Medieval II - In Shadows of Kings

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘We will give the horses a chance to rest,’ said Geraint, ‘and then we will make the return journey. Perhaps our luck will change on the way back.’ Before he could continue, a noise made them stand in alarm and within moments, Marcus and David came crashing back through the undergrowth.

  ‘Marcus, hold your gallop,’ shouted Geraint, ‘your horse will break a leg in this brush.’

  Marcus reined in his horse and caught his breath.

  ‘Geraint,’ he said, ‘get the men mounted and follow me back. There is something you must see.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Geraint, ‘are we in danger?’

  ‘In a way,’ said Marcus, ‘but my words will not do this justice. You need to see for yourself.’

  The men mounted quickly and within moments, were following Marcus through the forest. As they approached the ridgeline, Marcus dismounted and tied his horse to a tree before indicating the rest to follow him. Finally he dropped to his knees and Geraint joined him as he crawled forward to peer through the undergrowth at the unbelievable sight before him.

  ----

  At first Geraint couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing but then his eyes widened in shock as realisation dawned. Below him the forests had disappeared and in its place, the landscape opened up into enormous rolling plains as far as the distant horizon. Swathes of healthy green grass stood knee high, blowing gently in the wind but what was most astonishing of all were the thousands of enormous animals grazing on the luscious growth at their feet.

  Geraint had never seen such animals in his life and his first thoughts were that they looked like the cattle at home but were much, much bigger. In addition, these animals had a heavy fur coat on the front of their bodies only and the rear end seemed small in comparison with the heavily muscled front. Their heads hung low from the enormous shoulders and were draped in heavy fur manes. The noise of rutting males reached the watching men and they stared in amazement as the biggest animals crashed into each other in clouds of dust and roars of defiance as each fought for the right to mate.

  ‘What are they?’ asked Geraint to anyone in earshot.

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Marcus, ‘but they look a lot like cows to me.’

  ‘Yet twice the size,’ said another man.

  ‘Twice the size means twice the meat,’ said Geraint, ‘I think our food problems have just become far less a worry.’

  ‘I have never seen so many animals in one place,’ said Marcus. ‘We could kill one a day for every man for the rest of our lives and their numbers would still be more than stars in the sky.’

  For an age they stared at the enormous herd until finally Geraint instructed them to withdraw from the ridge and return to the horses.

  ‘So what now?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘Now we return to Tarian and let him know what we have found.’

  ‘Why don’t we just go out there and take one down?’ asked one of the men, ‘many are within arrowshot of the forest edge and a few well-placed arrows would bring down even the largest.’

  ‘And then what?’ asked Geraint. ‘We came expecting to bring back a deer or a couple of birds, not the biggest cow I have ever set eyes on. No, we need the wagons and the butchering skills of Spider. Come, if we ride hard we can be back here by morning.’

  The men mounted up and headed back the way they had come leaving the forest silent once more. A few minutes later, a nearby bush moved and a man clad in deer skin emerged. Slowly he unstrung his bow and slipped it into the pouch on his back before crouching to examine the tracks left by the horses. Finally he stood up and without a backward glance, started following the strangers back through the forest.

  ----

  The following morning Geraint and his comrades were once more at the forest edge, though this time their bows were strung and other preparations had been made to help with the hunt. At first the rest of the expedition didn’t believe them but as soon as they saw the numbers involved, Tarian put things into place to ensure they were as successful as possible.

  Geraint gave the signal and six archers crept forward through the grass, selecting a nearby animal seemingly smaller than the others. The men made sure they stayed downwind and the smell of the herd was almost overpowering but they continued to crawl forward until the animal was well within an arrow’s flight. Finally each man notched an arrow onto his bow string and waited for the final command.

  ‘Now,’ hissed Geraint and as one, the archers got to one knee and took aim at the grazing animal. For a few seconds the beast didn’t realise the danger but as the first arrow embedded itself into its haunches, it gave out a bellow and spun to escape the pain.

  Three more arrows thudded into its side but despite its pain, the animal charged across the plain causing the herd to scatter.

  ‘Four hits,’ shouted Marcus, ‘it won’t get far.’

  ‘Our job is done,’ said Geraint, ‘the rest is up to Tarian.’

  They looked further along the tree line and as expected, a line of horses galloped out onto the plain. Tarian led the charge and each man carried a lance usually used for jousting or lethal battle with enemy Knights.

  ‘There they go,’ shouted Geraint, ‘come on, after them.’

  Out on the plains the horses chased down the wounded animal, easily catching it up as it lumbered through the herd. Within minutes it slowed to a walk but stayed upright and turned to meet its tormentors.

  Tarian slowed his horse to a halt and rather charge in with the lance, dismounted and walked slowly toward the magnificent beast. He held his lance parallel to the ground facing the animal and the rest of the riders formed a circle around both man and beast.

