Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (52 page)

Unusual for him, Irvine travelled throughout the night. Once he had turned westwards again, he found the track he had used three months earlier with Ranulf. After riding over its undulating surface, and passing many small farmsteads that appeared only as darker shadows against the dim backdrop of small, wooded hills, the track straightened and headed towards the village.

The sunrise was tardy and begrudging as the village finally came into Irvine’s view. Relieved that no militia guarded the village, Irvine resolved to get closer. A small copse lay some distance from the village and Irvine decided he would settle there for a while and merely watch.

Before he did this, he took time to ride around the periphery of the stockade, examining the ground for signs of recent troop movement. Finding none, he returned to the copse.

The village looked newly finished; the palisade rearing to the height of two men; its timber raw and freshly sawn. Irvine concentrated his attention on two strong-looking gates, yet unopened. Beyond the gates, within the compound, grey smoke from several domestic fires curled languidly into the windless atmosphere above the settlement.

Chilled by the late autumn air, Irvine pulled his woollen cloak around his shoulders and hunkered down beside a holly bush. He prepared himself for a long wait. Beside him, his pony nodded and stamped, snorting out billows of foggy air.

Two hours passed without event or movement from the village, during which time Irvine fought the compulsion to sleep, such was his weariness. Inevitably, though, he began to nod.

A rattle from the gates awakened him, making him tense and alert. Two men had opened the gates and now pushed them back against the palisade fence. Both men stood at the gates looking outwards for any sign of movement. The men, both tall and loose limbed, dangled digging tools over their shoulders.

Irvine could hear their murmurings as they left the gates and walked away from him, heading for the fields that lay around the back of the compound. Soon, a mixture of men, women and small children followed. Irvine was now satisfied that most of the workforce had left to work in the fields.

The more he thought about Tomas’ plan, the more he could see the sense in it. To get inside the compound when it still contained the entire population of the village made more sense than the messy alternative of chasing people around the fields. Inside, there was still movement. Probably women with small children and men too old to work. Irvine considered approaching the village … even entering it. He had to be sure that no nasty surprises awaited within. With this in mind he began to think of how he could get beyond the fence.

Days earlier, Govan had left the hall of Brythonfort with mixed feelings. His joy at seeing Elowen safe had been shattered when Nila had started to emit her awful screams of grief. As he became aware of the reason for her anguish—the death of Mule—he had hugged Elowen even tighter as their joy transposed into deep sadness. The blend of intense, conflicting emotions had left him drained, and for two days after he had felt dazed and detached from the world. On the third day, he had returned to the newly built village, leaving Elowen, Nila and Maewyn behind at Brythonfort.

On his second morning in the village, he had stayed behind as the others left for the fields. His work that day had been to attend to the snags and jobs that still needed to be done around the newly built-compound.

At first, he didn’t notice the stranger who approached him as he worked to improve one of the iron hinges on the gate. As a shadow fell across him, he looked up, squinting against the low sun that had just found a narrow, clear gap between the horizon and lid of cloud. The man before him, the source of the shadow, looked weathered and weary, but friendly enough.

‘How can I help you, stranger?’ asked Govan.

Irvine, unaware he had shouted ultimatums over the wall to Govan three months earlier, measured the man before him. Satisfied he could outwit him, Irvine continued. ‘I look for work, sir,’ he said, adopting the broad lilt of his native Cantiaci people. ‘Came upon hard times after raiders put my village to the torch … was lucky to get out alive, I was.’

Govan gave out an apologetic sigh and shook his head. ‘So late in the year, there’s not much we can offer you,’ he said. ‘The fields are fallow and the grain ruined after this place was burnt to ashes in the autumn.’

Irvine affected a look of astonishment. ‘What … you’re telling me that this has been rebuilt since then? That this place is new?’

Govan stood up to face Irvin. ‘Smell up, my friend,’ he said proudly. ‘Newly cut timber, the smell of renewal and hope.’

Irvine played up to Govan, moving his head around whilst sniffing loudly. ‘Yes … yes … you’re right now you come to mention it … this place
does
smell new.’ Again, for Govan’s benefit, Irvine adopted an expression of admiration and wonderment. He looked into the compound, leaning forward to get a better look—the very image of the respectful stranger who will not take a step inside without invitation.

Govan took the hint. ‘Please come and look inside if it interests you,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you around if you like.’

Irvine’s look of gratitude engulfed Govan. ‘You’re most kind, sir,’ he said. ‘Of course I’d love to look inside, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘No trouble at all. Please follow me.’

Irvine could not believe his luck. Not only had he managed to delude the man, he was now going to get a conducted tour. He nodded appropriately, showing the right amount of interest as Govan showed him around every nook and cranny of the village.

Here and there, children skipped and shouted, lost in their games. Irvine had guessed right when thinking that only the old and young had been left behind when the others had gone to the fields. Politely, he nodded his greeting to the scattering of elderly villagers who went about their business within the compound.

Having finished their walkabout, Irvine and Govan walked back to the gate. ‘Well … I’ll be on my way,’ said Irvine. ‘Maybe I’ll try the smaller farmstead … who knows, they might need a man handy with ax and mattock.’

Govan wished him luck and said goodbye, watching as Irvine walked down the track towards the grove.

As soon as he reached the trees, Irvine checked that Govan had resumed his work on the gate. Satisfied he was no longer the object of his attention, he resumed his position, lying low by the holly bush. For the rest of that day he watched the village until the field workers returned just before dusk.

The last two men to arrive were the two men who had opened the gates earlier in the day.
First out last in … hard-working fellows,
thought Irvine as the two men pulled the gates shut behind them. A clattering from within, told Irvine that the men had placed stout beams into hasps to secure the gates.

Now all he could do was wait for Ranulf and the boy to arrive with the rest of the men.

