by Kevin Ashman
‘You want to poison her?’
‘Call it what you will. I understand you monks are learned men and have access to tomes that list such things.’
‘We do,’ said Father Williams, ’and there are plants in the forest that induce the sleeping death without any visible effects.’
‘Then seek them out and bring the liquid yourself.’
‘You want me to administer the poison with my own hand?’
‘I do. You are a man of God and as such are above suspicion.’
‘No,’ said the Abbot, ‘it is too risky.’
‘Do this and I will bring you this boy’s head on a pike even if I have to get it myself.’
The Abbot stared in silence.
‘When do you want it done?’
‘The quicker she is cold, the quicker I can sort out your own petty grudge.’
‘And you promise you will kill the blacksmith?’
‘I may be a ruthless man, Father but my word is still my bond.’
Father Williams nodded in reply.
‘I will gather the plants and brew what is needed with my own hand. Expect me before the sun sets tomorrow. ‘
‘Good,’ said Gerald standing up. ‘As usual, it is good doing business with you, Father.’ He left the Abbot’s quarters and made his way out of the abbey.
----
Chapter Fourteen
The New World
1276
Spider dismounted from his horse and crouched on the ground, examining the slightest of marks in the leaf litter. Behind him, Tarian sat astride his charger at the head of his ten Knights and another thirty horsemen. They had ridden hard the whole day and crossed a wide plain before reaching another wooded hill. Each time Spider checked the trail he was confident they were getting closer to their quarry.
‘Well?’ said Tarian, ‘surely they can’t be much further in front.’
‘They move fast for foot soldiers,’ said Spider, ‘but I feel we are almost upon them.’ He looked up at the ridge. ‘Perhaps it would be prudent to keep the men here while we check the ground in front. If they know we are following, we could be walking into a trap.’
‘Good idea,’ said Tarian dismounting from his horse, ‘lead the way, Spider, I will accompany you. The rest, wait here but be prepared to disperse onto the plain should it be a trap. I don’t care how fleet of foot they are, they cannot compete with chargers.’
The two men left the patrol and walked up the hill. Slowly they picked their way through the undergrowth and as they neared the top, Spider dropped to all fours and signalled Tarian to do the same.’
‘What is it?’ whispered Tarian.
‘I smell wood smoke.’
Carefully they crawled over the ridge and peered down into the valley below. Before them was a village like they had never seen before. Small huts covered with painted animal skins filled the valley and dozens of fires sent their wispy smoke up into the tree filled slopes. Children played in the dust and skins of various animals were stretched on frames in the sun to dry. Women sat on the banks of the river running through the centre of the valley and rubbed wet clothes against the rocks to rid them of the dust of the day. However, what caught the eye of Tarian was the group of men at the far edge of the valley.
About one hundred armed warriors stood in a circle, surrounding a smaller group of twelve sitting cross legged on the floor. The standing men were mostly dressed in deerskin leggings whilst some wore only loin cloths. Their upper bodies were painted in various designs and their faces smeared with ash from the fires. Every warrior carried spears and some had bows slung across their backs.
The men sitting on the ground were obviously much older and wore brightly coloured beads and feathers in their hair. A young man stood before them and was shouting something in his own language, gesturing in the direction of the unseen watchers.
‘There they are,’ whispered Tarian.
‘What do you think is happening?’ answered Spider.
‘I don’t know but I would wager the men sitting down are the leaders. The bald one must be a warlord and perhaps relates news of our presence in their lands. Can you see any sign of our men?’
Spider shook his head but then grabbed Tarian’s arm as two of the warriors left the group and headed toward a nearby hut.
‘Look,’ he said.
The two warriors ducked inside and pulled a tied man outside, dragging him into the circle of warriors.
‘That’s Owens from one of the other ships,’ said Tarian quietly.’
‘What are they going to do with him?’
Tarian didn’t answer but watched with growing horror as events unfolded. The archer was thrown into the dust near the fire and then forced back up to his knees. One of the older warriors got to his feet and walked over to inspect the prisoner. He held a short stick in one hand, decorated with feathers and the skulls of small birds. Though weaker than the younger warrior, his voice still reached Tarian’s hiding place and from the tone of his words, the watching men guessed he was shouting questions at the bound man.
Over and over the man circled the prisoner, screaming his questions and striking him with the stick. The prisoner stared at his tormentor defiantly until finally the old man struck him hard across the face and he fell sideways into the dust. Two of the younger warriors stepped forward and dragged the prisoner to his feet before throwing him face first into the flames.
Spider gasped and turned his face away as the tortured man’s screams echoed through the valley. The watching warriors shouted their approval until the screams died with the man.
‘I have seen enough,’ said Tarian, ‘we must make our move now before it is too late.’ The two men crawled back down the hill until they were once more sheltered from view. ‘Spider, we have to move fast and I need your support.’
‘What would you have me do?’
‘Return to the slope above the village and crawl down as near as you dare without being seen. I will return to the men and lead them to the other end of the valley before driving into the very heart of them.’
‘They number by the hundred, Sire. Our numbers are but fourty.’
