Hawk Quest (39 page)

They crossed a flat summit dotted with tarns, each tarn tenanted by a pair of courting phalaropes that gyrated round each other like leaves caught in gusts of wind. They camped by the shorelines of lakes and lay wakeful in the long twilight listening to loons calling with cries of such desolation that Wayland’s nape crawled. They negotiated frozen torrents of black slag, their horses shying from fissures where lobes of molten rock pulsed like a beating heart or a foetus hatching in its underground womb. They watched geysers spouting and cauldrons of mud spitting like thick porridge.

Whenever possible they slept at farms. Over bowls of skyr, they would ask about gyrfalcons and the men would lead them out and shield their eyes and point to far-off cliffs trimmed with snow and say that the falcons had nests there. At last they passed beyond settled parts, wandering over moraines and fields of clinker under the dome of an ice cap. A dozen times on that journey, Wayland stopped and found a place out of the wind and watched the crags above until his eyes ached.

Twelve days later they rode back to Ottarshall so sore and tired that they had to be helped down from their horses. Raul’s face was blistered, his eyelids raw as wounds. When Syth placed a bowl in Wayland’s hands, he cupped it on his lap like an invalid and went on staring straight ahead.

‘We saw only three falcons,’ he said at last. ‘All of them were alone. We found half a dozen nests and every one was deserted. I found several places where the falcons pluck their prey, but there were few signs of fresh kills.’ He scratched his brow. ‘The falcons feed mainly on snow grouse and this year there are very few. The farmers told us that the falcons only breed when the grouse are common.’

‘You explored only a small region,’ Vallon said. ‘You’ll find your falcons elsewhere.’

Wayland began to spoon food into his mouth. ‘Ingolf says they’re plentiful in the north-west fjords. It’s a week’s journey.’

‘You have plenty of time. We don’t have to leave until the beginning of August.’

Wayland waved his spoon. ‘There’s another disappointment. All the falcons I saw were grey.’

‘Maybe there aren’t white gyrfalcons.’

‘Yes, there are. But not on Iceland.’

‘You’re going to love this,’ said Raul. The German sat leaning back with his legs shoved out and his eyes shut.

‘The palest falcons live in Greenland,’ Wayland said. ‘Ingolf used to deal with a Norwegian merchant who imported them from an agent in the Western Settlement. They were caught by trappers in the northern hunting grounds.’

Vallon scraped back his stool. ‘You’re not going to Green land.’

‘Wait. Falcons aren’t the only precious commodity in Green land. ‘There are also walrus skins and ivory, the horns of sea unicorns, the pelts of white bears.’

Hero broke the silence that followed. ‘Those sound more profitable than the goods available here. Apart from horses, the Icelanders have only woollens and fish. They’re not going to fetch high prices in Norway or Rus.’

Vallon walked up and down. ‘How will you get there?’

‘On
Shearwater
, of course.’

Vallon shook his head. ‘I’m not risking the ship. If you really think
a voyage to Greenland is worthwhile, you’ll have to make the passage on another vessel.’

Wayland yawned. ‘We’ll need our own ship to carry us to the hunting grounds. They lie a long way north of the settlements.’

Vallon glanced at Raul. ‘What do you say?’

He shrugged. ‘We came here to trade, and
Shearwater
’s lying idle. Why not?’

‘What will you do for crew? You’ll need a pilot.’

‘Finding hands won’t be a problem,’ said Wayland. ‘There are good profits to be made in the Greenland trade.’

Vallon noticed Syth staring at Wayland with her hands clasped at her waist. ‘All right. Make enquiries. But remember that we have to leave Iceland before the autumn storms set in.’

Wayland’s enquiries soon bore fruit. An embassage from the bishop in Skalholt made the long day’s ride west and presented themselves at the hall with a request. The bishop had heard that the outlanders were planning a voyage to Greenland. It so happened that a week before their own arrival, two monks from the archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen had landed on Iceland. The German archbishop had sent them to check that apostasy hadn’t taken root among his most remote parishioners. Over a meal prepared by Gisla and Syth, the ambassador explained that Iceland’s bishop found the attentions of these two holy fathers vexing. He was from Viking stock. In fact his own father had been a terrible pagan who had died unshriven, and his methods of nurturing the new faith didn’t sit square with the prescriptions laid down by the established church. In short, he wished to get the two monks off his back and had suggested that they pursue their missionary work in Greenland.

