Despite the lack of tracks for Ketil’s sharp eye, in the end Beatrix’s trail was not a difficult one to follow. Just after noon the next day, they passed through a village where a few well-placed questions turned up the fact that a lone, well-dressed woman on a horse had passed by early that morning. She had been moving at speed, as though demons harried her, and had not stopped even to speak to anyone. A similar story arose at almost everywhere they passed that day and the next. They had even found a ruined barn not far from the road that showed signs of having been used overnight as a campsite, though without a fire. Hoofprints and footprints suggested it had been the woman.
Ulfr cursed himself throughout the days of pursuit. It had hardly been his responsibility alone to make sure Beatrix de Hauteville did not flee the wagons, but he had been the closest to her, and when he thought back, he had recognised the warning signs building for days. He should have been prepared, and yet he hadn’t. No one else blamed Ulfr for her escape, but Ulfr certainly did. At least he was not alone. From the few words they’d had from Gunnhild, she was experiencing a similar irritation, for she felt she should have known, too.
She, on the other hand, was at least calm, for she was certain that this was not over and that they would see Beatrix again, which at least assuaged much of her guilt. And Ulfr had known and trusted the völva long enough that he should have been comforted by her certainty. Still, he wasn’t.
Two more days, and more signs of their quarry’s passage as they gradually fell further behind with the speed of the wagons, and then came the news that they were approaching the town of Coutances, a sizeable place that lay close to their destination. There, as the sun began to slip from the blue sky and turn the horizon a dazzling gold, Halfdan brought them to a halt and called the Wolves together, with Thurstan in attendance, too, to represent his men.
‘We need to change our guise now,’ he told them.
‘Why?’ Bjorn asked.
‘Because the monks’ robes are all well and good passing along country roads and hiding in woods overnight, but we are now in the Norman lands of built-up towns. The closer we get, the more we are going to have to speak to locals and ask questions. We need to stay in the town tonight, too, as our supplies are low and we’re all tired. We’re not going to be able to hold up the guise of monks overnight, especially with giants and women among us. We need a disguise that will not draw undue attention and yet allows us to keep our armour and weapons on hand. Thoughts?’
‘Can we not just be us?’ Ulfr said. ‘I mean, we’re not wanted here or anything.’
Halfdan mused on this for a moment, but shook his head. ‘Only Beatrix herself knows who we are and that we are here with her. Any Norman lord might take offence at armed foreigners in his lands. More ideas.’
‘Can we not just pretend to be Normans like them?’ Ketil put in. He gestured to Thurstan. ‘They sound like locals. They can do the talking.’
‘Better,’ Thurstan said, folding his arms. ‘We can be ourselves. Men of the Hautevilles, returning from Melfi. This will be both believable and acceptable to anyone, as the Hautevilles have no ongoing feud with anyone. The rest of you will also have to be returning soldiers from Melfi. Just let me, as One-eye says, do all the talking.’
And so they did just that. The monks’ robes went away into the wagons and they shrugged into their chain shirts with some relief. Though many kept their crucifixes, it was with almost glee that the core of the Wolves cast their wooden crosses away into the grass, replacing them with Mjǫllnir pendants that were tucked inside tunics for safety. Once more attired as warriors, they moved off, with Thurstan taking the lead. It said much about how close the two groups had become on the journey that the Wolves were content to let the Norman lead them without fearing betrayal, especially after the business with Fulk and Marc in Apulia.
As they closed on the town of Coutances in the last of the light, Halfdan quizzed their current leader.
‘How far is this Pirou from Coutances, Thurstan?’
‘A day at most. We have made excellent time.’
‘And the journey there?’
The Norman grinned. ‘Easy. Leave town in a north-west direction. Walk until your feet get wet and you’re at Pirou.’
