Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (6 page)

‘I thought it may be an easier way through the forest and away from the trouble.’

‘You’re right, it
is
an easier way through, but it’s pretty overgrown now. I travelled down it for three days westwards and still the woods surrounded me. If you want to go that way you need to get strong again. For now, though, we need to keep our eyes peeled. Tomorrow should be safe enough to take you back.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Days earlier, Egbert and a war band of thirty-eight men had ridden out of the devastated village and onto a faint track that ran westwards into the forest. Osric had provided a string of extra ponies, and these brought up the rear of the group. They journeyed through the forest on a rough but distinct track, making steady progress through the thinner tree cover of the forest edge.

At dusk, their night fire burned beside a burbling stream. Tomas fed and watered the ponies, then prepared the evening meal.

After they had eaten, Egbert addressed the men. ‘It seems there’s to be no rest for anyone who displeases Osric. But we’ll get this done quickly, because I for one intend to spend the winter mounting whores in Camulodunum. I can also plan strategy in the taverns alongside our leader.’ There was laughter from some of the men at his slight towards Osric. ‘So it’s hard days ahead, at full pelt with shit food’—Tomas shivered with dread as Egbert adopted a mocking expression and turned his stare upon him—‘but no-one must upset
him
; it seems Osric’s taken a shine to him. Maybe he plans to wed him.’

More sniggering ensued as Egbert walked over to Tomas and cupped the boy’s face in his hand. He gave it a series of gentle slaps—his mocking tone mirroring his expression. ‘You must tell me young master how you’d prefer your ale. Mulled … maybe?’

Tomas’ smile was nervy and uncomfortable. As ever, Egbert’s genial tone had fallen short of his bleak eyes. He prepared himself for the inevitable slap, but before it landed Withred snatched Egbert’s hand from his face.

Exasperated, he faced Egbert. ‘Does
nothing
Osric say sink into your boar’s head, you fat bastard? The boy is not to
BE HARMED! If I find one bruise on him I’ll kick your balls to pulp, do you hear me!’

Egbert’s face was a mask of disdain as he looked to the men for support. ‘Oh, listen will you to Osric’s little puppy?’ He let go of Tomas. ‘There … does that satisfy you. Don’t shit yourself over him, he’ll return in one piece, don’t worry.’ He pointed a threatening finger at Withred, ‘And don’t tell me how I should have my sport.’

There was a sneer in Withred’s smile as he coldly eyed Egbert. ‘Maybe I should
tell you. For I’ve seen you
have your sport
and even by our standards it makes my flesh crawl.’

Egbert walked to his sleeping place. Wheezing as he lowered his bulk into position and unable to resist having the last word, he flicked his head dismissively at Withred. ‘If you’ve no stomach for the hunt then maybe you should scuttle off back to your master.’

Withred did not deign to reply. Instead, he laughed softly and incredulously before shaking his head and turning away.

The next morning, Tomas had the ponies ready and waiting for an early start. Withred received his pony from him. ‘Come now, lad,’ he advised, ‘try to keep up with us as we start moving—better that than annoy him, eh? You would do well to avoid his temper.’

‘And don’t I know it,’ said Tomas. ‘I’ve felt what he can do when he’s annoyed … or when he’s not annoyed for that matter.’

Withred mounted his pony and looked down to Tomas. ‘That may be true, but just keep up with the pace.’ He heeled his pony, setting it to a trot into the misty morning.

For three hours, the ponies made slow but steady progress over the pocked and rutted ground. They approached a clearing colonised by bracken.

A rider named Cerdic—one of the three who had chased Martha and Simon into the forest—was the first man to enter the lea. The lambasting he had received from Osric, as well as the enforced journey into the deep woods, had left him in a dejected and morose mood, and he had hardly spoken since leaving the village. A movement ahead caught his eye, alerting him to a man dropping to the ground with a small girl. Before he could inform the others, Dominic’s arrow entered the hollow of his neck, causing him to fall backwards and dead over his pony. Withred, who was riding behind, immediately slid from his pony to seek cover.

