To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [210]
Every boat-load Robin helped to shove off tried to get him to come, and described what would happen if he stayed. He refused them politely, as M. de Fleury would have done. He considered, all the time, what M. de Fleury would do, and what a sensible man ought to do, and tried to follow the mean. Kathi, he knew, would concede, if with reluctance, that he was right. M. de Fleury was not a sensible man.
*
Commonsense tracks the way across deserts; faith and laughter sustain those who cross them.
Glímu-Sveinn had faith, and had prayed aloud at the altar before leaving the chapel.
‘Almattigr Gud, allra stetta
Yferbiodandinn, engla og thioda,
Ei thurfandi stadi ne standir …’
‘It is from an old poem,’ M. de Fleury had said, when Kathi asked. ‘All-powerful God, Who presideth over all orders of beings, both angels and mortals; Who, independent of place and time, continuest undisturbed in Thy sovereign power … I ask of Thee, that in Thy great mercy, Thou wouldst grant me what I implore with a submissive soul –’
‘A dish of beef collops with ale,’ Paúel Benecke had interrupted. ‘Since you’re asking. Shouldn’t we go?’
‘When we’ve settled this wager,’ had said M. de Fleury, staring at him.
For three of them, a dedicated levity was their chosen shield against what was to come. The fourth, being an Icelander, had his own form of strength, and was to show it on that first killing stretch which was to take them south to the farmhouse of Selsund, a halfway station where they could take time to rest. They each had three lean-bellied animals, economically laden; and must ride them hard over the snow-covered lava, for after Selsund was passed, the basalt ridges and the bogs and the Markarfljót would hinder all progress.
That was the plan. The rest was outside their control. The Hades within Hekla might explode, and send its flames down the mountain behind them. Ahead, the Plutonic cauldron within Katla might rise, and give its glowing carpet of ash to the wind. After Hlídarendi, the danger would be nearer and worse.
At the outset, M. de Fleury had claimed that the thunder was a stroke of good luck, since it would alert the fisherfolk to the danger of Katla. He said if they could smell anything, apart from each other, the stink of sulphur would be noticed as well. He said that if they had any sense, they would all get out to the west, including Robin. It annoyed her, since she knew he didn’t believe it. She was arguing when the Danziger had interrupted.
‘Excuse me, but are you proposing to call this man M. de Fleury throughout this entire journey? You realise he could fall into a crevasse while you are still pronouncing his name?’
She had, with annoyance, felt herself colouring. Then M. de Fleury had said, ‘I think she thinks it’s a charm against evil. She can call me what she likes.’
‘Then for God’s sake, tell her to call you the same as everyone else.’
‘That wouldn’t be very polite,’ said M. de Fleury. ‘I don’t know why she doesn’t call me Nicholas.’ He addressed her mildly. ‘Do you want to call me Nicholas?’
He had looked reasonably patient, and probably serious. Under the circumstances, it clearly made sense. ‘All right,’ said Kathi. ‘It’s shorter.’ Then they were off. When she had breath at all, she tried to get used to it, while reviewing her precise situation.
They carried some hay, and had fed the horses from a small store they had found in a cave. They had kept the makings of one single tent and their survival supplies, including some oddments of dried fish and blubber, a lump of tallow and a flask of sour whey. Glímu-Sveinn led, followed by the head of the Bank of Niccolò, followed by herself, and with Benecke in the rear. His mount had a bell on its harness, the way they had in the Tyrol. M.