Halfdan laughed. ‘Fair. When we are settled tonight, I need you to start up a conversation with some locals. You can confirm that you’ve not been back for years, and that news in Melfi is slow and late. Find out everything you can about the current circumstances in the area. Our prime concern has to be finding Beatrix and returning her to her betrothed, but we are strangers here and I don’t want to walk into trouble unprepared.’
The column rumbled over a rough, old timber bridge across a narrow, sluggish river and approached the heavy gates of a fortification so old that the Byzantines would probably think it ancient. As they passed over the dark flow of water, once more Ulfr’s thoughts were drawn to the open waves and the whale road. It seemed reminders were being set to plague him, and every time he thought of the foamy crests of waves he felt the closeness of the seashore in his bones and his blood. They were almost back to the water, which was Ulfr’s land, as it were.
Two guards in blue and white livery, bearing the device of a white tower or column of some sort, closed in as they approached and demanded of Thurstan their business.
‘We return to Pirou from the south, men of Hauteville,’ the Norman replied, in a tone of voice that conveyed relief and weariness in equal measure.
Ulfr was relieved to see no sign of suspicion fall across the men’s faces, and they waved the column into the town without delay, returning to their own banal conversation as a fortune in gold rolled past them, hidden in the beds of low-slung wagons. Ulfr examined the gates and the walls as they passed into the city. His love was ships, but it was not hard to appreciate good construction and fine workmanship in masonry. It was not that far removed from timbers and shipbuilding, in basis. The walls were centuries old. Back in Miklagarðr, he had heard of the Romans, who had built their stone worlds fifty generations earlier, before even the great white stone cities of Georgia. These walls, he suspected, were their work, and were testament to their skill, since they still stood and protected the town.
Then they were inside, rumbling and clopping through narrow streets between leaning houses, mostly of timber, some of stone, the last light of sunset vying with lamps and torches in windows that cast golden glows out into the increasing dark. Thurstan seemed to know the place, although he’d been away for a long time, and consequently he did take a wrong way once, cursing as they backtracked with difficulty, having to reverse wagons in streets too narrow for turning.
They passed a great church of the White Christ that was in the process of construction – a massive affair at the crest of the hill, bigger than the biggest mead hall in the world, as big as some of the grand churches of Miklagarðr. With yet no roof, the walls rose high and delicate, and the whole place was surrounded by masons’ yards and carpenters’ workshops and more. The place was a hive of activity even at sunset, but no one paid any heed to the five wagons passing by.
They arrived at a place called ‘The Pen’, and Thurstan led them in through a rickety wooden arch into a yard behind the inn, where they were greeted by a man older than the gods, with milky eyes, parchment skin and a voice that sounded like the wind scraping over prickly bushes. A short exchange, three coins changed hands, and the wagons were found a place in the large shed behind. Thurstan went into discussion with Halfdan, and the two men assigned guards. Many of them would use the bunk room of the inn and get a good night’s rest in the warm with real beds, but five men would stay down below with the wagons. Their load was far too precious to deliver into the hands of strangers, after all. The old man did not seem perturbed by this. Likely, merchants who used the place would similarly have guards set on their wagons of wares, after all.
Three of the Normans and two of the Varangoi from the south were assigned, and Thurstan led the group toward the inn proper. As they did so, Halfdan collared Ulfr and Leif.
‘While I trust our new men, and they’ve given us no reason to fear for the gold in all our journey, I would feel more comfortable if one of us was with them, just in case.’
Leif nodded. ‘I quite agree.’ He looked at Ulfr. ‘Two shifts?’
Ulfr smiled. ‘I could use a damn good meal and a drink. I will come and take over at midnight. That way, one or other of us can be awake all night.’
‘Good. But send me some food and wine out, will you? Good stuff if you can.’
Halfdan patted the little Rus on the shoulder. ‘We will send out food and drink for all of you.’
As they all turned to follow Thurstan inside, the assigned men sighing and moving into the big shed to guard the vehicles, Bjorn took the opportunity to give Leif a little poke in the forehead and issue a belly laugh before he walked off, leaving the Rus cursing and rubbing the mark on his head. It had faded somewhat, but was still visible and clearly ached.