‘We’ll need a crew and pilot,’ Wayland said.

‘That’s easily arranged,’ said the ambassador.

Within three days a skilled complement had been mustered, and two days later
Shearwater
was ready to leave. Wayland was packing for the voyage when Vallon came by.

‘Do you want to take the girl?’

Wayland looked past him. Syth stood forlorn in the doorway.

‘You’ll need someone to cook for you,’ said Vallon. ‘The old woman will look after our needs.’

Wayland shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other. ‘I suppose she might be useful.’

‘You’ll be doing us a favour,’ Vallon said. ‘She’d only pine away in your absence.’

XXIII

In the middle of an early June night as bright as day, Wayland left Iceland with Raul and Syth. Their pilot was a morose fellow called Gunnar, a martyr to disabling headaches. Also on board were the two monks. Father Saxo was fat with a head as bald as peeled garlic and took a relaxed view of human frailty. Father Hilbert was thin, with ears like a bat and an implacable belief in man’s innate wickedness. Neither had been out of Germany before, but they knew exactly what to expect of the Greenlanders.

‘They daren’t leave their houses in the wintertime,’ Father Saxo told Raul. ‘If they do, they’re burned by a cold so extreme that when they wipe their noses, the whole nose pulls off.’

Father Hilbert nodded. ‘And the nose having broken off, they throw it away.’

‘I’d better be careful how I piss then,’ said Raul.

The monks exchanged looks. Saxo leaned forward. ‘When did you last attend mass?’

‘Not long after Easter,’ Raul said with a straight face.

‘Did you confess your sins?’

Raul winked at Wayland. ‘I was in too much of a hurry.’

Hilbert pinned him with an earnest gaze. ‘Do you wish to make confession now?’

Raul looked out across the placid ocean. ‘How long have you got, Father?’

The passage went smoothly. Six days out of Reykjavik, Wayland saw his first icebergs – emaciated wrecks, all ribs and hollows. They rounded Cape Farewell on Greenland’s southern tip and in a diffused light drifted north with huge mountains to starboard. They didn’t land at
the Eastern Settlement. To reach it they would have had to sail thirty miles up an ice-strewn fjord. Instead, they tacked and rowed only as far as the first farmstead. Here the monks took their leave. With them went the pilot, who declared that he was too ill to go any further, and two of the Icelandic crewmen. Replacing them wasn’t difficult. Ships were rare in Greenland and half a dozen settlers begged to accompany the foreigners on the searoad north. After two nights ashore, the company sailed on and reached the Western Settlement at night on the third day.

It lay at the head of a long fjord – just a few sod houses with hay-fields under a black-and-white backdrop of mountains.
Shearwater
landed at a farm in a bay on the north shore and the Greenlanders and remaining Icelanders disembarked to complete their journeys on foot. Wayland, Raul and Syth stood in the twilight silence, wondering why people would choose to settle in such a barren outpost.

They’d just sat down to breakfast next morning when a man stuck his grinning face above the gunwale.

‘Well met, far-farers.’

The dog advanced on him. The stranger whistled in admiration. ‘What a monster,’ he said, chucking it under the jaw. ‘The wolf Fenrir who devoured Odin couldn’t have been bigger. If he fathers a litter during your stay, I’ll pay a good price for a dog pup. I’ll call him Skoll after the wolf who chases the sun.’ Up he breezed – a powerfully built man followed by a sturdy boy. He gave Syth a formal bow. ‘Good morning, lovely daughter.’ Wayland and Raul had risen uncertainly. He shook each by the hand. ‘Orm the Greedy,’ he said. ‘This is my son, Glum. I hear you’re looking for a guide to take you to the northern hunting grounds. You’re in luck. I’ve trapped and hunted there most summers for thirty years.’ He sniffed appreciatively. ‘Hot wheaten scones with fresh butter. Don’t let them grow cold on my account.’

Wayland sank back on his seat. ‘Would you care to share our meal?’

‘By all means,’ said Orm. He plonked himself down on a thwart, helped himself to a scone and trowelled butter on it.

Wayland studied the Greenlander. His main impression was of grizzled red hair. A great shock of it on the man’s head, long ragged moustaches, bushy eyebrows that grew straight up, giving him an air
of perpetual astonishment. Bright blue eyes nestled in wrinkles. His son was cast in the same stocky mould but was as hangdog as his father was outgoing. On his right temple was an indentation the size and shape of an egg.

