Magnus Mills - Explorers of the New Century

Guthrum coughed and cleared his throat. “Would you mind, sir, if I made a personal observation?”

“No, of course not. What is it?”

“Well, I think you tend to be a little hard on the lad.”

“Oh?” said Tostig. “You surprise me.”

“Considering this is his first voyage, he’s come forward in leaps and bounds,” Guthrum continued. “He’s diligent and hard-working, and also quite courageous. It’s true he makes mistakes now and again, but haven’t all of us in our youth?”

“I suppose so.”

“There are many I know who would be pleased to count him as one of their own. He has an ‘uncle’, for example, who I’m sure has very good reason to be most proud of him.”

“Really?” said Tostig, his tone of voice brightening noticeably.

“And I can tell you that Thorsson also shares this opinion.”

“Thorsson is a man of exemplary judgment.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, well, Guthrum. It appears I may have underestimated our recruit.”

“Hardly a recruit any more, sir. He’s been with us almost twelve months now, including the sea journey.”

“Why, yes, twelve months! How the time has flown!”

After a moment’s quiet thought, Tostig suddenly sat up in his bed and lit the lamp. As light filled the tent, he reached for his pea jacket and searched through its pockets, eventually finding what he was looking for. Then he extinguished the lamp again. Finally he addressed his companion in the darkness.

“Guthrum,” he said. “You remain my trusted Number Two.”

“Thank you, sir,” came the reply.

§

Tostig was first to rise next morning, even before Snaebjorn, and when the others emerged they found him bustling around the encampment, having already fed the mules and put the pan on for breakfast. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood, undaunted by the ferocious wind that continued to show no sign of abating. With still another hour until dawn, he allowed a lamp to be lit during breakfast (this meal was usually taken in complete darkness) and the men enjoyed the rare luxury of some potted marmalade. Immediately afterwards, he announced that he would like to make a small presentation.

“Come forward, will you, Thegn?” he entreated.

On this day, for the first time since the party had left the coast, Tostig’s flag had been unfurled. It flapped in the wind at the top of a slender pole, close to where Tostig was standing. As Thegn approached, he reached for his hand and shook it firmly.

“Now then, Thegn,” he said. “Guthrum tells me you’ve served with us for twelve months.”

“Eleven months and three weeks,” Thegn replied.

“Well, I think we can call it the full twelve amongst our select company. Are we all agreed on that?”

“All agreed,” said Thorsson.

“And in view of this,” resumed Tostig. “I’d like to take the opportunity of returning your silver star.”

He produced the star and handed it to Thegn; then leaned forward and kissed him ceremonially on each cheek. This was followed by a smart salute.

Thegn stood holding the star in the palm of his hand, staring at it blankly.

“Have you any words to say to us?” asked Tostig.

Thegn did not speak.

“Thegn?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” he said at length. “I’m just quite astonished, that’s all.”

“But you’ve seen it plenty of times before,” said Tostig. “What’s so astonishing about it?”

“I don’t mean the star itself.”

“You mean what it represents?”

“No,” said Thegn. “I mean it was a surprise.”

Again he fell silent.

“A salute will do as well as a speech,” murmured Guthrum.

“Of course,” answered Thegn, snapping quickly to attention and saluting.

Tostig looked him up and down.

“Good,” he said. “Very good.”

Thereupon the little gathering dispersed, the tents were folded and preparations for departure were begun. The bulk of the work was completed in less than half an hour. A short while later, Thegn was fixing his star on to the front of his navy cap when Snaebjorn approached.

“Welcome back to the fold,” he said, by way of greeting.

“I didn’t know I’d left it,” replied Thegn.

“I’ve come to inform you that Tostig has just issued a new order.”

“Oh yes?”

“He says conditions have become too rough for normal headgear. Accordingly, all members of the party must abandon their caps in favour of woolly helmets. I take it you’ve brought one along, have you?”

“There’s one in my pack.”

“Then you should unpack it immediately. I’m afraid this means you won’t be able to display your silver star.”

“You won’t be able to display yours either,” said Thegn.

“Mine makes no difference to me,” answered Snaebjorn, and with that he turned and walked away.

The last task to be carried out before leaving was to exchange a ration of dried food for the bottle of green ink. The ration was added to the depot they were leaving behind. Then, with woolly helmets on their heads, the men led the mules into the north.

§

“Did you hear?” said Tostig. “In the dead of night did you hear a kind of wailing?”

“Actually I did,” replied Guthrum.

“And you assumed it was a trick of the wind?”

“Yes.”

“So did I,” rejoined Tostig. “I thought it was the relentless moan of those great gusts as they came rolling across the plain. Yet as I lay on the verge of sleep I began to realise that the sound was quite specific to this camp of ours. Then the truth dawned on me. What I could hear wasn’t the wind playing in the guy ropes: it was voices; and moreover it was voices I hadn’t heard since my childhood. Tell me, Guthrum, have you ever known the mules to sing?”

“Never.”

“Well, I have. It was years and years ago, in that bygone age when they were regarded as a quaint minority, and when we scarcely took any notice of them. Occasionally, and for no clear reason, we would hear odd snatches of song coming from their dwellings, sung in a sombrous tone that bore no resemblance to anything else we’d heard. As I say, I was only a child at the time, but I recall their songs possessed the same mournful quality as that wailing we heard in the night. They danced as well, so I was told, swaying from side to side and gyrating like drunkards; but I never saw any of that.”

“How extraordinary,” said Guthrum.

“Eventually, of course, all such behaviour was quelled, and I haven’t heard those voices since. Not until last night, that is.”

“What do you think’s got into them?”

“I don’t know,” said Tostig. “Perhaps this desolate country has made them despondent and they’ve sought solace in the customs of their forebears. It’s only natural, I suppose; they’ve nothing else, have they?”

“Maybe we should start keeping a closer eye on our hapless charges.”

“I think you’re right, Guthrum. The last thing we want is for them to lose heart and falter at this stage in our journey. Also, I wonder if we shouldn’t begin tethering them again at night.”

“For their own safety?”

“Indeed.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Curiously enough,” continued Tostig. “At quite an early juncture Thegn mentioned that the mules might become troublesome as we neared our goal. ‘They might create problems for us’ were his precise words. I remember dismissing the idea out of hand, but now it appears he may have had a point. Evidently his worries were far from groundless and actually served to display a good deal of common sense in the boy. It seems I learn something new about him every day.”

Tostig and Guthrum had ascended a steep bluff that rose a hundred feet above the plain. It was almost noon and the wind had lulled. Below them they could see their three companions: Snaebjorn was preparing a light meal while Thorsson did his calculations and Thegn attended to the mules. These were standing roped together in a line, passively awaiting their feed. To the south a faint trail disappeared into the gloom. To the north lay further emptiness.