‘Agreed, but I saw no sign of any horses and truly believe they do not use such beasts. This means if they are not used to mounted warfare, they will not know how to defend against a charge. We will probably have but one pass and need to take the opportunity. While the front ranks engage the enemy, your task will be to enter the hut with the prisoners and use your knife to cut their binds. I will task the last six riders to look for you and pick up any survivors.’
‘But we don’t know if there are any more survivors.’
‘We don’t but there is no other option. If there are no prisoners left we will head straight back to the wagons and make haste to leave these lands as soon as we can.’
‘But what if…’
‘Enough,’ snapped Tarian, ‘my mind is set. We came here to save our comrades and whilst we may be too late, I will not leave until we have tried. Now make haste for the village will thunder to the sounds of our hooves within a thousand heartbeats.’
‘Of course, Sire,’ said Spider and started back up the hill as Tarian ran down toward the horses.
‘Mount up,’ shouted Tarian as he approached, ‘and prepare for assault.’ Within moments Tarian led the men around the hill and toward the valley entrance. As they galloped, a young woman with a woven basket strapped to her waist stepped from a thicket and stared in horror at the approaching horses.
‘Keep going,’ shouted Tarian and the riders galloped on, trampling the poor girl beneath them.
Across the other side of the hill, Spider pushed his body as close as he could to the ground and crawled slowly down toward the village. He reached the bottom and moved opposite the hut containing the prisoners, waiting for the arrival of his comrades. As he waited, another prisoner was dragged from the hut and Spider stared in horror as his throat was sliced open before he too was thrown to the flames.
Spider’s heart raced but within minutes, the sound of shouting echoed around the village and the warriors turned to stare toward the far end of the valley. Spider followed their gaze and saw a line of mounted lancers trotting into view. Before the warriors could understand what was happening, he heard Tarian’s voice roaring above the babble and Spider knew the time was upon him.
The horses broke into a canter and were halfway through the village when their leader called out again.
‘Front and second ranks, present lances, on my command, advance!’
The front two ranks of horses started to gallop and the lancers lowered their weapons parallel to the ground. The warriors realised the danger but rather than form any structured defensive formation, reacted by drawing their knives and racing toward the attackers. As soon as they were in range, many of the natives paused to throw their spears but despite many finding their target, the flint tipped weapons were little use against the chain mail armour of the lancers and the heavy quilted caparisons draped over the horses. One animal fell to a spear through his eye but the rider rolled away as he hit the ground and was on his feet in seconds, drawing his sword to defend himself against the oncoming hoard. Within seconds the natives at the front of the counter charge were speared on the lances of the front two ranks and many of those behind were bowled over by the enormous military horses as they galloped through.
Those warriors still standing threw themselves against the horses with little effect and within seconds, two more ranks of riders came storming into the village with swords drawn.
Spider saw his chance and jumping from his hiding place, sprinted across the open space between him and the prisoner hut. He used his knife to cut through the skins on the back of the structure and climbed into the gloom.
At first he struggled to see in the dark interior but soon realised there were several bodies strewn around the floor.
‘Men of Tarian,’ he hissed, ‘make yourselves known.’
‘Over here,’ groaned a voice and Spider ran to cut the binds of a man propped against a supporting pole.
‘Marcus,’ said Spider as he recognised the captive, ‘good to see you alive, my friend.’
‘I thought I had seen my last sunrise,’ said Marcus, ‘thank God you came in time.’
‘Thank not the almighty, Marcus, thank Tarian, thirty lancers and ten of the best Welsh Knights.’
‘Whoever is responsible, I will be forever in their debt,’ said Marcus as his binds were cut.
‘Are there any others?’ asked Spider.
‘I am the last,’ said Marcus, ‘everyone else has been taken.’
‘Then who are these?’ asked Spider indicating the rest of the prisoners.
‘I don’t know,’ said Marcus, ‘but I suspect they are enemies of those who took us captive.’
‘Then we are done here,’ said Spider.
‘What about these other men?’ asked Marcus looking around at the expectant faces.
‘They are none of our business,’ said Spider, ‘we need to go.’
‘I will not leave them to die,’ said Marcus, ‘give me your knife.’
Spider handed over the blade and watched as his comrade cut the rest of the prisoners free. Most ran from the hut immediately and made their escape but one remained and stood slowly, rubbing his wrists as he stared at his rescuer. He was also dressed in deer skins but unlike his captors, his hair was thick and fell loose around his shoulders.
‘What are you waiting for?’ snapped Spider. ‘Get out of here.’
The native stared at the two men before speaking quietly.
‘What tribe are you?’ asked the native, ‘who speak the old words.’
Marcus was shocked. Though the sentence was fragmented, the meaning was clear.
‘You speak our language,’ he gasped, ‘how can that be?’
The man just shook his head and stared in reply.
‘Tell me,’ said Marcus again, ‘how do you speak our words?’
‘Come on,’ said Spider, ‘we have no time for this, we have to get out of here.’
‘Wait,’ snapped Marcus, ‘this is important. The only way he can possibly speak our language is if he has been taught by others before us.’
