Amber Treasure, The (8 page)

I should run, I thought. Get
away, survive − but I could not. Whether I was frozen in terror or held
by some feeling of honour and duty, I cannot recall. I tried to think of some
ferocious battle cry or threat to intimidate him, but it was already too late.
He moved in and swung back his blade to cut down on my shoulder. I moved my
knife up to block the blow, realising as I did, that he would knock it aside
with ease.

Then, I heard a buzzing noise
past my right ear. An instant later, I could see an arrow embedded in the
warrior’s left arm. He gave a cry of pain, moved his right hand across as a
reflex and dropped the sword. In a flash, I was on him. I thrust the knife hard
into his upper abdomen, beneath his ribs and felt it ram home. Blood gushed out
of the wound and ran hotly down my arm, drenching my tunic. He stared at me in
horror, grabbed my shoulder with his hands and pulled me towards him. Even with
a knife in his gut, the strength he had was surprising, but it began to drain away
as his life blood ran down me. Finally, his hands released me and he slumped
down, first onto his knees and then, with a groan, onto his front.

Turning round, I could see that
Eduard was still punching the other warrior with his good arm. The Welshman’s
head hit the ground with the sound of splintering bone that told me he had hit
a rock or stone and he now lay completely still, perhaps dead, perhaps knocked
out. Eduard, holding a hand over his still bleeding wound, slumped down next to
his enemy then he looked up at me for a moment, eyes unfocused at first. He
blinked and dragging himself over, collapsed on the ground beside me. We
glanced over at Cuthbert. He was still crouching in the grass, bow in his left hand
staring open-mouthed at what he had just seen. Then, suddenly, he laughed.

“I wonder what old Grettir will
say about this!” he said.

We had done it! Three youths
barely out of childhood, had fought their first battle and won. For a moment I
just nodded at Cuthbert and then the sound of a baby crying in the arms of a
village woman brought me back to the present. The villagers were still staring
at us, fear yet lingering in their eyes then, Cybilla − Cuthbert’s mother
− bustled over.

“Woden bless you, Master Cerdic,
you’ve saved us all from this filth.”

She rushed past me and over to
her son, who cut her bonds with his small dagger and then embraced her. A
moment later, we were surrounded by crying and laughing women and children. We cut
them free and Aidith tore a strip of linen from her dress and used it to bind
Eduard’s wound. She then came over to me and without warning, gave me a brief
but intensely passionate kiss that left me staggering. I stared at her,
desperate for something to say, but lost for words.

“Do I get one of those as well?”
Eduard asked. Aidith laughed and bending over pecked him lightly on the top of
the head.

“Don’t think much of that,” he
grumbled.

“That’s the best you’re getting,
so don’t complain,” she muttered.

Reaching down, I picked up the
Welshman’s sword from the ground. It was short, compared to my uncle’s, but
felt heavier: a weapon made for the cut and thrust of a shield wall. It was
well made and sturdy too. Not as pretty as Hussa’s new blade, nor as legendary
as my uncle’s, but it was a sword taken in battle from a foe and that would do
− for now. I examined it more closely. There were signs of dried blood
along the blade and around the guard and I tried not to think which of the
villagers had been struck down by it. That thought made me think, with sudden
horror, about the Villa and my family. It was out of sight at present, beyond
the orchard and the still burning village. I wanted to go there and find out
what was going on, but then I looked at the villagers. Even though we had
rescued them, they still looked scared and vulnerable and I could not just
abandon them, could I? I bit my lip, realising that I was in two minds.

It suddenly occurred to me that
we were all being rather too loud. We were standing in an open field only a few
hundred yards from our burning village. Somewhere, not far away, there were
more raiders and I did not want to get discovered here. I turned to the women.

“Quiet now, everyone,” I ordered
and was then rather surprised that most of the noise ceased. Was I no longer
just a boy to them? Did they see me as their leader?

“We must find somewhere for you
to hide. We cannot return to the village yet, it is far from safe,” I began. I
pointed with the sword towards the west, into the woods we had run through
earlier.

“Through there the woods get
denser. There is a stream some way into them. You can hide there and you will
be safe overnight. By morning the raiders will have gone,” I advised them.

