longer.’

  The man gave a curt nod, pushing the awning back further to allow Rollo access. Rollo turned to Harald, and, in the moment of parting, put his arms round the old man in a hug. Harald returned it, then, disengaging himself, gave Rollo a light shove. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘And may God go with you.’

  Rollo stepped down on to Gullinbursti’s wooden planking, Harald’s last words echoing in his head. He’d spoken softly, and Rollo wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said: it might, he reflected, have actually been, May the gods go with you.

  ‘Stow your gear there,’ the master said shortly, pointing to where a wooden chest stood beside an oar hole, presently covered by its wooden flap. ‘Not superstitious about taking a dead man’s place, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Rollo replied. He opened the box, putting his pack inside. The box, presumably, doubled as a seat for when the ship was under oars.

  The big man was heading back to the stern of the ship, rummaging in another, larger chest. ‘I’m going to rouse them,’ he said, nodding towards the shapes lying well-wrapped along the sides of the ship. ‘We’ll take a quick bite, then be on our way.’

  Rollo was relieved to hear it. ‘What should I do?’ he asked.

  ‘For now, nothing. Sit and watch, and see how we do it. Then you can join in, and, with any luck, do so without getting in anyone’s way.’

  It made sense. Rollo sat down on his chest, staring along the length of the ship as the crewmen were wakened from sleep. As the copper-haired man passed beside him, he said, ‘What do I call you, master?’

  The blue-eyed stare flashed down on him. ‘Skuli.’

  FIFTEEN

  Hrype and I walked through the darkness for a long time. I was wondering how much further we were going to have to go when a big, broad shape loomed up out of the shadows ahead.

  ‘I decided to walk to meet you,’ a deep and well-remembered voice said.

  With a gasp, I broke into a run. My grandfather opened his arms to receive me, and I fell against him. For some moments I just stood there, breathing in his scent. It was just as I remembered it; the essence of him. When he had first embraced me, long before I knew of our close relationship, something deep within me had recognized him. Perhaps, I’ve subsequently thought, it was his blood calling out to mine.

  Gently he disengaged himself, keeping hold of my hand, then, nodding ahead down the narrow track that wound through the reed bed, he said, ‘Come with me. I have made camp down there, and we will be more comfortable under cover.’

  We followed the little waterway for perhaps thirty or forty paces, then, as the track rounded a gentle bend, I saw a small wooden boat tied up to the bank. Thorfinn had rigged up lengths of skins and oiled cloth, giving the impression that a low tent rose up over the boat.

  Thorfinn let go of my hand and, striding ahead, opened a gap in the awning, indicating that Hrype and I should go aboard. I eased myself down the bank and stepped inside. Instantly the little craft rocked beneath me, and hurriedly I sat down on the bench that ran around the boat’s sides, reaching out to steady the single lamp that Thorfinn had left alight.

  Hrype settled beside me, and Thorfinn took what I guessed was his accustomed place at the back of the boat, wrapping his thick cloak around him. He lit another lantern, and as the flame flared up, I looked around. Thorfinn’s stores of food and drink were neatly stowed in the bows, and he had padded the seating area with well-stuffed sacks to keep out the cold. Rolled-up blankets were stored under the bench. I smiled. I might have known an experienced mariner such as he would know how to make life on a small boat adequately comfortable.

  My grandfather looked at me. ‘Have you brought the shining stone?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I have.’ I placed the stone, still inside its leather bag, on my lap.

  ‘Will you look into it and tell me what you see?’ Thorfinn’s expression was hungry.

  I made myself stare into his eyes. His gaze was steady and penetrating, and, although I knew he meant me no harm, I was unnerved by the power I sensed in him.

  I eased the bag open and drew out the stone. I pushed aside the sheep’s wool and spread both my hands around its cool, hard smoothness. Then, surely too fast to have been as a result of my touch, the stone began to feel first warm, and then hot.

  I tore my eyes away from my grandfather’s and looked down. The rivers of gold and green that ran deep within the stone were already beginning to shine, and,
even as I watched, they became incandescent, their light rivalling and then eclipsing that of the two lamps. I heard someone gasp – my grandfather? Hrype? – but it was as if the sound was from far away and nothing to do with me.

  Perhaps as a result of my experiment that afternoon, the shining stone was responding to me. To the warmth of my blood pulsing through my veins; to my soul, maybe, which the stone had begun to recognize. Out of somewhere in the recent past, I heard Gurdyman’s voice, speaking of the stone: It needs to stay close to you.

  As if the shining stone had a will of its own.

  Well, if that was right – and still the reasoning, logical part of my mind was struggling to accept the evidence I could see with my own eyes, and feel in my own hands – it suggested that Gurdyman had been absolutely right. The stone was as curious about me as I was about it, and it was setting about satisfying that curiosity by sending its essence out to meet mine.

  But that, a rational and steadily diminishing part of me responded, was nonsense. It was just a stone …

  I stared into the shining stone, now living up to its epithet with such a glorious display of light that my eyes had instinctively narrowed. Those fascinating strands of green and gold drew my gaze, and I had the sense that I was falling more deeply into the dark depths. But I was not afraid: I knew the stone was not my enemy but my ally.

  And then from somewhere came understanding so firm, so certain that there was no arguing with it: the time when others could command and control my interaction with the shining stone was over.

  For some time I just sat there, my hands clasped around the stone, my eyes half-closed as I stared at the movements I could see within it; the shapes, images, pictures, ideas, even, that formed, melted and reformed as I watched.

  Thorfinn and Hrype were very patient; I’ll give them that.

  Finally, I believed I was ready for them. Carefully I moved my hands so that my palms and interlinked fingers covered the stone’s surface. The light instantly dimmed and, once more, the scene was illuminated solely by Thorfinn’s two lanterns. Then I raised my eyes and looked straight at my grandfather.