‘Then bring him if you must,’ said Spider, ‘but decide quickly.’
Marcus turned to the native.
‘Do you have a name?’ he asked.
The man stared back, uncomprehending.
‘A name?’ repeated Marcus. ‘What are you called?’
‘I am known as Achak,’ said the man.
‘Good,’ said Marcus. ‘Achak, I don’t have time to explain but I want you to come with us. Do you understand?’
‘Where is it you go?’
‘Some of our people are not far from here and we would talk with you. Will you come with us?’
Achak paused but finally answered.
‘Achak will come.’
‘About bloody time,’ said Spider, ‘let’s get out of here.’ He led the way out of the hut and ran across to where a Lancer was holding a spare horse. All around, men were dying as Tarian’s Knights wreaked havoc amongst the unprotected natives.
‘You two, mount up,’ shouted Spider, ‘I will ride behind my comrade.’
Marcus ran over and grabbed the saddle but Achak stayed where he was.
‘Come on,’ screamed Spider, ‘what are you waiting for?’
‘He has never seen a horse,’ shouted Marcus, ‘come, help me get him up.’
‘Knights, remount,’ roared Tarian. ‘Unhorsed men, mount behind your comrades, prepare to withdraw.’
Within minutes Marcus and Spider were galloping out of the village. Achak sat behind Marcus with his hands wrapped tightly around the archer’s chest, a look of terror on his face. Many natives ran after them but were soon left behind as the horses cleared the valley. They rode hard for five minutes before slowing to a walk and Tarian rode up alongside Marcus.
‘Good to see you again, Marcus.’
‘And you, Tarian though I wish my fellows were here to share my relief.’
‘And who is this? asked the leader, indicating his riding companion.
‘His name is Achak and I think he will greatly aid our cause.’
‘In what way?’
‘He speaks our language, Tarian and that can mean only one thing. He must know the ancestors of Madoc.’
Tarian stared at Achak in disbelief.
‘Is this true?’ he asked.
Achak stared back at the impressive Knight before answering.
‘I am Achak of the Mandan,’ he said ‘and I speak the old words.’
‘Well, Achak,’ said Tarian, ‘I have a load of questions but we have a long way to go.’
Without warning, Achak slid from the horse and stood to one side.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Marcus, ‘remount.’
‘Achak will run,’ came the answer from the native.
‘It’s a long way,’ said Marcus, ‘it’s easier on horseback.’
‘Achak will run,’ repeated the native.
Marcus looked at Tarian.
‘What do you think?’
‘His choice,’ said Tarian.’
Before they could start again, a distant sound made all the men look around them nervously.
‘What’s that noise?’ asked Marcus.
‘Drums,’ said Achak, ‘the spirits of Apalach sing of war. We must go.’
----
The patrol rode south once again and though the pace was steady, Achak followed close behind, scorning the numerous offers to share a horse. Finally darkness fell and Tarian paused to order a night camp but Achak walked over and stood before him.
‘We must go on,’ he said.
‘Not in the dark, Achak, it is too dangerous and the horses need rest.’
‘The Apalach will not rest,’ said Achak.
‘That may be so but we have struck a severe blow to their numbers so they may not be so keen to take us on.’
‘Apalach villages are many,’ said Achak, ‘and spirit drums call them to war.’
‘How many?’ asked Tarian.
Achak looked up at the sky and waved his hand across the expanse of stars.
‘This many.’
Tarian looked at him in disbelief and Marcus stepped forward.
‘That can’t be,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen anyone before they attacked our men. How can so many people not leave a sign?’
Achak waved his hand again.
‘This many?’ he repeated.
‘Do you believe him?’ asked Marcus.
‘He believes it,’ said Tarian, ‘and that’s what worries me. Even if his estimates are wrong, it is obvious they have great strength. Perhaps he is right and we should keep going.’ He turned to Achak. ‘Can you take us back to the great river in the dark?’
‘Achak will lead you back the way you came,’ he answered.
‘But how do you know which way?’ asked Marcus.
‘Your animals left a trail as wide as a storm,’ said Achak, ‘I see the way, but the Apalach will also see. We must go.’
‘We have no choice,’ said Tarian. ‘Give the horses water from your skins, we ride again as soon as we can.’
Within ten minutes they started out once more though this time at a much slower pace. Achak trotted in front, closely followed by Spider and the rest of the patrol. Several hours later, Achak stopped and waited for Spider to catch him up.
‘Your people are there,’ he said pointing into the darkness.
‘How far?’ asked Spider screwing up his eyes but seeing nothing.
‘Two arrows,’ said Achak.
Tarian rode up.
‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.
‘He reckons we are back,’ said Spider, ‘and the wagons lay ahead.’
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Tarian and kicked his horse to go forward. Within seconds, a voice rang out of the darkness.
‘Hold there, rider on pain of death. Declare yourself.’
‘Hold your weapons, soldier,’ answered Tarian. ‘It is your leader returned from campaign.’ He rode forward into to the defensive position.
‘Sire,’ said Geraint from a rock above, ‘your return is welcome.’