To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [192]
‘Hekla and Katla, I am informed. Are you frozen with horror?’ said Paúel. ‘Because if so, look there and blench. We have come to the river.’
It was an unpleasant river: broad, and plated with grey and white at the edges. The running currents were not at once apparent; in places the surface was turgid, or mixed with the chopped and scurrying pools of the frustrated flow. There was a ferry, Glímu-Sveinn said, on the other side, which would come to their horn. The horses would swim.
‘The horses will float,’ Paúel Benecke said. ‘Mine is lighter than water, save for his spine, which is halving me like an Icelander’s saw or a cheese wire. They tell me they drowned a bishop nearby not so long ago.’
‘He didn’t understand the local customs,’ said Nicholas. ‘There are several methods of dropping a hint.’
The ferry was labouring over. It looked highly unsafe. It came closer. Nicholas said, ‘For example … What did you say about saws?’
Benecke looked at him. Glímu-Sveinn had already dismounted, and was leaping down to the river-bank, shouting. The ferry bumped and splashed its way into the shoals. There was one middle-aged man at the oars. The rest of the old boat was empty. But all he could see from above was blotched and stained and clotted with blood.
Paúel Benecke swore. Below, the Icelanders exchanged hasty words. At length Glímu-Sveinn came back. His face above the long beard was veined, and his shallow eyes bulged. He said, ‘Is the Frenchman a fool?’
‘He’s a Fleming. Sometimes. What has happened?’ Nicholas said. His chest eased.
‘The farmers had to butcher a horse and take it over. They found it disembowelled on the bank. I will help the boatman sluice out the ferry, but we ought to cross over at once.’
‘But what killed it?’ said Paúel. ‘Demons? Trolls? Those black dwarves who live underground and drag men to their red smoking caverns? And why is Sersanders a fool?’
‘Bear,’ said Glímu-Sveinn. ‘Every year the white bears arrive on the ice-floes from Greenland. They are spent with walking and hunger; many die. But if they are skilled and hunt well, they gain strength. Sigfús knows, if this Sersanders does not.’
‘What has he done?’ Nicholas asked.
‘Nothing yet,’ said the Icelander Glímu-Sveinn. ‘He is three hours ahead, to the north-east, with Sigfús and the maiden. The ferryman took them over. He told them of the tracks of the bear, and the tracks that showed that the bear had a cub. White bear-cubs are worth more than falcons. In some kingdoms, white bear-cubs command as much as a ship full of grain. They have gone to follow and take it.’
‘Do they have weapons?’ said Nicholas.
‘Bows, and nets and spears, I am told. And Sigfús never parts from his axe. It is still not enough.’
‘For a cub?’ Benecke said.
‘The cub is bad enough,’ said Glímu-Sveinn. ‘But if they take the cub, the she-bear will come for them. The ferryman says there have been white foxes about for a week. The white fox follows the bear as a scavenger. The bailiff should have heard the reports.’
He broke off. He said, ‘If they give Sigfús ale, he will do anything. If Sigfús dies because of the Flemings, I will kill them.’
Nicholas looked at him. He thought of their night together before Skálholt. He remembered how the man had risen at night, with his dog, to check that all was well. He had thought his concern was for the weather.
But he had not known that bears were in these parts. The bailiff had known that.
‘The bailiff must think we are fools,’ Nicholas said, ‘never mind Sersanders and his sister. I will not tell you what I think of him. But we are three grown men, one of us native. I will not ask either of you to risk your life for these people, but if you will help me track where they have gone, I will look after it.’
It was surprising how much Icelandic Benecke could understand now. He said,