Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (7 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tomas lay still as probing feet kicked softly into his body. Edmund’s arms followed as the barbarian took hold and pulled him from the leaves. Grinning, he thought of how his prestige would recover, how Egbert would stop pushing him around, now he had recaptured the slave-boy.

Tomas gaped when witnessing the arrowhead sprout from the centre of Eadmund’s chest. The Saxon’s own brief look of astonishment rivalled that of his captive as he observed the protruding shaft vibrate with every weak pulse of his failing heart. Tomas pushed Eadmund from him, and the man fell dead at his feet. Then he noticed the group of three standing fifty paces away. Quickly, he waved his arms above his head and directed his rapid shout at the strange looking man holding the bow. ‘Don’t shoot at me, sir! I’m not one of them. I run from them like you. I was their slave and now I’ve escaped. I speak British. I
am
British.’

Dominic shouted back. ‘Come nearer so I can get a better look at you! I’ll let you live if you satisfy me you are not one of them!’

Tomas walked towards them with palms outstretched. ‘See, I’m unarmed. My name’s Tomas and as you can see I’m too small to fight anyone.’

Murdoc could not help but feel sympathy for the lad who stumbled towards them. His smock hung loose and beltless over his bony frame; his hose was holed and muddy; his brown hair festooned with dead leaves.

  Murdoc turned to Dominic who by now had realised the boy was no threat. ‘It seems we number four. What are we going to do?’

Tomas gave them his most winning smile, hardly daring to believe they were about to accept him into their number.

Dominic looked in a westerly direction and quickly outlined his intention. ‘We need to get to country I’m more familiar with, and where we can vanish into the woods.’ There was a grim cast to his eyes as he rested his piercing gaze upon Tomas again. ‘You seem harmless enough … so yes … you can run with us, but you had better keep up because once lost, you stay lost!’ 

Tomas, who had no intention of getting lost or falling behind even if it meant running until his lungs burst and his heart leapt from his chest, gave Dominic his most eager nod.

But Dominic continued his reading of Tomas, causing the boy to shuffle and squirm. Finally, he relented and got back to the business of escape. ‘No time to dawdle here,’ he growled. ‘Every minute’s precious. It’s lucky for you boy that the Saxons left and I took a look around, but now we need to move because they
will
be back.’ Turning on his heel, he ran towards an area of forest where young birch growth provided dense cover. ‘Follow me now and keep up!’ he shouted as he melted into the trees.

They travelled at a steady pace for the rest of the day without hindrance or pursuit, and finally came to rest by a bank of bracken. Dominic led them through a subtle break and into a cleared area unseen from the trail. It was one of many hidden stores scattered throughout his hunting grounds. He brushed aside leaf litter from the floor of the clearing and removed a rough wooden cover. From the hole, he took a wooden box containing dried, salted meat, edible plant tubers, and a cooking pot. With flint and iron, he soon had a fire going, and after filling the pot with water from a nearby spring, prepared a stew from the contents of the box.

It was the first cooked meal the fugitives had eaten for days and the finest feast they could remember.

After the meal, Dominic again looked Tomas in the eye. ‘Now lad, you say you were their slave, that means you know why they entered the forest. Were they after folk? Chasing those who had got away?’

Tomas shook his head. ‘No … a woman
did
get away at the village, but they soon give up the chase. They don’t chase people for long when they have other fish to fry. Their purpose now is to find a way through the forest and discover other villages to raid.’

The news troubled Dominic. He knew the savages would find the main track soon; they headed in a northerly direction, so could not fail to. If they found the road, they would also find his camp. He told the group of his fears.

Tomas became agitated. ‘But what are we to do against
them
? Two men, and a boy and girl, against a band of warriors. I’ve seen what they do. We need to keep running, then hide from them.’

Murdoc’s eyes blazed. ‘They are
not
warriors! What kind of warriors kill the defenceless … kill women, old men and children! They are cowards, I tell you! Stinking cowards!’

