Withred looked concerned as he scrutinized the town. ‘We need to be careful now,’ he warned the others. ‘There must be people here who know me.’ He stroked the respectable twelve-day growth of dark beard that covered his face, then ran his hand over a head that had been frequently and fastidiously shaven. ‘I just hope the transformation works,’ he added.
‘You’d fool me, you ugly bastard,’ grinned Augustus as he stood in his saddle trying to get a better look at the town, ‘and I’ve known you too long.’ He sat down again. ‘Not as big as Camulodunum this place … looks much newer though.’
‘It’s grown since I was last here,’ said Withred. ‘It was more a collection of small settlements then. All of them built beside the river. The Wensum we called it, meaning the winding. There’s little space between the settlements now by the look of it, though. The place must be doing good trade for it to have grown to this.’
‘Not all of it good trade,’ commented Flint.
‘Indeed, no. That’s why we’ve travelled twelve days to get here,’ conceded Withred.
Dominic and Murdoc, who had been riding behind, now joined the others at the front. ‘We need to remember we are rich Britons from here onwards,’ Dominic said. ‘That means we sleep in the town tonight. Well-to-do Britons do not sleep on the ground on the outskirts of town.’
Augustus pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. He pointed to a small grove of trees nearby. ‘We need to dress like rich Britons, then. Time to get into our finery … over there.’ He rummaged through his pack and removed a richly embroidered tunic. ‘The last person to see me dressed like a jack-a-dandy was the wife when we were wed. A nice tunic I had on that day as well. Didn’t keep it on for long, though.’
Murdoc gave a shudder of mock revulsion. ‘No Gus, please,’ he pleaded. ‘For a moment, I imagined your fat, hairy arse in its full glory.’
Murdoc rode his horse into the copse as Augustus hooted his appreciation at the slight. After dismounting, Murdoc removed his own lavish tunic from his pack. He held the garment before him and admired it. ‘Never expected Brythonfort to have attire like this,’ he commented. ‘Thought it would be all weapons and armour.’
Flint pulled his own tunic over his head. ‘The sooner we’re garbed and into the town, the better.’ He threw an opulent, striped, woolen cloak across his shoulders, securing it with a gilt bronze brooch. Frowning, he looked towards the town. ‘Let’s hope we’re not too late for them,’ he added.
As wealthy traders, they approached the town; the plain leather tack of their horses now adorned with gilt bronze ornamentation to rival their own clothing.
A busy market was in sway—the streets thronged with townsfolk, warriors and merchants. Everywhere, children weaved and ran between the milling crowds. Lads, lost in their games, were scolded by the merchants as they ran amok, bumping and rattling against the stalls.
Some booths groaned with herring; the strong smell suffusing the air with its sharp tang. Bundles of fleeces, towering twice the height of a man, occupied one corner of a cleared space. Upon these a man stood, taking bids from the merchants who bustled and shouted below him.
Nearby, a pig rotated on a spit. Before it stood a rough table, holding pewter platters stacked with pork. The seller noticed Dominic’s group approaching and immediately pitched for a sale.
‘Good sirs, come and try my tasty swine. The finest in Norwic. A piece of silver will feed you all.’
Dominic cast a half glance to Murdoc, who stood beside him. ‘A Briton, by the sound of it. Let’s see what we can find out from him.’
They dismounted and secured their horses to a nearby hitching rail.
Dominic removed a coin from the purse at his belt. Arthur had supplied each of the men with a full purse—the coins useful merely as bartering items rather than currency since the Romans had departed. He held up a silver coin to the man. ‘Will this do, fellow?’
The pork seller took the coin, bit it, then gave Dominic a crooked grin. ‘By your leave, I needed to check it’s genuine,’ he explained. He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger, displaying it back to them. ‘I know a man who makes these into ornaments. They’re much coveted. I’ll give him half a pig to craft a pendant from it, and then I’ll exchange the pendant for a whole pig.’
‘Good business all round, then,’ said Dominic, as he passed haunches of loin back to Murdoc and the others. You’re Iceni, I take it?’
