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

by Atkinson, F J

  He edged back, ready to run, sensing they were about to use the lookout for their own purposes, and this was when he heard Dominic’s howl.

  Three hours behind the enemy, Dominic’s group had ridden back in frenzy towards the village. Grim, yet determined, they had brokenly discussed their hopes, never allowing their fears to cloud their resolve as they sped to the fracas.

  Murdoc grabbed his spear from its harness and rode alongside Dominic. ‘We don’t know what’s happened,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we met them in the open this time.’

  Dominic concurred. ‘There’s nothing else for it. It’s brute force now, man. First, I’ll see if my cry will draw them out. May the Gods help us all.’

  ‘Be sure Augustus will!’ shouted the giant as Dominic gave out a lung-bursting howl. ‘I’ll carve some rotten meat today, that’s for sure!’

  They turned the bend in the track and Dominic quickly took stock. His first instruction was to Augustus and his brothers. ‘Looks like they’re ready for an open fight. Start with the three on foot who are making for the mound; andall of you stay mounted while you fight! You’ll take them if you STAY MOUNTED!’ To Murdoc, he shouted: ‘You’re with me, Mur. Ride beside me and keep your wits about you!’

  ‘This is for James and his lad!’ bellowed Augustus as he rode over and hacked at his first man. His brothers joined him, seemingly as adept at fighting together as they were with other practical tasks. All wheeled their ponies in mutual protection as they set about the other two men.

  Murdoc spotted the imposing Osric who had managed to slip behind the cover of one of his riders. Murdoc hurled his spear, but a young warrior, eager to gain status, had put himself between Murdoc and Osric. His small buckler deflected the spear, sending it airborne—the impact knocking the Saxon to the ground. The missile landed aslant in the dusty earth. Murdoc retrieved it, then rode to the prone youth and fatally pierced him.

  Dominic halted his pony and rapidly nocked an arrow. He took aim at the nearest Saxon. A flash of wood went by him and the man fell, penetrated through his cheekbone. Astonished, Dominic glanced up to the knoll. There, Tomas pushed his wolf hat back as he again took aim. Grinning now, Dominic let fly two quick arrows. One hit Wlensling, who took the arrow in his shoulder and fell from his pony. The other hit a rushing rider who received the second strike through his heart.

  Wlensling grimaced and snapped the arrow as he climbed to his knees. With animal eyes he glanced around him. Only six of his companions now stood, and six assailants fronted these. Four of the Britons, burly fellows, fought fiercely with axes against four Geoguths. He watched as Osric threw his ax at the wolf-man, knocking him from his pony. Now, he expected his leader to put an end to the Briton and so break the spirit of his followers.

  He brandished his own sword and readied himself to take on the other Briton who wielded the crude spear. A noise behind had him turn just in time to roll away from Withred’s blade as it slashed down on him.

  Wlensling was on his feet and facing Withred. ‘Traitor,’ he spat. ‘Always you arrive when the fighting is almost over.’

  ‘Twenty of your fellow murderers would disagree with you if they still held breath,’ said Withred as the two of them began to circle.

  The ensuing sword fight was brutal and unrelenting. Both men, skilful and well-matched, had to fend off several slashes, hacks and swipes. Withred took a flesh wound to his thigh, and defended against several follow-up hacking blows from Wlensling who sought to capitalise on the breach. But the flurries were either met or avoided and served only to drain Wlensling’s already depleted reserves of stamina.

  A momentary pause in the assault as Wlensling caught his breath was all that Withred needed. A heavy, sideways swipe at Wlensling, whose defensive stance had briefly faltered, was enough to partly sever the Saxon’s left arm. Screaming, Wlensling grabbed at the now articulated limb, thus dropping his weapon. Withred capitalised upon the opening. Swinging his sword with dexterity and power, his blade blurred as it described a rapid horizontal arc to cleanly decapitate Wlensling.

  As Wlensling and Withred had fought, Dominic lay stunned. Osric’s ax had hit him flat, fracturing his cheekbone and sending him down. Now, through a silent, vague fog, he saw Osric bear down upon him. Dominic prepared to become a dead man; sorry he would not witness the defeat of the Saxon force after such a struggle. When the deathblow didn’t arrive, it took only a fraction of a second for his blurred, muted world to return with a rush to the here and now.