On seeing Cerdic fall, Egbert rode to the front. The others
,
expecting another attack, had dropped to the ground. Egbert examined Cerdic then began to give out his orders. ‘He’s dead, and killed by one man, otherwise more arrows would had come our way. Withred, take three to search the far corner; the rest come with me.’

Before Withred could move, a piercing howl stopped him dead. Looking over to the noise, he saw a wolf’s head staring at them from behind a bank of bracken, sixty paces away.

One of the men, a stringy warrior named Aelred, blanched at the sight. His voice quavered with fear as he said: ‘Let’s get out of here; a wolf god is amongst us.’

Many nodded and murmured their agreement as they gathered in a protective huddle. Withred, who knew another arrow had to follow, dropped to one knee to reduce his outline. Again, the howl was sounded, but this time the wolf showed himself to the group as he released another arrow. Aelred fell, pierced through the cheek, half of the arrow emerging from the rear of his head.

Astonished, Egbert looked down at him. After a pause, he began to chivvy and slap the men out of their torpor as he realised what was happening. ‘That’s no wolf God you rat brains—it’s a wild man. Get on your ponies and deal with him. Get on your ponies NOW!’ He turned to Tomas. ‘And you … you bring my pony now, and quickly before I forget my pledge to Osric!’

Egbert was soon mounted. He galloped across the glade and entered the thicket near to where Dominic had stood He gave out his orders. ‘See … there’s his bolt hole. Get down off your ponies—they’ll not go through the thorns you dicks, so we must follow him on foot.’ He waved two of the men past him. ‘You two go ahead and hack a way through.’

Left alone in the clearing, Tomas considered his chances of escaping. Having come close to a beating the previous night, he knew it was a mere matter of time before the men vented their frustrations upon him. An unsuccessful pursuit of the wolf-man would almost certainly mean that a furious Egbert, regardless of Withred’s earlier warning, would hammer him.

He finally made up his mind when he saw the man in the wolf’s head hat return to the glade and run over to a rock face that reared on its eastern side. Two other figures—a man and small girl—emerged from the pile of bracken that lay at the foot of the crag. Tomas watched, as the wolf-man picked up the girl and ran into the forest. The other man followed behind.

Knowing he had scant time before Egbert came back, he decided to follow the departing figures and take his chance with them. If they were enemies of Egbert’s group, then they stood a good chance of being friendly to him.

The noise of the searchers in the wood prompted him to action, and he ran into the forest following the small group, just as Egbert and his men returned to the clearing. Quickly, Tomas melted into the cover of the trees.

He kept a respectful distance behind the group of three, not wishing to reveal himself in the heat of the pursuit, aware the people ahead would have no idea if he were friend or foe. After shadowing them for a while, they stopped running, compelling Tomas to hide behind a tangle of bracken. From here, he watched as they jumped into a hole beside a fallen tree.

He was in a colony of beech which had little undergrowth. He searched around but could see nowhere to hide. His dismay deepened upon hearing riders approach—the noise sending him to frenzy as he sought a hiding place.

The oncoming crescendo told him his capture was imminent and unavoidable. He noticed a deep carpet of dead leaves in one of the nearby hollows. Scrambling down towards it, he was relieved to find the leaf litter went down a full arm’s length. Quickly, he heaped a large pile of leaves to one side, then rolled into the scoop and dragged them back over him.

His disappearance was barely in time as he heard the sound of voices almost beside him. Under the leaves, the shouts sounded muffled, but he heard someone shout his name. The voice belonged to Egbert. He had ordered the men to rally to him.

Horror-struck, Tomas realised they had broken off their search for the wolf man.
They were now looking for him!
He heard rustling around him as some of the men jumped into the leafy hollow.
They knew he was under the leaves!

Sensing his discover
y
was imminent —either by wading feet or thrusting spear—he prepared himself for capture. Again a shouting came from above, but this time Tomas could hear every detail.