  For a few moments Tarian and the Buffalo stared at each other until finally the animal grunted and lumbered toward him. Tarian gripped his lance tighter and using his full strength, thrust the weapon deep between the animal’s forelegs and into its chest. The animal kept coming but Tarian jumped to one side. The rest of the men joined in the attack and within moments the animal lay gasping its last breaths. They all stood around as it died and Tarian looked at the rest of the herd. Though they had scattered, they were still only a few hundred paces away and were already acting as if nothing at happened.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ said Tarian, ‘this is a hunter’s paradise.’ As he talked, Geraint and the archers caught them up.

  ‘Well that was easy enough,’ said Marcus, looking at the enormous corpse.

  ‘It was,’ said Tarian, ‘almost too easy. Geraint, send for the wagons. The rest of you, back to the wood line, we may as well kill what we can while they are here. Who knows when they may move on?’

  The rest of the day they repeated the process until they had ten animals dead on the plain. Spider brought up the wagons and they set about butchering the carcases. For the first time in months, each man was allowed a thick slab of flesh to roast over their own fires and they set up camp out amongst the herds. The rest of the meat was salted and placed in barrels and they spent the next few days travelling through the plains, killing more animals as they went. Finally they reached another set of hills and left the plains behind them. The wagons were full of meat and spirits were high as they climbed the heavily wooded slopes.

  ‘How much further?’ asked Marcus as he walked alongside Geraint.

  ‘Tarian reckons we should find the river within two days,’ said Geraint. ‘All we have to do then is join the ships and seek any sign of Madoc.’

  ‘This is a bountiful land,’ said Marcus, ‘no wonder Madoc returned to find more settlers. A man could raise a family out here with ease.’

  ‘Thinking of staying, Marcus?’

  ‘I might,’ said Marcus, ‘let’s see the standard of their taverns first.’

  They continued uphill but gradually came to a halt as the column in front slowed to a stop.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘I don’t know’ said Geraint’ but will find out.’ He walked past the men who had dropped to t
he floor to rest and joined Tarian at the front of the column. Slowly they walked forward, not sure what they were looking at. All around them, man-made frames had been erected supporting latticework platforms. At the base of each structure, piles of pots and clothes lay neatly bundled along with unstrung bows and mounds of flint headed arrows. Geraint looked up at the bundle of rags on top of one of the platforms and realised what they had found.

  ‘They are bodies,’ he said quietly, ‘this is a graveyard.’

  ‘I fear you are right,’ said Tarian, ‘but what sort of heathen leave their dead to rot in the open air?’ It goes against the will of God.’

  They looked around them and realised there were hundreds of similar frames as far as the eye could see. Some had collapsed with age and the remains had obviously been destroyed by scavenging animals but many were still intact and the heavily wrapped bodies lay exposed to the sky above. One of them was obviously only a recent addition and crows squabbled around the body’s head as they stripped away the rotting flesh.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ said Tarian quietly.

  ‘I agree,’ said Geraint, ‘I will find a way around.’

  ‘No,’ said Tarian, ‘we go straight through. Our direction is still west and we will lose time going around. Who knows how wide this cursed place is?’

  They rallied the men and forged ahead. It took almost half a day to get through the graveyard and by the time they were out, their spirits were low. Despite the lateness of the day they continued on as hard as they could, determined to put as much distance between them and the silent world of the dead they had left behind. Camp was set up in almost darkness and the perimeter formed as usual, though not many men enjoyed the release of dream-free sleep.

  The following morning saw them on their way again, keen to reach their destination and get away from the unknown people who treated their dead so strangely. Marcus had been tasked to lead the day’s scout patrol and they were already miles in front when they crested a ridge and saw the sight they had been longing to see for so long.

  Before them was a slow moving river, bigger than anything they had seen before. The far bank was shrouded in mist but the mountains which rose beyond the water were at least ten leagues away.

  ‘I think this must be it,’ said Marcus.

  ‘I have never seen the like,’ said William Blessed, one of the Lancers, ‘surely there is not enough water in all the world to feed such a river.’

  For a while they watched the waters flow lazily by before Marcus roused them from their reverie.

  ‘Enough,’ he said sharply, ‘we need to get back. Tarian should know we have arrived unharmed.’

  ‘There is no sign of the ships,’ started William, ‘and I can’t …’

  The sentence went unfinished as his body jerked forward. He looked down in shock and was confused to see the bloody stone tip of a primitive lance sticking out of his chest. Looking up he tried to say something but as blood oozed from his mouth, he fell to one side and slipped from his horse.

  ‘To arms,’ shouted one of his comrades, ‘stand to your weapons.’ He tried to turn his horse but as he did, an axe flew through the air and though it was only the haft that hit his head, the impact made him lose control of the horse and it reared up in fear, throwing him to the floor. Within seconds a man ran from the undergrowth and fell upon him. The native wore only deerskin leggings and his naked torso was heavily daubed with ash and coloured paints. Before the fallen man could defend himself, the attacker smashed a stone axe across his head.

  All around, the undergrowth burst into life as the native war party descended on the panicking scouts. The men tried to defend themselves as best they could but to no avail and those not immediately killed were knocked to the ground before being bound as prisoners. One of the lancers tried to gallop away and though he burst through the first line of attackers, he hadn’t gone far before his horse was brought down by a dozen arrows and he landed on the floor, pinned by the dying animal.

