‘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.