At least I hoped the raiders
would be gone. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps they were part of an invasion
force. This land had been theirs before it had been ours. Maybe they had
returned to reclaim it and drive us Angles out. In that case, no place would be
safe. I prayed to the gods that I was right.

“But, Master Cerdic, you’re
coming with us, surely?” asked Cybilla and she looked at me imploringly. “It’s
not safe for you at the Villa and in any case … we need you to protect us.”

I looked east again, towards the
Villa. In my mind, I saw an image of it burning and the Welsh rampaging all
around it. I could imagine them looting my mother’s food store and then
dragging away cattle and poultry. Had my father used my uncle’s sword to defend
it? He was not a warrior. Had he fallen at the door to the house? Was he dead?
What of Cuthwine the warrior and Sunniva my older sister? Images of her and
Mildrith slain or raped flashed into my mind and I felt cold with fear for them
all.

I then considered the women and
children who stood around me here. Dark thoughts came again to me. What if they
were found in the woods and dragged away to serve masters in Elmet? Some to be slain,
others to become the playthings of Welsh warriors.  I could not allow that. I was
torn, all my instincts urged me to go to the Villa, but common sense told me
that it was already too late and that by now, whatever was going to happen had
happened.  I hesitated a moment longer then reached a decision: I could not leave
these people prey to the Welsh. I had to protect them; what else could I do?

I turned back to Cybilla and I
nodded my head. “Yes, Goodwife, I’m coming with you.”

It was now getting quite dark.
The moon was rising and I could see several stars. The village still burnt
close at hand as, like a shepherd with his flock, I gathered the village folk
to me. We then set out: me leading the way with the women in single file behind
and Cerdic and Eduard following up in the rear. We walked back into the woods
and pressed on into its depths. Soon, we had come back to the stream where
Eduard had fallen, although it took half an hour for our slow moving party with
its children and wounded. We halted there, washed away the smoke and blood and
drank the cool water.

I scouted on ahead through the
dense undergrowth. By now, it was full night and I had great difficulty seeing
the way, but I was searching for a place to rest; a place to hide. I soon came
to the stream where the company had rested just before we spotted the smoke. It
was quiet and deserted; the abandoned kill from our hunt still lay where we had
dropped it. I decided we would sleep here and go back to the village in the
morning and find out what had happened to my family.

Suddenly, I saw movement up ahead
behind a beech tree: a glint of metal in the moonlight and the crack of a twig
snapping underfoot. I raised my new sword and braced myself, whilst my eyes
strained to see in the gloom. Were there two eyes staring at me through the
branches? My heart began to pound, then a voice spoke and I half jumped out of
my skin with fright.

“I thought I taught you the
warrior’s pose better than that, Master Cerdic,” said Grettir grinning and
coming out of the deep shadow under the tree.

“Grettir, thanks be to Woden. How
long have you been here?” I asked moving towards him. I then stopped when I
noticed his left arm was in a sling and was bandaged. The bandages were oozing
blood. He saw me examining his wounded limb and grunted.

“Don’t worry about this, Master.
I got careless and one of the Welsh raiders stabbed me in the arm, but it’s
just a scratch, really. I took his head off for it, so I think he learnt his
lesson. I’ve been here only a few moments. I saw the lads back to Wicstun and
then I returned to look for you.”

Suddenly, he slumped against the
tree, appearing exhausted and extremely pale: so perhaps he had lost more blood
than he thought. I ran over and helped him to a tree stump that stuck up out of
the undergrowth. I unwrapped the bandage and examined his wound: it was quite
deep, several veins had been cut through and the wound bit deep into his
muscle. I cleaned it with a little water and then bandaged it with torn cloth
from my own shirt. I then fetched the villagers and the sorry looking band of
dirty, bloodstained women and children staggered into the clearing and
collapsed under the trees.

Grettir told us that the raiders
had been attacking Wicstun, but they had been driven off by the townsfolk by
the time he and the youths drew near. A small band of the enemy had encountered
the boys as they fled west and there had been a brief fight. One of the Wicstun
boys was hurt and two of the raiders had been slain, whilst the others had made
their escape. My tutor, though, could not tell me what had occurred at the
Villa, as he had not been there, so I still had no idea if any of my family still
lived.

