‘She is very far from stupid,’ Thorfinn countered swiftly. He raised his eyes, studying his son. Still you do not welcome her, this new kinswoman of ours, he thought. He had been about to reveal what else Lassair had seen in the stone, but something held him back. ‘There was more news of Skuli?’ he asked instead.
Einar shrugged. ‘He is a driven man, they say, but we already know that. Yngvar reported that he would have to contain his impatience, however, for he would have had to remain in Miklagard for some time. His recklessness at the rapids damaged his ship and, although they managed to patch it up enough to complete the journey south, even Skuli would not risk going on without a fully sound vessel. And he would have needed more hands to replace those lost.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s amazing, given all that has happened, that his crew remain loyal to him. Were they not, they’d surely have slipped away on reaching Miklagard and left him to his madness.’
‘Perhaps they share his dream,’ Thorfinn murmured.
Einar shot him a glance. ‘What dream?’
Still Thorfinn was not ready to share his deepest thought. ‘How is the situation in Miklagard?’ he asked. ‘The city’s enemies are close, I believe, and I imagine the emperor is anxious for the safety of his city.’
‘Yes, there is much unrest, apparently,’ Einar said. ‘It’s the Seljuks, they say. Miklagard used to be a city where it didn’t matter what a man believed or what faith he practised. Its main purpose was trade, and it has always been one of the great meeting places of merchants from east and west, north and south. Now, though, those newly converted Turks want everyone to share their fervour, which makes men of different beliefs anxious. There was an attack on the Jewish quarter in the spring of this year, and many were killed. Then, early in the summer, a series of ferocious conflicts between Christians and Muslims began, from which the city hasn’t yet recovered, or, at least, hadn’t when Yngvar left.’
Thorfinn sighed. ‘It was, I suppose, only to be expected,’ he said heavily. ‘The presence of an enemy on the doorstep cannot make life easy. And the heat of a southern summer shortens tolerance, so that a man may pick a quarrel with a neighbour over some matter he would usually ignore.’
‘That is true,’ Einar agreed. ‘Although the worst riot was sparked off by a specific act of brutality: the murder of a much-loved local character.’
‘Did Yngvar have the whole story?’
‘Most of it. The inhabitants were deeply shocked by what happened to the man – he was a Muslim doctor – and the city was still reeling. According to Yngvar, it was still the main talking point several weeks later.’
‘This doctor must indeed have been popular,’ Thorfinn observed.
‘He was a good man, who treated rich and poor alike and only asked in payment what a patient could afford,’ Einar said. ‘Moreover, he was totally impartial, reasoning that someone who was sick or in pain needed help, no matter in which way he chose to worship God.’
‘He sounds like a saint,’ Thorfinn said wryly. ‘I wonder if he was really as pure and godly as the talk made out, or whether his demise has elevated his reputation.’
Einar shrugged. ‘I have no idea,’ he said. He glanced at his father. ‘Being more concerned with finding out about Skuli, which was what you told me to do, I didn’t think to ask Yngvar what he thought about this dead doctor.’
‘No, of course not,’ Thorfinn said, his tone placating. ‘And please do not think I am unappreciative. You have done just what I asked, and I am glad to see you safely returned.’
Einar snorted. ‘I was hardly going into danger, sailing into the Baltic and back.’
Thorfinn reached out a hand and lightly touched his son’s thick upper arm. ‘I know you wanted to pursue Skuli all the way to Miklagard. I had my reasons for commanding you otherwise, and I stand by them.’
‘But you’re still not going to tell me what they are,’ Einar said bitterly, pulling his arm away.
‘I-’
Suddenly Einar stood up, although, in the confined head room under the sheltering awning, he could only manage a half crouch. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t ask you again,’ he said coldly. Then, pushing aside the heavy fabric, he jumped out on to the bank. ‘I’m going back to my ship,’ he said. His face was full of anger.
Thorfinn struggled to his feet. But his old bones had stiffened from sitting so long in the confines of the boat, and it was several moments before he was up on the bank and staring after his son. ‘Einar!’ he called. ‘Please, come back.’
He waited a long time. Einar did not return.
Thorfinn retreated back beneath the awning. Moving slowly and deliberately, his distress at his son’s abrupt departure echoed in his lethargy, he made his preparations for the night. When he was snug in his bed roll, he extinguished the lamp.
In the darkness, he forced his mind away from thoughts of Einar. He knew he would not sleep otherwise. Instead, he thought about Lassair. Hrype had said she was reluctant to look into the shining stone when she believed she was doing so at another’s behest. She wanted to make her own relationship with it; She treats it like a friend, Hrype had said.
Thorfinn was filled with conflicting emotions. He was overjoyed that what he had so hoped had turned out to be true, and that the granddaughter of his blood had inherited her forebears’ ability with the precious object. But he was also concerned. He of all people knew what the stone could do once it had weaved its way into your mind.
He turned over, trying to get more comfortable. He worried at the problem for a while, realizing that it was just as capable of keeping him awake as thinking about Einar. Frowning in the darkness, he focused his mind and concentrated hard until, eventually, he saw what he should do next.
With a smile, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
Rollo woke up to find himself in a narrow, hard but clean bed in a shady room that felt pleasantly cool. He turned his head slightly – even the careful movement sent a wave of vertiginous nausea through him – and looked towards the source of the light. Heavy shutters had been closed across the one little window, deeply set high up in the whitewashed stone wall, but a few rays of the brilliant sunshine filtered in through gaps in the slats. He could hear sounds of everyday activity from outside, although they were faint and possibly quite distant.
The room was small and sparsely furnished. Apart from the bed he lay on, there was a low table on which was a lacquered tray of small jars and bottles; a tall blue jug; a cup and a bowl of water, on the rim of which was a piece of wrung-out cloth, neatly folded. Beyond the table was a stout wooden door. There was a large keyhole beneath the door latch, but no sign of the key. Without a doubt, the key was on the other side, and he was locked in. He tried to get off the bed to go and check, but instantly felt so dizzy and weak that he had to give up. A wave of heat ran through him, and he felt sweat break out on his skin. Not fully well yet, then.
He lay back, his thoughts racing. Sunshine … It was daytime, then. But which day? How long had he been there? And then, urgently, Why am I still alive?
He tried to reason himself out of the terrible anxiety. His last memory had been of someone strangling him, and, thinking back, he thought he could feel again that iron-hard arm thrust around his throat. The voice in his ear had muttered, I shouldn’t go out there if I were you. Blackness had come down, and he had fallen. He had been trying desperately to get somewhere, and he had an important task to do. He remembered that much, but, try as he might, there was nothing more.
They had caught up with him. Someone, perhaps one of the emperor’s officials or one of the spies who would constantly feed information, had received word of him. A stranger acting as he had done – making his sly way into the company of the Varangian guards, asking questions, moving on to search out other members of the emperor’s household – was always likely to arouse suspicion. He’d had a very good reason for trying to find someone who had the ear of the emperor, and what he had to impart to Alexius would have been welcome; Rollo was certain of that. But he appreciated now that he had underestimated the climate of suspicion and fear within the city. It was really not the moment to try to creep in unannounced.