Ulfr relaxed. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d done so. Some parts of the journey had been less relaxing than others, but at no point had he felt no real worries at all. That night, for the time being, he let go. Halfdan had the worrying to do, Gunnhild the planning, and Thurstan the talking. All Ulfr needed to do was collapse into a chair and order a bowl of delicious rabbit stew, turnips and bread, and a strong beer with a good frothy head. He ate, he drank, he relaxed, and he listened.
‘So Duke William is unopposed in his inheritance?’ Thurstan was saying to some local soldier who was off duty and enjoying hearing their tales of adventure in Apulia, carefully worked to avoid mention of Atenulf’s missing gold.
‘I wouldn’t say unopposed,’ the man snorted, taking a pull of his beer. ‘The lad’s only fifteen. Clever, mind, and vicious as a wounded badger, but still young. And he’s a bastard. I mean, he was named heir by Duke Robert, but since the man died on his way back from the Holy City, it’s all down to how well young William can hold on to his inheritance. He has a few strong supporters who are backing him, particularly some of the bishops, but there are plenty of lords who have openly declared their failure to recognise his authority.’
‘Revolt, you mean? War, even?’
‘There is yet to be war, but I certainly wouldn’t rule it out. Some of the most powerful lords in Nordmandi have all but declared independence of the duke. Young William might have been able to come to terms with them and accept a much-diminished fief under his control without trouble, but there are others determined to cause a deeper rift.’
‘Oh?’
‘William’s cousin, Guy of Burgundy, has made noises that he should have been the rightful duke, and there are plenty here who might prefer Guy. And the King of France has been interfering, too. He hated Duke Robert, and so now he hates young Duke William by association.’
The man sighed, took a swig of his drink, and sighed again. ‘It’s a mess. And I don’t think it’s going to end peacefully. All it will take is the wrong word at the wrong time and it will be a tinderbox in the hayloft, setting light to the whole region.’
‘And what of the Hautevilles?’ Thurstan asked, his voice apprehensive.
‘Eh? Aren’t they your lot?’
Their Norman friend snorted. ‘I’ve been with William Iron Arm in Melfi. Allegiances are a bit different down there. We didn’t know Duke Robert had died for over a year. We’ve been away a while now, and I could do with knowing where my own lord stands before I speak to him. And what of the lord of Coutances, too?’
The man nodded his understanding. ‘Better for any man to know where he stands, I agree. A few months ago both Serlo de Hauteville and milord de Coutances were at the duke’s knee, pledging allegiance. I doubt your lord has changed since then. In truth, most of the Cotentin Peninsula has remained loyal.’
‘Good. Good to know. Let me buy you a beer.’
And the two men moved off toward the bar. Ulfr let himself relax just a little more at the news that the people they were likely to be involved with, both here and at their destination, were not rebelling. He had not realised that he and Halfdan were alone at their small table until the young jarl leaned closer.
‘Ulfr?’
‘Yes?’
‘This place is dangerous. You heard all that?’
‘I did. Sounds like it’s heading for war.’
‘A war that’s none of our concern, and unlikely to be a lucrative one. If it’s a place of rebellions and betrayals, a small group of foreigners with a large amount of gold are unlikely to fare well.’
Ulfr hadn’t thought of it that way, and he felt his new-found ease evaporating rapidly. ‘So?’
‘So, I want to be out of here before anything critical happens. I certainly don’t want a repeat of Miklagarðr, where we stayed too long and became tied up in their troubles. If we can’t leave immediately – Gunnhild seems to be under the impression that we will be here for a short time – then I at least want to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. This place we’re bound for, this…’
‘Pirou.’