Cuthbert, Eduard and I took turns
watching the trees for signs of the raiders while the villagers slept.
Throughout the short spring night, my thoughts were of my family and the Villa.
As I sat alone, staring into the gloom, the whole evening came back to me. The
fear, the rage and the excitement echoed around my mind which, combined with
the anxiety I felt about my family, brought on a sudden attack of nausea: a
terrible hollow, gnawing feeling inside that made me want to retch and I wandered
a few yards into the woods to find a bush to vomit into.

Just as I had finished, I heard a
rustle of movement off in the woods, away to the south and I sank back into the
shadows under the trees and froze. Nothing, though, came from that way and
after a moment I breathed out slowly, but then caught my breath again when I
heard a clear voice calling out. I was not sure … but it sounded Welsh.

My shield, sword and spear were
back in the clearing. All I had was my knife and I drew it as I crept slowly
towards the noises. Now I could hear more crashing in the trees and exchanges
of conversation in an alien tongue. Soon, I came to the edge of another
clearing, perhaps a hundred paces from where the villagers and my friends slept
and I heard the voices again, but this time right in front of me. Startled, I
crouched down quickly and hid behind a tree.

In the glade, five Welsh warriors
were standing in a small group leaning on spears and drinking from clay pots
that looked like the ones father stored his wine in. Behind the men, I could see
a group of women and children being herded along by yet more warriors. Their
hands were tied and a rope linked all the prisoners together in a long,
miserable line. I did not see all the faces but, I was sure that one of them
was the wife of the blacksmith from Wicstun and two of the children were from
the village. So, we had not saved everyone − or so it seemed.

I raised my knife and then put it
quickly away again. Clearly I could not hope to fight ten enemies alone. I
thought about going back to fetch my friends and Grettir, but even then we
would be outnumbered and by the time I roused them, it would be hard to find
this group in the dark.

I watched the nearest group of
warriors gathered around a huge man − easily a head higher than his
fellows and broader than Eduard. He was dressed in leather armour overlaid with
iron rings and plates sewn onto the leather, and on his head was a helmet of
bronze and iron. Only the wealthiest men could afford armour, but that was not
what most struck me about the warrior, rather it was the man’s face.

It was cruel, his expression
menacing as he watched the poor wretches trail by. The image was made all the
more terrifying in the moonlight, due to the fact that his right eye was
missing and his face was scarred, horribly, by what looked like an old axe or
sword wound. Something stirred in my memory then − something from one of
Lilla’s stories. For a moment the warrior’s one eye turned towards the woods
where I lurked and seemed to search them. Had I made a noise, or had the
moonlight caught my knife blade and betrayed me? I tensed and was ready to
spring up and flee if needs be, but he glanced away from my hiding place and
muttered something to the other men, which they laughed at.

After another few minutes, they drank
up and tossed the empty pots towards the trees, cheering or jeering as each man
hit or missed a trunk. One landed and shattered by my foot and I jumped, almost
giving myself away, but they were moving off behind the prisoners and in
moments were gone. I was just about to return to the villagers, when I saw
another man emerge from the trees, going the same way as the others.

This was no warrior: this man I
knew and I stared at him in confusion as I realised that it was Aedann, our
slave. He was carrying a spear as well as a shield, which bore the Welsh
Christian God’s symbol upon it. I stood up and was about to yell after him,
when two more Welsh warriors emerged, twenty yards behind him. They must have
been able to see him ahead of them, across the glade, because they shouted a
challenge at him. Aedann turned, answered them with a few words in Welsh,
before passing into the woods ahead of them and was gone. Minutes later, they
followed him and finally, the glade was silent. I was left alone to ponder what
I had seen. Firstly: the prisoners − some from the village and some from
Wicstun − being herded westwards, towards Elmet. Then Aedann, carrying a
Welsh shield. Had he joined them? Had he taken advantage of the raid to make
his escape? I turned back towards the villagers and found them still asleep.
Should I rouse them and tell them? No − let them rest − dawn would
come soon enough, with the sorrows it must bring. Then, we would go home and
see what had happened.