‘You’re after falcons,’ Orm said. ‘I know where to find them.’

‘White ones?’

‘Pale as the winter moon.’ Orm arched his incredible eyebrows at Syth. ‘Can you spare a little more butter, lovely maid?’

Raul eyed him suspiciously. ‘What kind of arrangement are you proposing?’

Orm crammed another scone under his moustache. ‘A fair one. You need a guide and a crew. I need a ship.’

‘How many crew?’

‘Four friends as well as my son. We’ll be netting auks, killing whales and walrus, trapping foxes. We’ll be away six weeks.’

‘It seems to me that you have the better part of the deal.’

Orm jabbed with his knife. ‘The falcons are hard to find and harder to reach. How many are you after?’

The ransom stipulated four, but Wayland had always counted on taking more to make up for losses on the journey south. ‘Eight should be enough.’

‘That’s a lot of gaping beaks to feed. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they never go hungry. Do you have the stomach for heights?’

Wayland hesitated. ‘I once climbed a hundred-foot beech in a gale to free a hawk tangled by her jesses.’

‘It’s not trees you’ll be climbing. The falcons nest on crags in the clouds. I’ve been birding on cliffs since I could walk. Glum, too. That reminds me. I hear you have iron.’

Raul narrowed his eyes. ‘Suppose we have?’

‘You’ll need ice axes. I can get them forged by tomorrow evening and we can be off on the dawn tide. What do you say?’

Wayland looked at Raul. He looked at Glum standing with his face downcast. ‘He’s rather young, isn’t he?’

‘A boy can stand where a man will fall. Glum’s as agile as a goat.’

‘What happened to his head?’

‘A stone hit him when he was collecting auks’ eggs. He was only seven. Don’t worry, his wits are still the right way out. He’s always been tight-tongued.’

‘Syth will be coming with us,’ said Wayland.

Orm hesitated only for a fraction. ‘Excellent. I haven’t tasted scones as good as these since my mother died.’

‘Have the last one.’

‘Are you sure?’

Wayland stood. ‘You’ll supply all the necessary equipment.’

‘Everything.’

Wayland stuck out his hand. ‘It’s a deal.’

Orm sealed the contract with a crushing grip. Back on the jetty he paused. ‘Do you have beer?’

‘We drank it,’ said Raul. ‘We’ve still got barley and malt.’

‘Then we have everything we need. A hunter must have ale to toast his triumphs and console him in his failures.’

Off he went, whistling. Raul and Wayland pulled faces at each other.

All next day Orm and his friends loaded
Shearwater
with hunting paraphernalia. They had long horsehair ropes, scaling ladders, traps and nets of various kinds, harpoons, fishing lines and hooks, barrels of salt and fermented whey, tents. They stowed a skiff in the hold and lashed a whaler on deck alongside
Shearwater
’s boat. Since they wouldn’t find wood in the north, they carried fuel bricks made from straw and dried cow dung. The Greenlanders were in holiday mood, singing and joking as they worked.

A dozen or so of their relatives turned out to bless the enterprise and watch them set sail. They felt their way north in thick fog, borne along past icebergs wreathed in silence. Three days later the fog released them into a realm of permanent daylight and air so clear that they could sometimes see their next destination more than a day before they reached it. Icebergs as big as cathedrals drifted by in ponds of turquoise meltwater, the cold blue light of thousand-year-old winters entombed at their cores. They passed one of the glaciers that calved these monsters and watched cliffs of ice collapse thunderously into the sea, raising waves that sent
Shearwater
pitching wildly. The next day they sailed into an upwelling current the colour of hyacinths on which every kind of native creature that swam or flew had converged. An ominous cloud out to sea turned into a flock of auks a mile wide that whirred past in a sooty squall. Wherever Wayland looked,
he could see whales breaching or sounding. The loud reports of their flukes smacking the water kept him awake almost as much as the sun shining at midnight.

That same sunlit night orcas switchbacked ahead of the ship, their backs glowing like polished manganese. One of them launched out of the ocean and pirouetted on its tail before crashing back. They disappeared and the sea settled into a silky calm. Syth was standing next to Wayland in the bow and he watched her stroke a strand of sun-bleached hair from her eyes. He noticed how her eyes took on the colours of the sea – amethyst, violet, cobalt. She had filled out and grown from girl to young woman. He gathered himself to speak, not knowing what he was going to say except that it would be irrevocable.