‘Yes, this Pirou. It is by the sea and guards two harbours, so I understand. When we get there, I will deal with Beatrix and the duke and our handover. I will even try to claim a reward. But while I am doing that, I want you to get us a ship. Buy one, hire one, steal one – whatever you need to do – but I want a ship and I want it soon, and ready to sail at a moment’s notice. We’ll not get caught again. Understand?’
Ulfr frowned, though in his soul he felt a surge of glory at the thought that they would soon be on the whale road again, and that the jarl had no intention of delaying. And then, Gunnhild’s vision – the jarl at the prow of a ship once more. ‘Perhaps you’d be better setting Leif to the task,’ he said, uncertainly. ‘Leif could argue the legs from a mule and would get you a ship for a cheap price.’ Leif the Teeth’s reputation was solid. No one ever argued money with him.
Halfdan shook his head. ‘Cost is not an issue. One peek into the wagons should remind you of that. No, I don’t care what we spend, but I want it to be the right ship. We have sailed in some poor vessels in the south, and we don’t know what ships these Normans build. If this is to be a ship to carry us across the wide seas, it needs to be good, and it needs to be one you are happy to handle. That means it needs to be you who chooses it.’
Ulfr nodded his understanding – indeed, his agreement. He was fussy with his ships, and he knew it. He longed to be out on the whale road once more, but not in a big fat merchant scow. It had to be something sleek, fast, something old-fashioned but fresh and beautiful, with lines that took away the breath. He pulled himself together, aware that he’d probably begun to stare into the middle distance.
‘If there is a ship worthy of the Wolves in this whole Norman world, I will find it for us.’
‘And fast.’
‘And fast,’ he smiled. He doubted anyone in the world would make a ship better than the Sea Wolf, but when money was no object, he was determined to come damn close.
He listened on, or at least half-listened, as Thurstan and his new friend went back to their conversation. It was a little grating at times, trying to concentrate on the speech. He’d managed to become pretty used to the strange tongue of the Normans, which was what happened when the good old language of the North mated with that of the Franks, but in their homeland they spoke it a little differently. In truth, it was probably closer to his own tongue, lacking the Italian inflections, but they spoke it so fast and with such a drawl that he had to concentrate more, regardless.
The conversation picked up on the subject of the revolt of the barons, but became more embroiled in details that Ulfr neither understood nor felt he needed to know, and so he drifted a little as the names of unknown warriors and nobles floated past him. There was a brief worrying moment when Ulfr thought Thurstan had dropped them in it. They had been talking about the cost of maintaining troops, and at some point Thurstan impulsively opened his purse and tipped the contents onto the table to demonstrate his near poverty, but amid the copper coins, there were three shining gold Byzantine solidi, and they all heard the local’s sharp intake of breath.
‘Brass,’ Thurstan snorted, pretending to bite the disc without marking it, and tipping the coins back into the purse. ‘Cheap knock-offs they have in Apulia. Gotta be careful.’
The incident passed, but from that moment Halfdan involved himself in their conversation, steering it to safe waters. Before Ulfr knew it, the time had marched on and he had long since finished his food and drained his cup. Soon, the locals began to leave, heading home, with the visitors staying in the inn retired to their rooms for the night. Even some of the Wolves did the same, barring Ketil and Bjorn, who had engaged in some disaster-destined drinking competition, and Halfdan and Thurstan, who – their new friend having departed – began planning the coming days. Ulfr asked the jarl to wake him before midnight, and allowed his head to droop, dozing happily at the warm table.
He awoke without the need for Halfdan’s warning, as the church bells tolled. Vespers had been called at sunset not long after they’d arrived in town, and so this must be Compline, he reasoned, blinking awake. The Allfather did not care when men prayed to him, or perhaps even whether they did. The gods of ice and stone were not so needy as the nailed Christ. And so Ulfr did not really care about their calls to prayer, but he did have to admit that having regular bells was hugely beneficial, purely in terms of knowing when to do things. With a smile, he took his leave of the others and crossed the room, making his way out into the yard and across to the great shed where the wagons were being kept and the horses stabled, and where he would spend the night.