‘Yes … and you?’
‘Trinovante. We live near the ancient forest, west of Camulodunum. The Saxons leave you alone, then?’
The man nodded. ‘As long as you provide a service you’re all right here.’ The seller looked around ensuring he was not overheard. Satisfied, he continued—his voice just above a whisper. ‘Their warriors are arrogant, though. Think they can take what they want, when they want. We can do nothing but try to get on with them. We haven’t the means to resist them, anyway.’
‘I hear they still raid and sell our people as slaves,’ Dominic said.
‘The bastards would sell their own grandmothers if there was a market for crones,’ sneered the pork seller. ‘And talking of markets … yes, they sell slaves all right. Bring them here in droves. Nobody’s supposed to know, but word gets around. They try to keep us calm, though God knows why. They could get rid of us if they felt like it.’
Flint now stood beside Dominic—his quick glance warning, Don’t say too much!
‘They keep the trade in slaves quiet then?’ asked Dominic.
The pork seller gave an anxious glance around him again. ‘Like I said … word gets around.’ He gave his head a slight nod backwards, telling them to look, behind and beyond him. ‘See that stockade, back there, with the guard posted at the gate … that’s where they take them. Word has it that the captives are criminals who’ve done bad things like murder and rape, but that doesn’t wash with me. I’ve seen children taken in there as well.’
Flint tensed when hearing this. ‘Children you say? Have you noticed any children taken in there lately?’
‘Yes, two days ago. Two boys and a girl,’ replied the pork seller without hesitation. ‘I remember it well, because I’ve two sons and a daughter myself, and I thought how awful it would be to have them taken from me.’
Flint’s look at Dominic pressed for urgency. ‘Thank you for the meat,’ Dominic said, reading the expression. ‘Most tasty it is, but we must be to our business now. Maybe we’ll see you again before we resume our journey.’
They bade their leave and walked a distance away before conferring. Flint was desperate to act. ‘We need to find out how to get into that compound. It seems it nestles beside the river. No doubt that’s where the boats dock.’ He looked to Withred. ‘When at Brythonfort, you said many slaves go to Hibernia, so we have little time to act. We need to do something now!’
‘Yes, but nothing that will arouse suspicion,’ advised Withred. ‘The first thing we can do is talk to the guard at the compound. See what we can find out.’
There was agreement and the group walked towards the compound leaving Augustus to watch the horses. As they approached, the guard became alert, his tone brusque. ‘What’s your business here?’
‘Gold is our business,’ said Withred amiably. ‘Gold we can spend on slaves.’
‘I’m not the man to do business with,’ said the guard. ‘I make sure nobody gets in or out of here; that’s my job, not selling slaves, so you’d all be better going somewhere else.’
‘I thought not,’ laughed Withred, ignoring the man’s rudeness. ‘Neither is it your want to possess a fair tongue, but that wouldn’t be your job either.’ He pulled a silver coin from his purse and held it for the guard to see. ‘No, fellow, it is information we seek from you, not slaves.’
The guard hesitated, eyeing the men with suspicion before taking the coin. He assessed them. Judging by their clothing, they seemed prosperous. These were not the usual flabby specimens, rather they were hard-looking men; bruisers dress
ed in finery. Maybe wealthy warriors grown rich from plunder; men who had decided to exchange the rigours of the trail for the easier life of commerce. He frowned as he studied Withred. There was something familiar about him. Perhaps he had ridden with the man at one time. Maybe he was right in thinking these men had once raided as warriors.
He turned his attention to the coin in his hand before closing it within his fist. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘Just who deals with the sale of slaves?’ said Withred.
‘The best man for that is a Briton named Griff. Most sales go through him.’
‘And where would we find this Griff?’
They turned to look, as the guard pointed to a huge, plank-walled thatched building beyond the market which reared higher than any other structure in town.
‘That’s where he spends his time when he’s here,’ informed the guard. ‘The place is also an alehouse and brothel. It’s also the only place that offers overnight lodgings.’ The guard gave them a little sneer. ‘Looks like you’ll have to stick your snouts in the trough tonight if you’re staying.’