  He saw that Osric had fallen from his pony but was making to gain his knees as he clutched at the arrow stuck into his side. Dominic’s glance up to the knoll evidenced that Tomas was responsible for the strike.

  Still incapacitated, Dominic could only watch as Murdoc rushed Osric from behind. With terrible, revengeful force, he thrust his spear between Osric’s shoulder blades and straight through his ring-mail hauberk. The Saxon chief fell onto his belly, his helm dislodging.

  Dominic now grabbed for the ax which had caused his own injury. Still unsteady from his concussion, he staggered towards the prone Osric and struck with the ax, the hack cleaving the Saxon’s head from nape to crown.

  Just as Withred arrived, Murdoc dismounted and went to Dominic. Back to back, the three rotated, ready to fight to the death for each other if needs be. They saw that Augustus and two of his brothers still fought against three of the Geoguths. The fourth brother, Samuel, lay wounded, possibly dead, under his collapsed pony.

  Realising the brothers were now tackling the last three men, Dominic broke from Withred and Murdoc and retrieved his bow. He quickly took down one of the Saxons. Another was hacked ground-wards by William. The third, knowing it was over, made to gallop from the clearing. He fell to another arrow from Tomas.

  ‘Nobody goes back this time,’ said Dominic as he put another three darts into the wounded man.

  Battle-weary, the men assembled around the critically wounded Samuel. Augustus cradled him, just as he had done with James the day before. He looked to them, his eyes desolate, his face haggard from the struggle. ‘Twice now I have held death in my grasp,’ he wept. ‘Once is enough for any man, and here I am doing it again.’

  Lost for words, Dominic could only place a consoling hand on Augustus’ shoulder.

  Tomas approached them at speed—his face a tapestry of worry.

  ‘You and Murdoc saved my life,’ shouted Dominic to him, ‘I’ll never—’

  ‘Egbert!’ shouted Tomas, ‘Where is Egbert, I can’t see his body!’

  Withred, haunted and drawn, struggled to impart his dreadful news. His tone was heavy and faltering. ‘He took Ceola down the westward track … Brinley has given chase … both were mounted.’

  Murdoc’s colour drained. His face was as sick as sin as he barely mustered a horrified whisper. ‘What … my little girl is with that monster?’ He shook his head and took an invigorating gasp of air, his indolence gone. ‘Westward track you say.’ He ran to his pony. ‘I’ll return with Ceola or not at all!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Egbert rode his pony as fast as the rutted track would allow. He had stuffed Ceola in the sack procured from the hut in the village; his threatening glare having sufficed to cow her into silent submission as he had thrown the sack over the pony’s withers.

  He knew he could not go back—Osric and the others would kill him for leaving them. To take the child to a slave trader—one that specialised in the sale of infants—was now his desire. He knew of such a man who would give him much gold for the child in the town of Norwic. If he headed westwards the woods would soon end. Then he would journey north, before heading back east, travelling at dusk and early morning when the route would be quiet. He would keep himself and the child alive by stealing food from the towns and villages.

  Knowing pursuers would follow, he travelled without rest for the remainder of the day, before camping off the track. He took the girl from the sack and roughly signalled her to lie down and sleep.
Ceola, sensing that the man would truly hurt her if she misbehaved, fell into a shallow and frenzied slumber.

  Next morning, Egbert waited away from the main track, listening for the passage of riders. He was about to continue his journey when the sound of movement down the way alerted him. He glared at Ceola and put his finger to his lips in a hushing gesture. Curling into a submissive ball, she recoiled from him.

  Brinley had resumed his pursuit at first light, his single-mindedness overriding his exhaustion as he pressed on. By midmorning, he had found Egbert’s tracks. He dismounted and stooped to examine the marks. A shuffling from behind was his only warning of Egbert’s approach, but before he could turn, the Saxon had slipped a cord around his neck.

  Dragged to the ground and on to his back, his attempt to push his fingers under the ligature proved futile. He kicked, eyes rolling, as the leaf litter of the forest floor scrunched to a heap before his heels. With Egbert’s full weight upon the cord, he had no chance of breaking free, and his last sensation before death was the smell of Egbert’s fetid breath.

