To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [215]
It happened twice more, the second time as they were fording a wide, shallow river. A short while before that, two of the ponies had fallen and been unable to rise, and of the nine they still had, none had strength for more than a short spell of riding, and all were weak-footed and worn. All of them baulked at the water and had to be beaten down the steep rocky bank to commit themselves to the stream. M. de Fleury said, ‘They have to be whipped, for their lives and ours. We have an hour to do it in, Kathi. Glímu-Sveinn says we are near.’ Then she helped him.
The snow came just as they entered the water. The two banks disappeared, and all that could be seen was the dark water racing, with the white snowflakes dancing above it. She had early been taught not to look at fast water, but there was nothing else to fix her eyes upon here, and the bottom was full of ruts and loose stones, threatening to turn her ankle as she felt her way over. The current coursed up to her knees and her thighs: she was already soaked to the waist, if not numbed. Glacial water would have been a really bad joke; the Bank said: ‘God be praised, not a jökulár river.’ She had expected the Hanse to respond, and he hadn’t. Now she called, ‘Where is Paúel?’
They were almost in midstream; Glímu-Sveinn, wading ahead, had his arms through the reins of two ponies and was roaring at three more who were plunging and scrabbling at his side. She had her own; behind, the Banco di Niccolò was dragging two more. Of Benecke, his horse and his bell there was no sign.
Glímu-Sveinn turned round, with difficulty. He bellowed, ‘Shout! He is probably over the river.’
‘I didn’t see him,’ said M. de Fleury.
‘Then leave him,’ said the Icelander. ‘You think this is bad? Wait until there is snow and no light.’
‘All right. Take the junfrú ahead and I’ll follow.’
‘We need you,’ said Kathi.
‘Not now. Hlídarendi is not far away. Even blind, Glímu-Sveinn can make his way from the river, he tells me. Anyway, I’ll be back before you get all the ponies to land. Take my two; let them swim. And if you find Benecke on the other side, shout.’
‘No!’ said Kathi sharply. Ahead, she could hear the Icelander cursing. Suddenly, there were two horses threshing about at her side and she could see nothing but a receding back, the snow closing about it. The Banco di Niccolò, ridiculously going back to trace and rescue the Hanse because, despite everything, he rather liked him.
Ahead, Glímu-Sveinn had discovered a shoal and was standing in it, the water up to his ankles. Five of the ponies were scrambling up, shaking, beside him. As she prepared to address him, she observed the water actually recede from his island, so that the Icelander was standing dry-shod, looking astonished. He looked astonished for a brief moment more; then with a roar he dived fully clad into the water. The horses jostled and scattered into the shallows.
Where they had been, with a rumbling crash a jet of steam rose in the air, almost as white as the snow-clouds. She was still looking at it when Glímu-Sveinn seized her ankles and, bringing her down under the water, pushed her with him, half under, half out of the river back to the bank they had left. There, taking her full weight in his arms, he wrestled her to the top of the slope where, choking and retching, she turned to look back.
Thick as the trunk of a tree, the cascade stood in the heart of the river. The steam, transformed into blistering rain, fell scalding back to the cold rushing water. She heard the screams of the ponies and the hissing splash as they plunged off downriver. Breathing harshly, Glímu-Sveinn was half sitting beside her. She looked up at him, gasping, and saw him staring over her head.
A single pony stood further along the same bank, its reins dangling, its drooping head turned from the snow. Below it, someone seemed to be sleeping. She saw it was M. de Fleury, his soaking coat already patched with red slush. She struggled to her feet and went over. He was not sleeping or dead,