He did not have to wait long before he saw Tomas riding up the track towards him. Two other men rode beside him.

‘How far behind are the others?’ asked Irvine, as Tomas slid from his pony to stand before him.

‘Not far. Ranulf told me to ride ahead and report to him if anyone lingered in the darkness. If not, then I’m to stay here and wait.’

‘Then stay you shall, because everyone from the village is now inside the palisade.’ Irvine nodded at Tomas, the nearest he would ever come to praising him. ‘It seems you were telling us the truth. The village is newly rebuilt and full of profit for Ranulf.’

Tomas gave Irvine an indifferent shrug, as if to say,
that’s what I told you … why did you doubt me?

Irvine looked at the two mounted men
,
Sigward and Alfwald—the same two who had captured and trussed Maewyn and Mule two months earlier. ‘I see that Ranulf sent you along to keep your eyes on the captive,’ Irvine said.

‘Aye, he didn’t trust the little bastard not to run off,’ said Sigward. ‘Still doesn’t trust him.’

‘Nor should he,’ said Ranulf. He looked up the track as the gloaming closed around them. ‘We need to get this done with as soon as Ranulf arrives. The sky will be moonless tonight under this cloud, and we can’t use brands until this is done.’

It was twilight when the main body of men, led by Ranulf, arrived.

Ranulf looked sternly and questioningly at Irvine. ‘Well?’ he asked.

‘As the boy told you,’ said Irvine, pointing back towards the dark shadow of the village. ‘All are now within its walls—forty souls by my reckoning.’

‘Any fighting men amongst them?’

Irvine shook his head. ‘None that I could see. A couple of hefty bastards opened and shut the gates, but apart from them, mainly peasant types and women.’

‘How old were the women?’

‘Child bearing mainly, though I did see some younger ones who would appeal to the right buyers and bring a good price.’

‘It’ll have to do,’ said Ranulf gruffly. ‘Yesterday, I thought I’d be returning to Norwic holding nothing but my cock, now at least we’ll get
something
from this journey.’ He looked at Tomas. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, as he grabbed him by his jerkin and pulled him close. ‘Do not stray from your task for one moment or I’ll slay you, do you understand me?’

As Tomas nodded emphatically, Ranulf glared at him through the dim light. The Saxon was still uncomfortable at how things had gone. Everything seemed ‘too’ perfect. But Irvine, who was the best tracker he had ever ridden with, was certain the village was undefended, and that would do for him. His only concern now was the boy. It just didn’t sit right with Ranulf that he would so readily betray his own people. But then again, he, Ranulf,
did
have the power of life or death over him, and he knew the fear of death made people act strangely. So maybe the boy was just trying to save his own skin, and, anyway, he had already decided what to do with him after the raid. The lad spoke the Saxon tongue and thus was sale-worthy. He would sell him to Griff for a decent price. Why kill a profit? 

‘Right,’ continued Ranulf, as he shoved Tomas away from him. ‘Get to the palisade now and deliver what you promised.’

‘Follow me, then,’ said Tomas. ‘Remember, you must keep out of sight while I get them to open the gate.’

Tomas waited by the gate while Ranulf and his men quietly made their way to the adjacent fence. Two abreast, they lingered in its darker shadow while Tomas walked to the joint between the two tall gates.

With the edge of his fist, he gave three bangs on the gates. ‘Open up,’ he shouted. ‘It’s Tomas—or Merlin if you like—from Brythonfort, and I seek shelter for the night.’

A movement from behind made Tomas turn. Ranulf had moved close, war ax in hand, ready to bludgeon through and enter as soon as there was the slightest crack in the gate. But no reply came from the compound. Ranulf pressed Tomas to call again.

This time, Tomas’ call was successful. ‘Tomas you say!’ came the response. ‘It
does
sound like you, lad, but I must hear more!’

Tomas cupped his hands to his mouth and gave out a shrill
‘Ki-Ki-Ki.’

Now there was only silence—silence that shredded the nerves of the men who waited. Ranulf fidgeted as more of his men piled up behind him, ready to enter—the smell of their sweat and leather, strong and cloying in the chill air. Ranulf was about to urge Tomas to call out again when the hollow
clunking
noise of timber against timber sounded. Someone had lifted the horizontal beam from its securing hasps on the inner gate.

The gates slackened (almost seemed to inhale) and that was enough for Ranulf. Pushing Tomas to one side and forgetting about him in that moment, he shoved the gate back to reveal the dark interior of the compound. Followed by his men, who briefly backlogged at the gate such were their numbers, he ran into the village. Utter darkness met him, and no man stood before him.

A dim glow from a nearby hut slowly became apparent. Desperate for light, Ranulf dispatched two men to grab the brand that was burning within. They emerged moments later, their faces lit yellow by the firelight. Ranulf took the brand from the man who held it.

‘The hut was empty,’ said the man, unnerved at the silence within the compound.

Ranulf pointed to several murky shadows that had slowly become visible as his eyes got used to the darkness. ‘Get into the huts now!’ he shouted, pointing at the shadows, his face angry and devilish in the brandlight. ‘We’ve not come here to dance in the dark like a group of fevered druids! Round up slaves! Kill any who resist!’

Before the men could move, the same hollow,
clunking
noise came from the direction of the gate. All seventy men turned towards the sound.

Ranulf then noticed the straw beneath his feet, just as the first of the fire arrows screamed into the compound.

Months earlier, when Arthur had first come up with his plan, it had initially raised a few eyebrows from the few men who were aware of it. Wracked with guilt at his failure to protect the village, he had called a meeting with the artisan, Robert, and his group of workers. Simon had also been present, as well as Gherwan, Will and Tomas.

On their way to the hall, and unsure of what to expect, Robert and Simon had speculated the reason for the meeting.