‘What does this Griff look like? How will we recognise him?’
The guard gave a snorting laugh. ‘No need for me to tell you what he looks like. Just look out for a fop flanked by two hellhounds. They never leave his side. Believe me; you’ll know it’s him when you see the dogs. Don’t upset him though, or they’ll chew your cocks off.’
‘Nice to know,’ commented Withred, ‘but they won’t have to be tall dogs to reach mine. Many thanks, we’ll take our leave.’
A worried frown creased Withred’s forehead as they walked back to Augustus and the horses. ‘I know that man,’ he said to Murdoc. ‘When I first came to Britannia I fought alongside Hengist and Hosta, and that guard was just a youth then. Bloodthirsty shit he was. He’s aged since, but it’s definitely the same man.’
‘Looks like your changed appearance worked though,’ said Murdoc. ‘He didn’t seem to recognise you.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Withred. ‘Something seemed to stir him.’
When they reached Augustus, they told him their news. He looked first to the sky, then to the huge thatched building. ‘It’s starting to get dark. We may as well go and take up our lodgings and hope the Briton shows up.’
They approached the vast building. A high thatched roof swept down to plank-built walls that stood at the height of a tall man. No windows pierced the walls; the building’s only source of natural light and ingress being its wide doorway.
Inside, was a large open space lit by a central fire. Clay oil lamps set around the walls provided further illumination. Day or night, the inside of the building remained gloomy yet atmospheric. No rooms existed within, but privacy was provided by the provision of many curtained stalls that stood against the inner walls.
A huge, open central space was evident. Here, sporadic bursts of laughter erupted from small clusters of men who stood conversing in the dimness as they supped ale and regaled each other with tales.
Across the bottom wall ran a stout table that held several barrels of ale. Stood by the table was the proprietor who talked to another man. Both were Saxons by their look, so it was decided that Withred would do the talking again.
The man, Godric, watched them approach. ‘Lodgings, women, or both?’ he asked in anticipation.
‘Just lodgings and ale for now,’ said Withred. ‘Too tired for women … been on the trail all day. We’ll pay with coin if that’s acceptable.’
‘As long as it’s gold or silver,’ said Godric.
Withred got straight to the point. ‘We seek a man named Griff. We were told he comes in here.’
Godric looked past Withred and nodded towards the distant door. ‘You won’t have long to wait then.’
They turned to observe Griff swaggering across the floor towards them, a lively mastiff on either side of him.
‘”Fop” with shitting bells on,’ said Augustus as Griff approached them.
Encircled with a band of twisted gold, Griff’s long, dark hair bounced around his head as he walked. His silk tunic was purple in colour, richly embroidered and tied at the waist by a white calfskin belt that matched the calfskin of his boots.
Godric reached behind the table for a jug of wine and poured it into a silver goblet. ‘He’d love to be a Roman would Griff,’ he muttered to no one in particular. ‘Too good to drink God’s ale, he is. Gets me to import this piss instead. He’s even assumed the purple tonight. Thinks he’s an emperor. What a turd!’
They moved aside as Griff reached the table. He took the proffered chalice from Godric, his jewel encrusted fingers twinkling and reflecting the lamplight. The dogs circled him. Barely suppressing their yelps, they looked at him in expectation. Griff clicked his fingers at the man who stood beside Godric.
A plate of chopped, raw mutton lay on the table. One by one, the man threw pieces of meat to the dogs. These, they expertly snapped from midair, their excitement rising to a near frenzy as they gave out sporadic barks of impatience.
Withred glanced at Dominic, his eyes darting to Griff. Dominic took the hint. ‘Nice dogs,’ he said. ‘The Molossus breed are they?’
Griff’s studied Dominic from over the rim of his goblet as he took a thirsty sip. He saw a rough man in fine clothes. A man who had seen action by the look of him. His companions too seemed wise of the world and solid. He placed his goblet back on the table and paused deliberately before answering. He wiped his mouth with the fine cloth provided by Godric.