It was Egbert again—his tone triumphant as he stood on the rim of the hollow. ‘Eadmund, you stay here and find the boy,’ he shouted. ‘The rest of you come with me.’

CHAPTER SIX

After spending their first full night in the forest, Simon and Martha made good progress along the bank of the stream in the valley bottom. Simon seemed to be familiar with the surrounding woodland, but after a while he stopped and slumped on a rock beside the stream.

Concerned, Martha sat beside him. She was very fond of the old man. He had been a respected and popular figure in their village, but she was aware he had lived a long life and must be feeling his age. ‘It’s a good idea not pushing it too fast,’ she said. ‘I keep forgetting you’re a lot older than me.’

Simon looked at Martha and paused, then laughed for the first time for days. ‘You’ve a fair tongue on you, lass, I’ll give you that, but it’s uncertainty not my age that’s caused me to sit down here. I thought I knew this part of the forest but I’ve slept a good few nights since I last walked so far in.’ Pondering, he viewed the surrounding woodland, then looked at the stream. Having come to his decision, he slapped his knees and stood up. ‘Come on … we can do no worse than follow this brook,’ he said. ‘It has to lead to the track eventually.’

Their route beside the stream proved arduous and awkward. In some places, the vegetation was thick enough to force them to walk knee-high in the brown swirling water. By mid-afternoon, both had tired considerably and so sat down on a grassy bank by the streamside. They rested a while and drank from a clear brook that fed the main flow.

After their rest, they continued as best they could along the edge of the stream until they came to a natural clearing where the ground fell away. Here, the stream took a tumbling route down an incline before them. The break in the trees provided them with a panoramic view of the forest, and for the first time Martha was aware of its enormity. Away to her right—the route they had already travelled—she could see a defined edge to the line of trees where the cleared, arable land lay. She judged they were now three or four miles into the forest’s interior. The trees entirely covered the rest of the land before them.

Overwhelmed, she turned to Simon, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘
How
are we supposed to get through that? There’s no end to it.’

Simon pointed to a linear slash that ran through the trees. ‘That line … see it? It has to be the track we’ve been looking for. That tells me we’ve come the right way. That’s how we’ll get through the forest.’

They continued down the grassy hillside alongside the stream, grateful of the brief respite from the claustrophobic gloom of the forest. Suddenly, Martha clutched Simon’s forearm. Looking to her, he saw her staring into the distance. Following her gaze, he saw that the trees loomed near, forewarning them their easy walking was about to end. But something else had alarmed Martha. Through a rare gap in the trees, half a mile away, bright sunshine reflected off what could only be metal, and this meant only one thing: the helmets or chainmail of unknown men.

Simon was confident the group ahead could not see them, but signalled for Martha to kneel low to the ground. ‘It seems we’ve got company, even here. Looks like a group of riders to me. Surely they’re not after us.’ He considered it a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, they’re here for another reason. Probably looking for more land and more slaves.’

‘Then we need to get going,’ said Martha. ‘Our folk need to be warned so they can prepare.’

‘No haste today, though,’ said Simon. ‘We need to let whoever’s ahead put some miles between us; once we get into the trees again we can camp for the night.’

But the long night was spent absent of rest. Cold and hungry, they lay curled in a bank of hazel unable to sleep. The next morning found them tired and stiff as they continued into the deeper forest. Growing weaker, they tired quickly whilst still early into their trek; their progress becoming ever more hesitant and weary with each difficult mile.

It was just after mid-day when they found the apple tree. It was not the native crab apple, but a cultivated variety that owed its existence to a legionnaires long-discarded apple core. Its fruit were plump and ripening, and the tree swayed gently in the breeze as they approached it. It provided them with their first food for two days. They sought out a shaft of sunlight and sat in its warmth, eating their fill of the welcomed crop.

