The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (28 page)

     He gawked at the girl, who recoiled with revulsion as she took
in Egbert’s features. ‘A pretty price for a pretty little girl at the right slave markets,’ he said, as he galloped out of the western exit of the village and away from the fight.

Gherwan had chosen five capable men to accompany him on his survey of central and eastern Britannia.  Will was an experienced tracker having worked firstly for Rome and then for Arthur. He was also an adept fighter and a good man to have in a tight corner. Erec was a weapons instructor at Brythonfort and a formidable warrior. He had brought along three of his best young trainees for the experience: Alcwyn, Cadmon and Flint, all sons of local peasants. A merchant named Wilfred, who was returning to his home town of
Aebbeduna after visiting Brythonfort, accompanied the six men.

     After
they left Brythonfort, they had seen no sign of the invaders. The farms and villages for many miles around the fort were under the protection of Arthur, and thus avoided by the Saxons. On the rare occasions that any raiding parties
did
stray into the protectorate, they met with uncompromising force.

     The organised structure of the towns they passed had broken down since the Romans had left, and impromptu farms had sprung up within town walls, as spare ground was utilised for crop and animal rearing.

     It was the third day before the men saw any sign of disruption. A huddle of old men, women and children, weary and disconsolate, had taken to the highway and were making their way westwards—their worldly possessions heaped onto two rickety hay carts, pulled along by two old oxen.

     The Arthurians stood to one side as the
y passed. ‘What’s the story old fellow?’ asked Gherwan as the group paused upon reaching them.

    
‘They took the villages nearby so we didn’t wait to be next in line,’ said the old man. ‘Our stronger and younger men have stayed back to fight. We hear that the land in the west is protected and keeps out the invaders, and, God willing, that is the place we’ll live until it’s safe to return.’

     Gherwan wished them good fortune and let them pass.
‘It’s no use telling them of Brythonfort,’ he said to Wilfred, who was looking at him enquiringly. ‘There’s little room for new fugitives and no land for them to farm, unless we stretch our forces ever more thinly.’

     Wilfred looked at the departing refugees, a dour look on his craggy features.
‘I fear they’ll not reach the west anyway,’ he said. ‘Many of them looked close to exhaustion and all were in despair.’

Two more days passed and the road to the west became ever more crowded with refugees. Hoards of despairing people passed through villages and towns, yet untouched. Here, they received alms and shelter from fellow Britons who were now worried about their own impending destinies. 

    
‘Most of the disposed are from the eastern lands,’ said Will, as he sat on the summit of a small hill with the others and watched a group of bedraggled migrants pass below them. ‘The ones I’ve spoken to tell me that the eastern coast is now entirely in foreign hands.’

    
‘They’re raiding in the south as well,’ said Erec. ‘It’s only a matter of time before they take the entire south east.’

    
‘We’ve an arduous task ahead then,’ said Will. ‘At least though, we fight as one force. It’s said that the Saxons quarrel amongst themselves and have loyalty to tribal leaders rather than one ruler.’

     Gherwan spurred his horse down towards the track below.
‘Be that as it may, but the news is bad, that’s for sure. At least we know now the size of the ordeal before us. We need go no further than Aebbeduna. By that time we’ll have seen enough, and will need to make a speedy return to Brythonfort.’ 

Three days later, they reached the town and made to leave Wilfred. The merchant looked concerned as he embraced his six companions. ‘See the smoke from the forest.’ He pointed to the wildwood. ‘The fires I told you about are still burning. There are farmsteads and small villages in clearings in the forest. Wherever good soil exists, folk set up farms, but few of
us
enter the forest roads now. Rather, they come to
our
markets. Often, they emerge from the forest as lost and broken people seeking refuge. The storm is about to break here also I fear.’   

     The border of the forest was a ragged line of green two miles from the town. A thin, swirling pall of smoke hung over the trees like a tattered, grey, veil. Cattle grazed and pigs grubbed upon the scrubland that lay between the forest edge and the town boundary.    

     ‘We’ve still not seen one Saxon on this journey,’ said Erec, as he looked towards the forest edge. He looked to Gherwan. ‘My view is that we should at least observe what they are up to in the woodland.’

    
‘My thoughts too,’ said Will. ‘It would be good to see what we’ve to contend with.’

     Gherwan pondered a short while then nodded.
‘I have to say, my curiosity wouldn’t allow me to return without looking into the woods, but don’t forget we’re more than likely to be outnumbered.
Observe and return,
was the task set by Arthur. More than ever now, we need to sustain strength in numbers. It would be no use to our cause if we fell in the forests.’

     They bade their farewell to Wilfred and picked their way through the scrubland ahead of the woods. Upon reaching the track that led
into the forest, they crossed themselves and entered.

After he had emitted his wolf howl, Tomas had run back through the bramble squeeze and skirted the conflict at the ox carts. On reaching his lookout position, he had witnessed the termination of the fighting below, as Osric’s four remaining men had withdrawn and mounted their ponies.

     It was not long before the remaining force of thirteen men rode through the squeeze below him, expecting to meet Dominic and the others in battle. He knew that in imitating Dominic’s call he had only bought a little time for the hidden women and children, and hoped they would at least run from the hut and hide in the forest.

Withred and Brinley had run back into the village
when Osric and his men had left to seek Dominic. On their toes and alert to any surprise attack, they had somewhat recovered from the exertion of the battle. Uneasy about the fate of the hidden villagers, they reached the hut to witness the aftermath of Egbert’s kidnapping of Ceola.