Loftily, he replied: ‘They’re not Molossus; they’re bigger and better than those whelps. These are bred for export by a man in Aebbeduna, and each would cost a peasant a year’s harvest.’
‘And I can see why. Never have I seen finer beasts.’ He made to stroke the dog nearest to him, but withdrew his hand when his action met with a throaty growl. He turned his attention back to Griff. ‘Talking of peasants, we’re here to buy some. We were told that you’re the man to do business with.’
Griff’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Slaves you want, eh?’ Brazenly, he studied Dominic, looking him up and down as he wondered what a man as craggy as he could possibly want with slaves. Nevertheless, he would give him his answer. ‘Yes … you heard right, I’m the man to see for slaves in Norwic. All of them criminals who would suffer a far worse fate than bondage if not sold on by me, I might add. All trade goes through me. I’m the main buyer. No barter though. I take gold. Nothing other than gold.’
Dominic patted the purse at his belt. ‘We have gold in abundance and specific needs.’
Griff raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘And what would those needs be?’
‘I’m looking for a young wench for my son, and some stout lads to work the fields on my estate.’
‘Then, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I do have two older ones I could possibly let go, but no others.’
‘You’re sure you have no younger ones?’ pressed Dominic. ‘I heard from a man on the market that some children were taken into the stockade a couple of days ago.’
‘You heard right then. And the children you speak of would fit your needs perfectly. A young girl of eleven or so, and two youths. But they’re already sold. Destined for Hibernia. The boat docked this evening and leaves tomorrow … with them on board.’
Dominic glanced towards Flint, who looked troubled and intense. ‘We have much gold,’ persisted Dominic, ‘and would hate to miss out on this. Whatever you’ve been offered for the youths we’ll double the price.’
Griff shook his head in dismissal. ‘No … like I say, they’re already sold. My customer is long standing and I already possess his gold for the sale. Selling them to you would risk my business with him. The youths will ship out tomorrow, and in ten days’ time will slop through the shitty bogland of Hibernia.’
‘Would it not be good business to sell them to us for a good price, then send your client the next group that meets his needs?’ reasoned Dominic.
&nb
sp; ‘No … it can’t be done,’ dismissed Griff. ‘One boat sailed two days ago for Hibernia, and the one that now sits in the dock will be the last to sail this year. I’ll lose my client if I don’t send him the slaves, and that would cost me a fortune in the end. The answer is no, and that’s the end of it, my friend.’
Flint’s agitation turned to near panic when hearing the final refusal. He was about to interject when Augustus placed a hand on his arm. ‘Not now,’ he said discreetly. ‘It’s no use; the man will not move on this.’
Ever the businessman, Griff gripped Dominic’s arms and gave him a winning smile. ‘But don’t fret, my friend,’ he consoled. ‘Slaves are coming in every week. Why not wait a day or two. I’m sure I can supply what you want if you hang around for a few days.’
Just then, a drunken Harlot stumbled towards the beer table and started to pester Godric for wine.
Giving Dominic a knowing leer, Griff nodded towards her. ‘You may as well try out the women while you wait.’ He swept his arm around him, inviting them to study the interior of the building. ‘I own all of this and the women,’ he boasted. ‘Why not make-the-beast-with-two-backs with the flopsies. There’ll be a generous discount if you buy slaves off me as well.’
Dominic, though, had already decided what needed to be done and was eager to speak with the others away from Griff. ‘Maybe we’ll do just that,’ he said. ‘Thanks for your time. I hope we can do business soon.’
Griff nodded and returned to his wine as Dominic led the others from earshot. Flint was frantic. ‘We have to get them out! Tonight or they’ll be lost forever.’
Withred’s eyes flickered as he considered the options. ‘Yes, we have to get into compound, but it won’t be easy. There’s only one man guarding the gate, but we don’t know what awaits us on the other side. As soon as it gets dark we have to get moving.’
When darkness came they walked from the lodging house. Godric had left the beer table and gone behind a curtained stall with one of Griff’s whores. A mixture of snores and carnal grunting came from the other partitions as they passed them by. Of Griff, there was no sign.
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 28