‘My belly’s going to burst with these but I’m not bothered,’ said Simon wiping apple juice from his chin. ‘I reckon the track’s near, and this apple tree’s an accident created by a hungry Roman. Maybe he left the track to relieve himself after eating his apple … looks like he then fertilised the ground.’ 

Martha laughed aloud at the thought of it—the first time she had laughed since the raid. The sound was a sweet melody to Simon’s ears and he could not help but laugh with her. Cathartic, their laughter verged upon hysteria as the tensions of the last two days seeped from their very pores.

After they had composed themselves, Simon scooped many of the wind-fallen apples into the bundle he carried. Martha smiled at Simon as he secured the bundle over his shoulders and was about to tell him what a fine pack pony he made, when the smile froze on her face.

Fifty yards away, pointing towards them, a man stood.

As Martha watched, she observed more men gathering beside him. She grabbed Simon by the hand and pulled him to his feet. ‘Run!’ she screamed. ‘They’ve seen us! Come on, we must get away!’

Simon was despondent as he watched the approaching men. He did not move. Despairingly, he said: ‘It’s no use … it’s too late. There’s nowhere to hide and we can’t outrun them. There’s nothing we can do now.’

Soon, a laughing and mocking rabble surrounded them. Martha recognised the fat leader of the raiders. There would be no mercy with him
.
Their lives would soon be over, she knew that now. His delight at slaughter and rape in the village had been beyond anything she could possibly imagine. The man was a monster … pure and simple. 

Egbert spat in her face as he pulled her towards him, then slapped her hard across her head, knocking her to the ground. His voice quivered with rage. ‘The cause of all my hardship, you are. What a pleasure it’ll be teaching you a lesson!’ As he loosened his tunic, he cast a mocking glance at Simon. ‘And who’s this that attends you, whore-woman? An old shit who’s long overdue the grave by the look of him. But first things first. I’ll see to him at once.’

Impatiently, be beckoned a nearby man to donate him an ax. Simon crouched; looking up at Egbert. The Saxon planted his feet firmly, ready to deliver his strike.

He turned laughing towards his men. ‘See how the old rooster defends his hen.’ He cupped Simon’s chin in his hand and leaned close enough for Simon to smell his sour breath. He continued. ‘You’ve done well to survive the years, old un, but, here, do me a favour … stretch out your scrawny neck so that I can take your head off with one swipe.’

Egbert stepped back a pace to deliver the deathblow. Simon bowed his head and prepared to die.

Egbert, excited now, looked at the men near to him and challenged them to a wager. ‘Who’ll bet a sheepskin bedroll that I can’t remove the old goat’s head with one slash of this ax?’

Some were about to respond when Withred reached the group. He held up his hand to Egbert. ‘Wait Egbert, not so quick, you’re forgetting that we’ve still not found the lad. The old one could take his place, or do you wish to eat Hubert’s cooking again?’

Egbert considered this for a moment. Hubert, a skinny warrior with dubious personal hygiene, had been the camp cook before Tomas had arrived. His meals had been badly prepared and often undercooked, and Egbert had lost count of the number of times he had hurled his food at Hubert after attempting to chew on his stringy offerings. He had been surprised at Tomas’ adaptability around the campfire and was aware of the pronounced improvement in both quality and quantity of food since the boy had taken over cooking duties from Hubert. He put this down to the boy’s background and assumed that all Britons knew how to cook. He looked now at Simon and reasoned that a Briton as old as he must also know how to provide decent fare.

He nodded at Withred. ‘I think you might be going soft, but maybe you’ve got a point.’ He paused a moment as he considered the possibilities. ‘Okay, I’ll let him live … for now. I can always kill him later if he proves to be no better than Hubert at cooking. As for the woman, she’ll make up for losing the boy. Let’s hope Eadmund holds
him
as I speak.’

They looked up the track towards the leafy hollow where Eadmund had undertaken a search for Tomas. Egbert shouted at them. ‘Well! What are you staring at you useless sods? Get up that hill and find him! Don’t forget we’ve still not found the bastard who killed two of our men!’