His anger fell from him upon seeing Tomas cower at his outburst. More composed, he placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry lad, and I admit you do speak sense. Forgive my anger, I’ve been through a lot.’ He sighed, feeling selfish now. ‘We’ve all been through it, not just me, and you’re right, we can’t meet them man for man, that would be suicide’—he hugged Ceola close—‘and anyway, my duty is to save this child.’

Dominic looked at Ceola and knew Murdoc was right. ‘Apart from anything, we’ll all perish if we don’t rest, and here’s as good a place as any to lay up,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent many a night here, and on an evening like this it’ll be dry and safe.’ 

Enclosed within the shaded interior of the bracken barrier, they settled down and talked until dusk. The night was then to pass without incident.

Morning came and Dominic was up early. Before the others had arisen, he had prepared a simple meal of forest fruit and dried meat. Murdoc was the first to wake and joined Dominic who was staring moodily into the forest. Sitting beside him, he asked: ‘You look grim this morning, man. Whatever bothers you?

Dominic gave a thin smile and shrugged. ‘I was just thinking of how my life has suddenly changed. The simplicity has gone and though I long for it back, I now feel a duty to our folk.’ He looked at Murdoc, his eyes welling. ‘Like you, I’ve seen what they do to people. The sacked village I came upon provided me with enough scenes to fill a thousand nightmares. Women, children, the old, the weak—all of them cut up and left to rot. How can you pray to God, to your Jesus? He’s supposed to protect innocent people, isn’t he?’

Murdoc paused a while before answering. ‘I
do
struggle with it, believe me, but my faith is just about hanging on even though my own family was butchered. The scriptures tell us that God gave man the freedom to direct his own path to heaven or hell. Don’t forget, our old Gods were not innocent of bloodshed. Our druids sacrificed folk to please them when the Romans first came here.’

Dominic stood and looked back to the sleeping Tomas and Ceola. ‘Well it seems that someone looks after those two for now. Be it God or providence we may never know, but I preach caution today. Bastards are in the same forest as us … that I do believe in … that’s what’s real, my friend.’

Soon after, the others roused. After a hasty breakfast, they made ready to leave. Tomas approached Murdoc who held Ceola. Embarrassed and awkward he asked him, ‘May I carry her for you?’ He looked at his feet as a distant memory came to him, then lifted his head again. ‘I used to carry my little sister through the woods, you see. And she was the same age as Ceola.’

Murdoc looked at his daughter. She nodded her assent to him. A sound sleep and Dominic’s food had served to revive her spirit, as well as her physical wellbeing. He handed her to Tomas. ‘Don’t let her drop,’ he smiled. ‘She’s more precious to me than all the gold in this land.’

They left then, and Dominic took the lead. Occasionally, he would instruct them to stop and be silent. Then he would run stealthily ahead again, checking the intended route. This done, he would emerge from the trees several minutes later and beckon the others towards him.

Their furtive passage continued for the rest of the day until stopping beside a wide-girthed beech. Dominic led them into a group of shoulder-high shrubbery behind the tree. ‘We’ve earned another meal and another night’s rest,’ he said. ‘Now where have I hidden my provisions?’

He searched for a short while then dragged a crude but effective ladder from clinging undergrowth. Turf and leaves swathed it, as well as a long coil of rope. He shook the ladder to remove the accumulated mulch and tugged firmly at the rope attached to its top rung. The others looked puzzled.

He laughed and pointed above into the canopy of the beech tree. ‘The ladder gets us as far as the first bough, after that the climbing’s easy. There is a platform thirty strides from the ground which as you can see, or should I say
can not
see, is hidden from view.’

Murdoc grinned at Dominic. ‘How many more surprises can we expect?’ 

Dominic shrugged. ‘This is just one of the many overnight shelters I use on my travels. They come in handy and I keep the best in good repair. In the trees or underground; I don’t mind providing they keep me safe.’ He nodded to the children. ‘Now they will keep them safe, I hope.’

Ceola and Tomas were sitting under the tree talking quietly to each other. They had walked hand in hand all that day and a bond had begun to grow between them. Their shared misfortunes and horrors had drawn them close. Ceola was comfortable being with Tomas.

