They had the appearance of shipwrecked sailors, with their ragged clothes and beards that grew thicker daily, but their eyes no longer had the wild look of hunger and exposure and they were in better spirits than they had been.
It was late in the afternoon of the fourth day that they saw the ship coming up behind them and leapt to their feet, waving to attract its attention.
"Perhaps the ship is from Narleen!" cried Hawkmoon. "Perhaps they'll let us work a passage to the city!"
The ship was high-prowed, made of wood painted with rich colours. Principally it was red, with gold, yellow and blue scroll-work along its sides. Although rigged like a two-masted schooner it also possessed oars which were now being used to propel it toward them.
It flew a hundred brightly colored flags and the men on its decks wore clothes to match.
The ship struck her oars and pulled alongside. A heavily bearded face peered down at them. "Who are you?"
"Travellers-strangers in these parts-can we sign aboard to work our passage to Narleen?" D'Averc asked.
The bearded man laughed. "Aye, that you can. Come up, gentlemen."
A rope ladder was thrown down and Hawkmoon and D'Averc climbed gratefully up it to stand on the ornamental deck of the ship.
"This is the River Wind," the bearded man told them. "Heard of her?"
"I told you-we're strangers," said Hawkmoon.
"Aye… Well, she's owned by Valjon of Starvel -you've heard of him no doubt."
"No," said D'Averc. "But we're grateful to him for sending a ship our way," he smiled. "Now, my friend, what do you say to our working our passage to Narleen?"
"Well, if you've no money…"
"None…"
"We'd best find out from Valjon himself what he wants done with you."
The bearded man escorted them up the deck to the poop where a thin man, pale and in black, stood brooding, not looking at them.
"Lord Valjon?" said the bearded man.
"What is it, Ganak?"
"The two we took aboard. They've no moneywish to work their passage, they say."
"Why, then let them, Ganak, if that's what they desire." Valjon smiled wanly.
He did not look directly at Hawkmoon and D'Averc and his melancholy eyes continued to stare out over the river. With a wave of his hand he dismissed them.
Hawkmoon felt uncomfortable, looked about him.
All the crew were looking on silently, faint smiles on their faces. "What's the joke?"
"Joke?" Ganak said. "There's none. Now, gentlemen, would you pull an oar to get you to Narleen?"
"If that's the work that will get us to the city," said D'Averc with some reluctance.
"It looks somewhat strenuous work," Hawkmoon said. "But it's not too far to Narleen, if our map was in order. Show us to our oars, friend Ganak."
Ganak took them along the deck until they reached the catwalk between the rowers. Here Hawkmoon was shocked when he saw the condition of the oarsmen. All looked half-starved and filthy. "I don't understand…" he began.
Ganak laughed. "Why, you will soon,"
"What are these rowers?" D'Averc asked in dismay.
"They are slaves, gentlemen-and slaves you are, too. We take nothing aboard the River Wind that will not profit us and, since you have no money, and ransom seems unlikely, why we'll make you slaves to work our oars for us. Get down there!"
D'Averc drew his sword and Hawkmoon his dagger, but Ganak sprang back signalling to his crewmen.
"Come, lads. Teach them new tricks, for they seem not to understand what slaves must do."
Behind them, along the catwalk, clambered a great weight of sailors, all with bright blades in their hands, while another mass of men came at their front.
D'Averc and Hawkmoon prepared to die taking a good quantity of the sailors with them, but then from above a figure came hurtling, down a rope from the crosstrees, to strike once, twice upon their heads with a hardwood club and knock them into the oarpits.
The figure grinned and bounced on the catwalk, putting away his club. Ganak laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good work, Orindo. That trick's always the best one and saves much spilt blood."
Others sprang down to relieve the stunned men of their weapons and rope their wrists to an oar.
When Hawkmoon awoke, he and D'Averc sat side by side on a hard bench and Orindo was swinging his legs from the catwalk above them. He was a boy of perhaps sixteen, a cocky smile on his face.
He called back to someone above whom they could not see. "They're awake. We can start moving nowback to Narleen."
He winked at Hawkmoon and D'Averc. "Commence, gentlemen," he said. "Commence rowing, if you please."
He seemed to be imitating a voice he had heard. "You're lucky," he added. "We're going downstream. Your first work will be easy."
Hawkmoon gave a mock bow over his oar. "Thank you, young man. We appreciate your concern."
"I'll give you further advice from time to time, for that's my kindly nature," said Orindo springing up, gathering his red and blue coat about him and bouncing along the catwalk.
Ganak's face peered down next. He prodded at Hawkmoon's shoulder with a sharp boathook. "Pull well, friend, or you'll feel the bite of this in your bowels." Ganak disappeared. The other rowers bent to their task and Hawkmoon and D'Averc were forced to follow suit.
For the best part of a day they pulled, with the stink of their own and others' bodies in their nostrils, with a bowl of slops to eat at midday. The work was backbreaking, though it was a sign of what upstream rowing was like when the other slaves murmured with gratitude for the ease of their task!
At night, they lay over their oars, barely able to eat their second bowl of nauseating mess which was, if anything, worse than the first.
Hawkmoon and D'Averc were too weary to talk, but made some attempt to rid themselves of their bonds. It was impossible for they were too weak to get free of such tightly knotted ropes.
Next morning Ganak's voice awoke them. "All port rowers get pulling. Come on you, scum! That means you, gentlemen! Pull! Pull! There's a prize in sight and if we miss it, you'll suffer the Lord Valjon's wrath!"
The emaciated bodies of the other rowers instantly became active at this threat and Hawkmoon and D'Averc bent their backs with them, hauling the huge boat round against the current.
From above were the sounds of footfalls as men rushed about, preparing the ship for battle. Ganak's voice roared from the poop as he issued instructions in the name of his master, the Lord Valjon.
Hawkmoon thought he would die with the effort of rowing, felt his heart pound and his muscles creak with the agony of the exertion. Fit he might be, but this effort was unusual, placing strain on parts of his body that had never had to take such strain before. He was covered in sweat and his hair was pasted to his face, his mouth open as he gasped for breath.
"Oh, Hawkmoon…" panted D'Averc. "This-was -not-meant to-be-my role-in life…"
But Hawkmoon could not reply for the pain in his chest and arms.
There was now a sharp jarring as the boat met another and Ganak yelled: "Port rowers, drop oars!"
Hawkmoon and the others obeyed instantly and slumped over their oars as the sounds of battle commenced above. There was the noise of swords, of men in agony, of killing and of dying, but it seemed only like a distant dream to Hawkmoon. He felt that if he continued to row in Lord Valjon's galley, he would shortly perish.
Then suddenly he heard a guttural cry above him and felt a great weight fall upon him. The thing struggled, crawled over his head and fell in front of him.
It was a brutish looking sailor, his body covered in red hair. There was a large cutlass sticking from the middle of his body. He gasped, quivered, then died, the knife falling from his hand.