The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (27 page)

     He kissed the child and lowered her down to Martha. The remaining small children, he lowered into the arms of mothers and grandmothers, who accepted them grim faced, some weeping quietly.
Anna, Brinley’s wife, was the last into the pit, following Simon, and helped him to replace the boards into position.

    
‘Shhh!’ breathed Anna, in response to much whimpering and crying from the children as the darkness surrounded them. ‘Just imagine you are under a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night.’

     A rolling and scraping noise from above
, was evidence that Griswalda had positioned some barrels of flour on top of the boards.

The Saxons could only arrive from the easterly path. Just before it entered the village, the path passed between two ancient elms. Placed across the gap between the elms were three wooden oxcarts, tipped on their sides as a blockade. Thick holly bushes grew on either side. Although the barrier was avoidable via a difficult route through the surrounding bramble and holly, Withred anticipated that the obstruction would draw the raiders towards an engagement.

    
As soon as the horn sounded, Withred and the men—who were in a constant state of readiness near to the ox carts—had quickly mustered twenty paces ahead of the cart barrier, at a point where scores of arrows had been stuck in the ground in readiness. Here the men stood with bows ready and drawn—Withred and Brinley standing at their core. In total, twenty-two men stood between the raiders and the village.

    
‘Together when I say!’ shouted Withred, as the sound of onrushing, but still unsighted riders, made the ground shake. He was aware that the inexperienced men would have more success aiming at close targets, so had chosen their stance a hundred paces from a bend where the riders would emerge. In slowing them down, the bend would give the bowmen time to take sight, and then loose their arrows when the riders were a mere fifty paces away. Withred had drilled the men relentlessly for this day.

     As he
waited, he cast a quick glance along the line of men, and as a man of many battles he was not really surprised at what he saw; some were trembling violently; some were pissing where they stood. The thunder of the onrush built to a deafening crescendo as the riders came round the bend in the track. In a haze of hooves and dust, they yowled towards the archers.

    
‘Stay your attack till I say!’ shouted Withred above the clamour. ‘Wait, wait, wait … NOW!’

    S
ix arrows hit home, sending three men to the ground and leaving the other three as riding-wounded. The injured were the younger men—the Geoguth—who had been eager to ride at the front of the group and prove their valour to Osric.

    
‘Hit the ground!’ shouted Osric, as he yanked his pony to a halt. ‘Find cover and attack on foot at my order!’

     As they dismounted and scrambled for cover, Withred spotted Egbert
throwing himself behind a nearby bush. ‘The slippery bastard!’ he cursed as his arrow clattered off the stony track behind him.

     Some men had still not reached cover
, and the defenders loosed several more volleys, dropping three more of them.

     Osric, crouching behind a low mound, could see Wlensling kneeling for cover a few paces away.
‘What do we number Wlensling?’

     Wlensling picked up his iron helmet and replaced it on his head.
‘I make it just twenty-four fit men left.’

     Osric’s head whirled in frantic thought.
‘Gods!’ he cursed, then looked towards the village. ‘Withred . . . Withred! How goes it my friend?’ he shouted.

    
Silence.

    
‘Withred, why do you side with the Britons? It’s not too late to work things out with me. You know I’m a reasonable man. Come back to us. You cannot wish to spend your life in the fields with this miserable carrion.  I’ll share the spoils with you. Come over now!’

     Again, silence. Osric turned to Wlensling.
‘Muster any men who possess bows to gather together under cover and prepare to counter attack. We cannot remain pinned down here any longer, we must get this done with.’

     Twelve archers assembled, and on Wlensling order, they stepped out of cover and released their arrows at the Britons.

     The salvo was hurried and again inexpert. It caused no injury, but Withred didn’t intend to provide his opponents with easy targets, so gave the instruction for the men to withdraw to the cover of the ox carts. Seeing the Britons run and leap over and behind the carts, Osric gave the order to charge before the Britons had time to set up archers again.  

     Withred and Brinley had placed several axes and spears behind the ca
rts, so all the men were able to arm themselves quickly upon reaching the barricade.

     Withred, with his broadsword, and Brinley with his spear, defended the centre of the c
arts, while the rest of the men, now joined by Griswalda, fought at the ends. The line held, as clumsy blows from the war axes, and inexpert jabs from the spears, just managed to repel the attackers.  

     Some of the Saxon Geoguth
s resorted to running and kicking sole-first at the carts, in a vain effort to knock them over. Three of them died in this manner as they got too close to Withred’s slashing broadsword. Six villagers also died in the opening attack, victims to Saxon axes and spears.

     Wave after wave of attack was repelled. Eight mor
e villagers and two Saxons fell—the Saxons to Tomas’ arrows. From his outlook on the mound, the boy had a clear site of the battle, and was at last able to put his relentless practice to cynical use.

     Osric and Egbert, out of range of Tomas’ arrows, watched the battle scene from the elevated position of their mounts, well away from the
fight as they looked for any weakness in the defence. Above the hubbub of the battle, Osric shouted to Egbert. ‘This will cost us too many men, what do you council!’

     Egbert looked at the knot of undergrowth on either side of the elm trees.
‘There’s nothing for it but to ride through that tangle. Leave a dozen men to occupy the Britons, the rest should be mounted and follow us as we flank the blockade.’

     Osric surveyed the thick brush on either side of the barr
ier, his face stark and ashen. ‘Wlensling! You and six others remount and join Egbert and me here now!’

     Wlensling, who had been on foot, marshalling and instructing the troop, grabbed six men away from the conflict and relayed Osric
’s instructions to them.