    
After being prevented from running into the woods after Egbert, Martha sobbed in the arms of Simon. The old man looked to Withred and Brinley. Utterly crestfallen, his voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Egbert took Ceola.’

    
‘What…which way!’ said Withred, looking around frantically.

     Simon nodded to the western exit from the village.

     Withred looked towards the exit, then grabbed the reins of a nearby, stray pony.

    
‘Withred, wait!’ shouted Brinley. ‘The threat from the others is still with us, and we need to get these people to a safer place.’

    
‘We can’t just let him get away,’ said Withred angrily, ‘Nerthus herself knows what that fiend will do with that child.’

    
‘Then
I’ll
follow him. At least I know the country around here. You’d be better helping Dominic against the remaining raiders. Surely, he must be outnumbered.’

    
‘And I’ll take our group into the woods,’ said Simon. ‘Dominic showed me a place he and Tomas found in the winter month—a secluded hollow beside a rocky outcrop—it’s where we would have gone with more warning of the raiders. We’ll wait there until this is over.’

    
‘Let’s waste no time then,’ said Withred, as he removed his sword and ran to the gap in the brambles where Osric’s party had gone. ‘We’ve no time to lose. Fly!’

The Saxons circled the area in front of the ox carts, tensely awaiting the arrival of Dominic’s force. Osric counted the men who had survived to fight alongside him. ‘Egbert . . . where is Egbert!’ He looked around and then at Wlensling.

    
‘I last saw him about to enter the hut,’ said Wlensling. ‘He may have been delayed there.’

    
‘Yes, and we all know what delays
him
on raids!’ stormed Osric. ‘Guthren! Ride back
now
and get him here at once. We need every man ready to meet them when they arrive!’

    Guthren peeled off from the group and urged his pony back through the bramble squeeze. He was barely through the other side when he received the full force of Withred’s broadsword across his chest, knocking him backwards and onto the leafy floor. His disorientation and surprise still lingered as Withred’s sword pierce
d his throat and ended his life.

     Withred was quickly back to his task as he edged through the gap and paused, partially hidden, to observe Osric with his twelve remaining riders wheeling around in the open awaiting developments. As he fastidiously checked his broadsword and dagger, Dominic’s blood-curdling howl again resounded through the air.

     Tomas lay low and hidden on the elevated mound, watching the riders below him—his bow notched and ready for use as he awaited Dominic’s arrival. His anxiety had increased as the riders had begun to relax a little, and three had dismounted and looked towards his position. He edged back ready to run beyond the mound, sensing that they were about to use the lookout for their own purposes. This was when
Tomas
heard the howl.

Three hours behind the Saxons, Dominic’s group had ridden back towards the village as fast as their ponies’ stamina would allow. Grim, yet determined, the riders had brokenly discussed their hopes, and not allowed their fears to cloud their resolve as they approached the village.

     Murdoc grabbed his spear from its harness and rode alongside Dominic.
‘We don’t know what’s happened,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we met them in the open this time.’

    
Dominic agreed. ‘Indeed, we don’t want to fall victim to our own tactics and expose ourselves to ambush in the confines of the village. I’ll see if my cry will draw them out, and may the Gods help us all.

    
‘Be sure that
Augustus
will help!’ said the burly butcher as Dominic gave out a lung-bursting howl. ‘We’ll carve some rotten meat before
this
day is out!’

     As they turned the same bend the Saxons had
rounded hours earlier, Dominic was quick to assess the situation, and looked to Augustus and his brothers. ‘Looks like they’d ridden out to meet us, anyway. ‘Gus! You and your brothers, start with the three on foot who climb the mound. Mur you’re with me! All stay mounted while you fight! We can take them if we STAY MOUNTED!’

    
‘This is for Joseph and his son!’ cried Augustus as he rode over and hacked at the first man. His brothers joined him, seemingly as adept at fighting well together as they were with other practical tasks. They wheeled their ponies together in mutual protection as they slaughtered the other two men.

     Murdoc spotted the imposing Osric who had managed to manoeuvre himself behind the cover of his men as he readied himself for battle.

     Murdoc launched his spear at Osric, but a young warrior, eager to gain status, put himself in the way. His small buckler could only deflect it, and the spear clattered the shield aside and deeply embedded into the youth’s chest—the force of the impact sending him in a backward roll off his pony. Murdoc had no need to dismount to retrieve the erect, wavering spear from the dead raider.

     Dominic halted his pony and quickly notched an arrow when he saw another Saxon fall to the ground, pierced through the cheekbone. Astounded, he glanced up quickly to see Tomas, pushing his wolf hat high on his head as he again took aim. Barely suppressing a grin, Dominic let fly two arrows in quick succession, one of them hitting Wlensling, who fell from his mount as the arrow
slapped into his shoulder. The other man fell dead, pierced through the sternum.

     Wlensling grimaced as he snapped the arrow and quickly looked around to assess his position. Only six
of his companions were now standing, faced by six assailants. Four of the Britons, burly fellows, fought fiercely with axes against four Geoguths.  He watched as Osric threw his own short ax at the wolf-man, knocking him from his pony. He smiled grimly expecting that Osric, who now moved towards the stricken Briton with his great broadsword held above his head, would quickly put an end to him and break the spirit of his followers.

     He brandished his own sword and was about to run and take on the other Briton who wielded the crude spear, when a shuffling behind him caused him to turn. He was
just quick enough to fend off Withred’s sword strike as it slashed down on him.