Dominic saw an anxious Murdoc trying to locate the high platform. He decided to put him at ease. ‘Don’t worry about Ceola getting up there, this old tree provides an easy route up to the hideaway. Once you’re past the ladder, just follow me, do as I do.’

He placed the ladder against the tree and scurried up to the first branch, eight feet above the leaf-strewn floor. Tomas and Ceola went next, with Murdoc the last to climb and ready to assist Ceola should she struggle. Dominic’s assurance proved sound, and they easily reached the first bough. Then they picked a benign route through the branches until reaching the platform—a concealed and roomy loft, high above the ground. Dominic pulled up the ladder with the attached rope.

That night Murdoc dreamt he was an eagle fledgling ready to take his first flight from a lofty eerie. He sprang from the pinnacle and stretched his wings, only to discover that he was a flightless and foolish man, plummeting through the air. He awoke with a start and sat upright, feeling for the rough but reassuring platform. Everyone else seemed to be sleeping—Ceola tethered to a branch as an extra precaution. He lay flat again and returned to his dreams.

The next morning, Dominic and Murdoc awoke early and climbed down the tree, leaving Tomas and Ceola sleeping soundly.

Dominic looked anxious as he peered into the distance. ‘I’d feel better if I knew their whereabouts. Every blind turn makes my heart race.’

Murdoc nodded his agreement. ‘Then we need to find their trail. I’ll come with you if you want, providing the young ones are safe here.’

‘If they don’t stray they couldn’t be safer,’ said Dominic, ‘I’ve spent many a day and night here and
know
it to be safe. Besides, I could do with your spear alongside my bow should things go wrong.’

Later that morning, they explained their plan to Tomas and Ceola. Dominic provided them with enough food and water to last a couple of days, and gave strict instructions not to stray from the tree. He also gave Tomas a spare bow and a quiver of arrows—a bow he had hidden months earlier in a hollow under the tree.

When midday came, Murdoc picked up Ceola and hugged her. He turned to Tomas. ‘Look after her, Tom, and remember what we told you:
do not
stray from the tree.’

‘Don’t worry, we’re going nowhere,’ said Tomas, ‘and we’ll be up the tree like two squirrels if we hear any noise.’

As they strode away, Murdoc was flooded with anxiety. He knew they could not chance dragging the children with them; that would be too dangerous. But what if the raiders found them alone and unprotected. As he looked back and saw them holding hands beside the huge beech—one, a ragged, adolescent boy, the other a blonde-haired, bare-foot child—he could not help but think how small and helpless they seemed in the vastness of the forest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

As Dominic had predicted, the raiders found the Roman marching track. Simon and Martha, who had their hands bound, then found the going easier as they stumbled along tethered by their necks. Although some shrubs dotted the track, much of the passageway was clear of larger growth, and Simon guessed that browsers such as deer had kept the track cropped and passable.

He looked back at Martha, hoping the trauma of the past nights had not broken her spirit. On both occasions a hard-looking man—tall and grim with an air of authority—had stopped the brutal leader of the barbarians (the man named Egbert) from defiling Martha. Simon felt they had a slim chance of surviva
l
fo
r
as long as the man was around. He had already saved their lives, though Simon was perplexed why this should be. One thing he did know—they would be fully exposed to Egbert’s cruelty should the tall man leave the group.

As dusk neared, they grew weary, having had few rest stops that day, and even during these brief pauses they had been called upon to prepare food for the men. Fortunately for Simon, the fare had been to Egbert’s liking.

Egbert had ridden at the front, his continuous barrage of orders often filling the forest air with its grating persistence. He did not speak to Martha or Simon at all that day, but when evening came he rode back down the line towards them.

He looked down at Martha; his shaggy beard splitting to reveal a rotten-toothed leer. ‘You look tired, wife. Journey’s been too much for you, has it?’

Grateful she could not understand Egbert’s guttural tone, Martha looked away, refusing to meet his gaze.

Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to turn towards him. His voice was a menacing growl. ‘Don’t
ever
turn you head from me, you British whore. When I speak, you will listen, so listen to me now. Sleep well tonight because tomorrow when we’re both rested from this long day, I intend to mount you before the men.’

He cackled, placing his hand on his genitalia to emphasise his intent, then with a tug that left some of Martha’s hair in his hands, he released her. Suddenly, with a fleshy swipe of his hand, he knocked her to the ground.

He looked at Simon, who seethed as he helped Martha to her feet. ‘As for you, corpse, you’ll prepare food as soon as we strike camp. Maybe I’ll allow you a little longer tethered to her … who knows, maybe your food will be tasty enough to stop me from killing you.’

Martha wept as she rubbed the sting from her jaw. Simon took her bound hands in his as Egbert made his way back to the front of the group. He attempted to comfort her. ‘I don’t know much of what he just said, but he was probably making excuses for being prevented from lying with you. Tomorrow may be an easier day; don’t give up Martha, you’re better than that.’

But that night, regardless of Simon’s encouragement, Martha’s sleep was feverish and broken as she lay in apprehension of Egbert’s attention. Yet the night passed without event, and next morning, far from implementing his promise of the day before, Egbert seemed edgy and eager to be on his way.

He walked to Martha and kicked her softly in the back. ‘Up! Up! You and the old one prepare to refresh the men and ready the mounts.’ He pointed towards the ponies in emphasis.

It was mid-morning when they came upon Dominic’s permanent camp. Simon appraised the area. The site’s spruce nature and compacted earthen floor, hinted at its recent use. Two huge empty frames, used to hang dry, salted meat, were propped against the south facing outcrop of rock. The charred rib cage of a boar, left near a ring of cooking stones in the centre of the clearing, evidenced that whoever had occupied the place indeed ate well. A low-lying, stone hut had been recently repaired, and a wooden lean-to erected to its side.

Three men approached the hut’s rough, wooden door. As one of them kicked it fully open, the others entered, war axes raised and ready. A short time later, one of the men—a Gedriht named Wlensling—emerged from the building.

He gave Egbert his assessment. ‘It’s clear. Whoever skulked here must have fled when they heard our approach. There’s a lot of stuff stored in the cellar below the room. It looks like we’ve found a store for Osric’s weapons cache.’

Egbert strode into the hut. He pulled a fur cover back from the rough bed that dominated the space. ‘The bastard likes to be comfortable,’ he said. ‘That’s better than anything I’ve slept in for months.’ He paused, his hand cupping his chin, as he studied the room. After a moment, he turned to the men crowding the doorway. ‘Looks like we’ve found the den of the wildman who killed Cerdic and our other brothers. Keep your eyes peeled and have your weapons ready just in case.’

Withred pushed through the men and into the hut. ‘Yes, fat belly; keep them on their toes like a good captain.’ He sat on the soft bed and winked at Egbert. ‘Meanwhile I’ll bow to your recommendation and test the bed myself tonight.’ Amused when noticing Egbert’s dismay, he continued. ‘What? You mean you wanted it for yourself. Ha ... ha, ha ... that’s not happening man; your weight would have it collapse.’ Now reclining, he laced his fingers behind his head as he smiled up happily at Egbert.

Egbert attempted to hide his annoyance, the minute twitching at the corner of his mouth barely perceptible. 

Aware the men were in earshot, he attempted a retort.  ‘Phaa!’ Have the bed if you must, the bracken’s a perfect nest for a lanky shit like you. Maybe you could lay us some eggs for breakfast.’

Withred laughed. ‘What? … A fat, lumbering walrus on a diet of eggs, whatever’s the world coming to?’

Egbert cut short the ripple of laughter as he turned towards the men in the doorway. White-faced, he pushed three of them to the edge of the clearing. ‘Let’s see how a night on watch duty suits you, you laughing bastards.’ He grabbed Simon, shoved him into the hut, then pointed to the cellar entrance. ‘Find us food, corpse. If it’s not the best feast I’ve ever eaten, I’ll burn you alive and use your fat as candle wax!’