  A warrior walked over with knife drawn as the boy tried desperately to free his leg. The native’s head was completely bald and he was dressed in only flaps of leather around his waist. More leather strips were tied tightly around his upper arms and his face was scarred through previous encounters with flint blades. One eye was half closed where a wound had healed badly.

  He stared at the injured man for a few seconds before issuing a command in his strange language. Two of the other warriors dragged the lancer screaming from under the horse.

  ‘Please,’ whimpered the wounded man, ‘don’t hurt me.’

  The native looked down at the man’s leg where the bloodied end of a broken bone protruded through his leggings. For a few moment’s both stared into each other’s eyes before the native stepped forward and silently ground his heel into the jagged end of the bone.

  The forest echoed with the sound of the lancer’s screams but was soon silent again as he fell into unconsciousness.

  ----

  A few miles away the main column ploughed onward through the forest, unaware of the drama unfolding before them. Due to the denseness of the trees, they marched in close order and the going was slow. Eventually they reached the river and broke into cheering as they realised another part of the journey had been successfully completed.

  ‘There it is,’ said Tarian, ‘the river Madoc was so impressed with.’

  ‘And little wonder,’ said Geraint, ‘it is huge, but where are the scouts?’

  ‘They’re probably around somewhere,’ said Tarian, ‘and if we have missed each other, they have been instructed to rendezvous downstream.’ A noise echoed through the forest and many of the men stopped their celebrating to stare at each other nervously.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Geraint.

  Again the sound reverberated through the trees.

  ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken,’ said Tarian, ‘it’s a screaming man.’ He turned to shout at the men, ‘to arms,’ he roared, ‘form a perimeter.’

  Within moments the patrol made an outward facing line of armed men, each holding their weapons nervously.

  ‘Help me,’ screamed the voice again and many faces turned to Tarian.

  ‘My Lord,’ shouted Geraint, ‘it is one of the patrol, we have to do something.’

  ‘Knights, don mail and helms,’ shouted Tarian. ‘Geraint ap Thomas, get ten men into gambesons and follow the Knights along with ten pike men. It sounds like they are no more than a few hundred paces away. The rest of you, close up and present a wall of steel.’

  As they got ready, the man’s cries escalated in ferocity until suddenly they stopped and the forest fell silent.

  ‘Knights, follow me,’ shouted Tarian and rode in the direction of the now silenced screams. The rest of the men ran behind as fast as they dared but fell behind the horses.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ shouted Geraint as they ran but as they bust through into a clearing, the source became clear. It was burning flesh…human flesh.

  In front of them, a lancer’s naked body was stretched between two trees, with his arms and legs spread eagled. His hands were tied high so his body was held upright and on the ground between his legs was a small fire.

  The tortured man’s legs were blackened through the heat and all his bodily hair was burnt away, leaving his flesh blistering horribly as his head lolled forward onto his chest.

  ‘Get him down,’ screamed Tarian and Geraint ran forward to kick away the remains of the fire. He laid him on the grass but it was too late, the lancer was dead.

  ‘What sort of people do this?’ gasped Geraint.

  ‘I have seen men burn before,’ said Tarian, ‘but not like this. The fire was kept small to inflict as much pain as possible and draw out the death. Get him back to the column, I will take the Knights and seek out those who did this.’

  ‘I fear you will be unsuccessful,’ said Geraint. ‘Their tracks are light in the soil and lightly armed men are too fleet of foot to be run down by horses i
n forests as dense as these.’

  ‘I suspect you are right,’ said Tarian, ‘but we have to try.’

  ----

  Just before night fell, the mounted Knights returned to the main column and dismounted.

  ‘Any luck, Sire?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘None,’ said Tarian removing his helm. ‘We followed their sign for many hours but they have disappeared as easily as mist. What is more confusing is that we saw no evidence of any horses. No tracks, no dung, no hairs on the thorn bushes, nothing.’

  ‘Perhaps their mounts were hidden far away?’

  ‘We circled for many miles,’ said Tarian, ‘there was nothing. Unless I am mistaken, I believe these heathen, whoever they may be, do not have the use of horses.’

  ‘Every culture I have ever heard of has horses,’ said Geraint. ‘How would they otherwise survive?’

  ‘I know not,’ said Tarian, ‘yet strange as it sounds, this group at least were on foot.’

  ‘Sire there is something that adds weight to your words,’ said Geraint. ‘While you were gone, we found the rest of the scouts. Most are dead but three are missing. What is stranger, is that every horse was slaughtered and it seems one was butchered for the meat. We couldn’t understand why they weren’t just taken for their own use but if what you suspect is true and they are not familiar with the animals, then they would seem little more than an easy source of food.’

  ‘It makes sense,’ said Tarian, ‘and if this is proved to be true, it gives us a huge advantage.’ He stopped and thought for a few moments.

  ‘Who is our best tracker?’

  ‘Well believe it or not, it is the cook, Spider. He was once a poacher and knows the ways of the forest animals as good as any man.’

  ‘We seek men not animals.’

  ‘They are but the same, Sire,’ said Geraint, ‘if anyone can follow their spoor, he can.’