The other lads were sitting, playing with dice and gambling small amounts of coin – just coppers. No grand gold coins from within the wagons. No one, other than apparently Thurstan, wanted to draw that sort of attention. Leif had remained in place, separate from the others, watching the door as he idly whittled away at a stick. Anna had stayed with him, but she lay in a pile of hay, on her back, eyes closed, murmuring quietly.
Ulfr wandered over to the Rus, nodding a greeting.
‘Time?’
‘It’s time. Go. Get sleep.’
Leif smiled and thanked him, helped Anna to her feet, and the pair of them strolled off back out into the yard, letting the door clack shut behind them. Ulfr did not bother rising to bolt it. There was always the possibility that one of the others might come to see them at some point, and it was not as if Ulfr was going to take his eyes off the entrance, after all. After a while, becoming a little bored and not wanting to join the game across the room, Ulfr found a stick of charred wood he kept in the wagon and began to doodle on the timber side of the vehicle, drawing a ship, carefully, paying attention to every strake, every spar, every halyard. He closed his eyes and pondered. Opening them again, decision made, he marked ten oars along the side of the ship, doubled with the far side, naturally.
Having designed a beautiful ship, he sat back and smiled, then began to embellish the scene, adding waves, rocks, birds and so on. He was still doing so when the others finished their game of dice and wandered over.
‘What’s the plan?’ one of the Wolves asked.
Ulfr had assumed that Leif had already issued orders, but it appeared not. He looked around the room. It was a large place, with two other wagons pulled up inside, both empty and open, and stabling for twelve horses, each stall occupied by a calm beast, ten of them by their own. There was a tack room and a storeroom, though both had been checked more than once, both devoid of living creatures, both sealed from the outside. That left only the main doors, which were a huge double affair with a small single door built into one side, allowing for the access of wagons or just men as appropriate, and a secondary door that led directly to the inn’s main building via the kitchens and stores, but which was kept locked and had also been checked several times. He contemplated having the five men sleep next to the two doors, but it seemed unnecessary.
‘Each of you take a wagon. Roll in blankets inside and stay there. I see no need for you to be awake all night. I will keep watch.’
With that, he rose, crossed to the main door and, for security, dropped the latch into place. The large room was secure.
He sat back again and listened as the five men each found a wagon and settled in. The melody of retiring began: the scratching, yawning, murmurs, curses, farts and belches; the jokes thrown lightly around; and finally, blessedly, the snoring. Ulfr smiled to himself as he listened, adding depth to the charcoal waves of his boat image. After a time, he retrieved his own pack from the wagon and began to check through it, organise it, and repack it. That done, he opened his coin pouch and found the nine gold Byzantine coins in it, laying them out on the ground and examining them, trying to translate the Greek inscriptions, identify the men shown on them, and finally to stack them in piles of similar types. He recognised he was faffing, but at this point it was important to stay awake, and any little game that helped was worthwhile.
An hour or so passed, and then a second, and Ulfr wandered into the storeroom and began to check through the boxes and bags, purely through boredom. It was more pleasant close to the tack room and the inn door, largely because the wall muted the snoring from the five wagons, and Ulfr could properly hear himself think. It was as he was thinking just that, and appreciating it, that he heard a quiet click from outside the small room.
He fell still in an instant, listening. The snoring had a sort of lulling background rhythm all its own, and was easy enough to dismiss, listening over the top. The click had been a lock, and he heard the laboured low creak of a door being opened very slowly and carefully. It had to be the door to the inn, since the main door was latched closed from inside. Carefully, on the balls of his feet, Ulfr crept toward the opening that led out to the main hall and paused behind a heap of grain sacks. He peered around them. The big shed was lit with two lamps that they’d kept fuelled periodically, and so he saw two figures pass the gap, but the two small golden flickers in such a large place made it impossible to make out details.