     Nine riders lef
t and pushed through the thick and awkward shrub barrier a short distance from the barricade.

    
‘They’re trying to flank us!’ shouted Withred. ‘We can’t let them attack from behind!’ He fended off an attack from the wire-hard Alfred, who rained down a series of heavy, clanging blows upon his defensive sword. Beside him now, Brinley pierced the youth, Godrys, who attempted to jump over the cart. Griswalda also used his spear to fend off attackers at the centre of the melee.

    
‘We can’t leave this position!’ shouted Brinley. ‘To turn back to the village now would mean defeat and capture!’

    
‘Then let’s get this done quickly! We number just eight men!’ said Withred—now blood-drenched and gasping after delivering a mortal blow to Alfred.

Tomas had watched the conflict from his lookout spot after making his two kills. Osric and Egbert had been out of his line of sight, and so he had been unable to snipe at them. When he had seen the nine riders squeeze through the choking entanglement of brambles, he had set off in a quick jog and followed them. Hidden behind a tree, he could see that the riders had dismounted and had begun to search all the huts in the village.

     By flanking the searching men, he
made his way to the storage hut where the women and children hid. He heard several of the children screaming in fright as the noise of the battle reached them, and realised that it was inevitable that the searchers would hear the cries and discover the hut.

Osric had decided to task the men to find hostages rather than join the fight at the barricade, and this was his first mistake. He was hopeful the men would give themselves up when faced with the choice of either throwing down their weapons or seeing their loved ones slaughtered before their eyes. This would also increase the number of captives they could take to the slave markets for profit.

     Furious at not finding anyone, Egbert smashed his way through the huts.
‘They must have taken the women and brats out of the village and hidden them!’ he raged.

     Osric looked frenetically around him, glancing back towards the sound of the fighting, and was about to order the men to return to the melee
, when Wlensling signalled to him. ‘Here Osric! I can hear them, they are in that hut.’

     Tomas observed
events from a distance and knew there was little hope now for the occupants of the hut. His next action was spontaneous.

In the dark of the hideaway, Simon had tried unsuccessfully to comfort the children, but when the sound of battle had filtered into the pit they had become terrified and started to wail. Even the older children, who were sitting bravely with lips trembling, now gave into their fear and began to weep.

     Martha and Ceola had been through it before, but this was far worse, and when
it dawned that Wlensling had found the hut, Ceola buried her head in Martha’s bosom.    

     Simon felt broken as he picked up his ax.
‘As long as there is breath in my body,’ he said.

    
Martha rocked Ceola as the wolf howl filtered into the pit.

     Simon looked at first stunned and then elated.
‘Dominic!’ he whispered. ‘I knew he was not finished. Now we’ll see what happens when the wolf is let loose upon them.’

Osric’s men had frozen as the howl resounded through the village. Quickly, they mounted and moved towards the bramble squeeze they had forced through earlier.

    
‘Back to the outskirts of the village!’ shouted Osric. ‘We must meet this Dominic with force. The others will have to finish off at the blockade.

     T
he four remaining Saxons at the oxcart, rather than fighting on as Osric had supposed, had withdrawn and mounted when hearing the wolf howl.    

    
Withred and Brinley were the only survivors. Griswalda had been the last Briton to fall, and now lay against the cart clutching a spear wound to his abdomen. He had accounted for himself with great vigour for a man of his years, but in the end, it was all he could do to fend off the blows of the man who attacked him. Having no strength for counter attack, he had succumbed and taken his mortal wound.

     Nineteen villagers and eleven Saxons lay dead or wounded
around the barricade. Many of the raiders had died at the hands of Withred, who had welded his broadsword with lethal skill. The villagers had fought valiantly to the last man and had succeeded, at least, in checking the thrust of the raiding party.

    
‘Dominic, Murdoc and the others must have made it,’ said Withred, spitting blood as he stooped—his chest heaving with great gasps.

     Brinley had slumped, exhausted against the cart, looking with anguish at Griswalda.
‘Just in time, thank the Christ,’ he said, his face grey and sick. ‘I’m all but done in. But let’s comfort out friend here—I fear his end approaches.’

    
‘Our fight goes on, I’m afraid,’ said Withred as he knelt by Griswalda grasping his hand. ‘Dominic will need us; I reckon there are still more than a dozen of Osric’s men mounted.’ He looked with concern towards the unsighted village. ‘Let’s hope that the defenceless ones remained unfound.’

     A bustling came from the undergrowth beside
them. ‘They squeeze back through,’ said Brinley, ‘…to meet Dominic, I guess. We must move back to the village in case they turn to us first. We can’t fight them alone now.’

When the wolf’s howl had echoed through the village, Egbert was about to enter the hut where the fugitives were hidden. Cursing, he turned to see the others mount their ponies and assemble by Osric. ‘Not this time,’ he muttered, as he turned back and entered the hut. He spotted the flour barrels and could hear the whimpering coming from below. With another quick glance at the doorway, he strode to the barrels and dragged them from the plank floor.

     H
e snatched away the planking, and saw the occupants of the pit squinting up at him, blinded by the flood of bright daylight. Ceola instinctively lifted her arms upwards, and so Egbert was able to lift her out.

    
‘NO!’ screamed Martha, appalled as she realised what had just befallen Ceola. Egbert quickly gained his feet, grabbed an old sack, and left the hut with Ceola under his arm. He was aware that pretty children, such as the one he had just obtained, were in fervent demand at the slave sales. Far better that he left now with this jewel of a child, than risk injury or death with Osric. He mounted his pony noting that Osric and the others had already returned to the fight.