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 helclass="underline" 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 recall, 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?’