  Panting from the struggle, Egbert stood up and looked around. Satisfied that Brinley was alone, he dragged his body from the track.

  He set off westwards, Ceola again in her position in the sack before him. As noon came, he decided to rest up his pony a while. He settled a short distance from the track. More movement coming from the passage immediately alerted him to stay silent. Now he lay with his hand pressed over Ceola’s mouth as six riders passed by. A break in the shrubbery afforded him a fleeting view of them. He saw they were British warriors of high stature and expensive weaponry, riding heavy horses. He tensed as they halted.

  Arthur’s men felt an increasing unease the deeper they penetrated into the forest. Will, who rode at the front of the group, had leant ever forward examining the track

  Now he stopped and slid down to examine the ground. He turned to the others, then peered beyond them towards the scrub beside the path.

  He walked to Gherwan and beckoned the knight to stoop within whispered earshot. ‘A rider’s come down the track … his trail’s fresh … very fresh.’ He pointed to the scrub. ‘Over there … someone’s gone in.’

  Gherwan signalled for Flint and Cadmon to ride back up the track and block the way should anyone break cover. ‘Erec and Will, with me’ he whispered as he pointed towards the disturbance in the undergrowth.

  The three rode at a walk through the scrub boundary, just as a mounted Egbert took them by surprise and burst through. Ceola stood where he had left her, hand to mouth, her eyes startled as the giant warhorses crowded the space around her. ‘Will, see to the child!’ barked Gherwan as he turned his horse to follow Egbert.

  Back on the track, Egbert saw his westward route blocked, so turned and galloped back down the track. His pony had the advantage of rapid acceleration over the heavier British horses and soon got him up the track and away.

  He glanced behind and was relieved to see nobody in sight, but as he again turned his attention before him, he was forced to halt. A distance ahead, with eyes rimmed dark and face set grim, sat Murdoc bestride his pony. ‘My daughter, what have you done with her?’ he asked, dreading the answer.

  Egbert understood only a few words of the British tongue, but knew what the question had to be. He readied himself to fight but froze as the Briton raised his bow. Murdoc’s voice was an amalgam of emotion and rage. ‘Where is she?’ he repeated, ‘Tell me what you have done with my daughter.’

  A thundering from up track heralded the arrival of Gherwan and Erec. Gherwan rode past Egbert and met Murdoc. Meanwhile, Erec kicked the Saxon to the ground and removed Egbert’s war ax from the pony’s saddle.

  ‘We are Britons from the west, our lord is Arthur,’ was Gherwan’s only introduction.

  Murdoc was about to mumble a reply when Will arrived carrying Ceola. ‘It’s my girl,’ said Murdoc, crying now. ‘I thought her surely dead…that man took her…I chased him through the night…but I thought her surely dead.’

  Will handed Ceola to Murdoc, and he hugged and rocked her through a babble of tears and laughter as he soothed and comforted.

  Gherwan later told Murdoc the story of their journey from Brythonfort. Murdoc, with Ceola on his lap, then told them of his struggle alongside his compatriots. The name of Egbert cropped up repeatedly as he spoke, and after Murdoc had told his tale Gherwan looked towards the Saxon who lay bound on the floor. ‘He is yours to dispose of Murdoc, do with him what you will.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The women, children and old men hiding in the woods had received Withred and Dominic’s appearance with relief and joy. Much grief Had then descended upon the group as they learned of the men who had died protecting them. The ensuing walk back to the village was a sad one, as the women, many of who had lost their men in the battle at the ox carts, supported each other in mutual condolence. Simon attempted to bolster a stricken Martha, who was inconsolable over the abduction of Ceola, feeling responsible for handing her to Egbert. She had lost the will to continue with her life.

  Augustus and his twin brothers, William and John, were the only fighting men from the village who had survived the encounter with the Saxons. Their joy as they emotionally reunited with their wives and children in the village was short lived as the enormity of the communal bereavement, as well as the loss of their own brother, Samuel, returned to them. Brinley’s wife, Anna, hugged and comforted James’ widow, Sarah, as the realisation of losing both a son and a husband crushed her.

  Dominic, Tomas and Withred started the task of burying the fallen, whilst Augustus and his brothers rode back to the flooded valley to retrieve James’ body.