His hand went to the hilt of the sax at his side, and he thought hard. There was almost no chance these were friends or allies – they had to be up to no good. He contemplated simply jumping them. He could probably kill one in moments, and then he could hold off the other until the noise brought the other five running. He decided against it. He wanted to know both who they were and what they were doing. Consequently, as they moved out of sight, he slipped from the room, hand still on dagger, and ducked around the corner where he paused again, watching.
The two shadowy figures moved to the nearest wagon. His decision was made easy a moment later, as one of the pair unsheathed a long knife that gleamed in the golden light.
‘To arms,’ Ulfr bellowed.
The pair by the wagon froze, then turned. They looked at each other, and then clearly registered that the men in all the wagons, who they’d known were there from the snoring, were waking up. They knew in an instant they were outnumbered and, cutting their losses, they turned and ran. Firstly they ran the way they’d come, but then realised that Ulfr, broad and dangerous, with a sax in his hand, stood in the way.
As they neared, he finally recognised the pair. One was the local who’d been in conversation with Thurstan in the bar, the other one of the servants. Everything fell into place. The man had not been put off by the explanation of brass forgeries. He’d recognised gold coins for what they were, and where there were three, there were probably more. He’d come to raid their packs, and had enlisted the help of one of the inn’s staff, who could access the shed through the side door.
The pair turned and ran for the main doors.
They stood no chance.
Before they could get near the door, one of the Varangian Wolves and one of Thurstan’s Normans had leapt from their wagons and were in the way, blocking the exit. Ulfr chewed his lip. There was trouble here. He couldn’t let them go. To do so would leave free someone who at least suspected them of having Byzantine gold, and rumour like that spread fast, as they’d seen in Apulia. On the other hand, killing a local soldier might land them in a lot of trouble, and killing one of the staff from the inn where they were staying even more so.
‘We don’t want trouble,’ the soldier said, as the wide-eyed servant shivered with fear.
Ulfr sighed. He couldn’t let them go. ‘Then you shouldn’t have come looking for it.’ He nodded to the men between the pair and the door, who stepped forward. The soldier took on a look of forlorn understanding and turned, blade out, to face the Wolves, while the servant suddenly bolted, trying to skirt around Ulfr and head for the other door.
The soldier was good enough, but the others were better. Whatever the man had trained in and practised, the pair he faced were a Northman who had served in the wars of the Byzantine emperor, and a mercenary who had fought his way across half of Italy. They took him apart in moments, leaving a gurgling, bleeding heap.
Ulfr barely noticed this, though, as he turned, watching the servant running past. He lifted his sax – a nicely weighted one – and threw it. The blade caught the young lad in the bicep, knocking him sideways with a cry of pain. Ulfr walked over to him, picking up the knife where it had fallen as the lad lurched about. The servant whispered a single plea, eyes filled with tears, and moments later folded up with a sigh as Ulfr cut his throat with no small regret. Stupid decision, the boy had made. Shame it had cost him his life.
He turned to the others, to see the dead soldier. A thought occurred to him. He didn’t like it, it wasn’t nice. But it was a solution. He gestured to the men.
‘Check outside, make sure it’s clear. Then take these two out somewhere into a deserted alley. Should be easy at this time of night. Strip them down and leave their clothes in piles. Leave a knife with them.’
The men wore looks of distaste, but they recognised the need to solve the problem and gathered up the fallen, two more coming to help. In moments the four of them had taken the pair of bodies away. They would be found in the morning and a number of theories would arise over their demise, but none of them should touch on the Wolves or their wagons.
‘And what do we do?’ the fifth man sighed, wearily, once they’d left.
Ulfr walked to the shed wall and picked up a bucket and a mop, then pointed at the two pools of blood. ‘Time to earn our coins with a bit of elbow grease.’
As they worked, he made a new mental note on his list. They were going to have to be a lot more careful with the gold in this place.