  Next day, Simon sat with Martha against the wall of the hut where the abduction of Ceola had taken place. Leaning against him, his arm around her, she gnawed at her nails and stared into the hollow in the floor.

  ‘She may yet be found,’ said Simon quietly. ‘Brinley and Murdoc will not give up the chase, you can be sure of that. Have faith, they may yet return with her.’

  At the mention of Murdoc’s name, Martha squeezed her eyes shut and shook. ‘I let him down Simon, I let that brute take his girl . . . I handed her to him.’

  Simon knew that Martha was beyond consolation but he tried anyway. ‘None of us in there knew it was Egbert,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t see in the glaring light. Don’t torture yourself, please don’t, girl. We all thought Murdoc had come back. You’re not to—’

  ‘Riders approach!’ the cry came from outside the hut. Martha and Simon could only look at each other.

  As Murdoc rode into the village holding Ceola, a joyous cheer erupted. The gloom which had pervaded the village since the end of the battle seemed to dissipate as the joy and relief of seeing Ceola warmed the hearts of the onlookers. Martha ran from the hut. She stood before Murdoc, unable to speak, her eyes awash with apology.

  Murdoc dismounted, handed Ceola to Martha, then placed his arms around them both, and there they stood, rocking and weeping.

  Imposing, the six Arthurians rode up to the assembly. Tomas’ eyes gaped upon seeing the huge warhorses and the knights they supported. Awestruck, he said to Dominic who had joined him, ‘So this is how Rome looked. These are the type of men you rode with.’

  ‘Yes, except that these are fellow Britons. The fellow in buckskin is Will and I know him well. I tracked alongside him for Rome … and look, they have a prisoner.’

  Behind the last horse, Egbert walked, his hands bound by a leather cord tied to Erec’s saddle pommel. The crowd’s initial joy upon seeing Ceola now turned to hostility at the sight of him.

  Anna screamed as she saw Brinley’s body draped over Flint’s horse. She ran to her husband and embraced his cold corpse.

  Flint’s eyes were downcast, unable to meet Anna’s. He could barely manage a murmur as Anna sobbed beside him. ‘I’m so sorry. We found him dead. Dragged off the track. Egbert murdered him.’

  Withred strode purposefully to Egbert and cut th
e cord securing him to Erec’s horse.

  He glanced at Erec, nodded his thanks, then dragged Egbert towards the hut with the pit. He looked towards Augustus and his brothers as he walked. His voice was ice. ‘Get spears. Leave them by the side of the hut.’

  He fought to contain his rage. ‘Intended to sell a child for wicked sport did you!’ he said as he pushed Egbert into the hut. With the flat of his foot he kicked Egbert into the pit.

  Egbert landed in a heap and looked up at him from the gloom, his yellowing eyes glinting with hate. ‘Yes … why not, heron-shanks? Gold is gold and it would have got me away from this stinking isle.’

  Withred sneered at him. ‘Look beneath you—you’re on straw. No warrior’s death for you, you bastard. No meeting with Woden. You’ll die a straw death like a crone on her straw pallet.’

  Egbert grabbed a handful of stalks and held them up to Withred. ‘Better this than a traitor, eh?’

  Withred smiled pityingly at him. ‘Oh, you sorrowful, sorrowful wretch,’ he uttered as he left the hut, ‘…you disgusting, sorrowful wretch.’

  Once outside, he looked at the spears, then at Murdoc. ‘You did well managing not to slay the shit,’ he said. ‘Thanks for bringing him back alive. At least those he wronged can finish him now.’

  Augustus picked up three of the spears. He threw two of them to his brothers then looked to Murdoc.

  Drained by the ordeal of the previous day and night, Murdoc was now in an unexpected quandary as he held Ceola. He had yearned for this day; imagined how he would kill Egbert if he got the chance, but as he looked into his daughter’s trusting, brown eyes he knew he would let it be. Augustus and the others could finish him. Perhaps then, Ceola would not think that killing was natural to all men.

  He spoke with Martha, then looked to Augustus. ‘He raped and killed my wife, and his riding companions killed the rest of my family, and this child saw much of it. That hut’s about to witness death, but I’m walking back to the village now with my girl. She’s seen enough killing for one lifetime. Martha feels the same. Just get rid of the swine … finish him now, he’s lived far too long.’