Withred, who feared the oceans, was thankful when Druce’s prediction proved accurate. A fresh, following breeze ensured the boat travelled at a steady seven knots and they sighted the Hibernian port ten hours after leaving Dyfed, and sixteen days after Maewyn, Elowen and Mule had arrived at the same port.
The dock master, Guairá, was a friend to Druce, and embraced him as he stepped onto the quayside. Druce told him the reason for his voyage. Told him he had brought three Britons to meet with Fincath at his ringfort.
Guairá greeted Dominic and the others. ‘I can offer you basic but clean lodgings for the night,’ he said. ‘And for a reasonable fee, I have ponies that will take you to Fincath. A day’s travel mounted will see you there.’
Unwilling to travel the night over unknown ground, they decided to accept Guairá’s offer, and spent the night in a small cabin beside the docks.
A quiet day greeted them at first light. Druce, who was to stay behind, had agreed to wait at the docks for as long as it took Dominic, Flint and Withred to conclude their business with Fincath. He readied himself to work for his food and lodgings by assisting Guairá and his stevedores.
Guairá led them to the stables and picked out four well-used but sturdy looking ponies. ‘Remember, take the road from the docks and climb up towards the trading post,’ he told them. ‘There you’ll find Fincath’s men. He leaves two of them there always to handle trade from the port. When learning of your intent to visit Fincath I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them decides to take you to him.’
They gave their thanks to Guairá, bade their farewell to Druce, and set off upon their journey to meet Fincath mac Garrchu.
‘We can only hope the flaw in our plan doesn’t rear its ugly head,’ said Withred as they made their way up the stony track from the docks.’
Dominic had squinted ahead, seemingly lost in thought. Withred’s words brought him back to the here and now. ‘It’s on my mind too,’ he said. ‘In fact, was on my mind just before you said it.’
‘What’s the likelihood of this Fincath knowing all of Griff’s men, all of his agents and seeing us as fakes, then?’ asked Withred.
‘Unlikely,’ Dominic said, ’or we wouldn’t be risking this. It’s a long way to Norwic from here, so contact must be rare. But you’re right; it is a possible flaw in the plan.’
Flint had been listening to the exchange. ‘What if Griff’s agent is already here,’ he said. We’re seriously in trouble if he is.’
‘Maybe we’re about to get advance warning of that,’ Dominic said, as the trading post came into view. ‘The men in that building are the first to meet visitors to Fincath.’
As they approached the trading post, a bleary-eyed man, worse for wear, came out to meet them.
‘Looks like they keep a little wine back for themselves before dispatching it to their master,’ said Withred. ‘Another one sleeps inside, by the sound of the snoring coming from that hut.’
Daman was the senior man at the trading post. His companion for the last two weeks—the man now unconscious from drink in the hut—was an out-of-favour retainer from Fincath’s hall, named Odhran. Fond of drink, he had pestered Daman to pilfer wine and ale from supplies destined for Fincath. It had not taken Daman long to give in, and had soon shared Daman’s habit of excessive and regular consumption. Life at the trading post meant long days spent doing nothing at all, and Daman had discovered the tedium to be bearable when his head swam with drink.
Last night they had really gone at it, though, and it was with reluctance that he had dragged himself off the floor when hearing the approach of riders. After casting a watery glance at his wrecked companion, he had left the hut.
Now, he stood at a slant, one arm stuck stiffly out against the hut as he steadied himself. His voice held a hint of a slur as he addressed Dominic: ‘What’s your business here, traveller?’ he said.
Dominic got straight to the point. ‘We are Britons from Norwic and representatives of Griff. Having travelled a long way to get here, we now wish to meet with Fincath, your lord.’
Daman fixed his fuddled, red-rimmed eyes on Dominic, a hint of suspicion now flickering beneath their rheumy outflow.
‘New men are you? he asked. ‘Normally he sends the fiend with the black skin. Ugly as a whore’s slash he is. Ambriscus … Ambrosicum …Ambrosius, yes Ambrosius, is his name … I think. Gives himself a Roman name and has ideas above his worth.’
‘Ambrosius has other things to do,’ Dominic said, committing the name to memory. He was relieved that Flint’s earlier fear that an agent of Griff’s might already be visiting Hibernia was unfounded. ‘We have been sent here instead, and are to negotiate further business with Fincath on behalf of Griff.’
Daman looked up the track where it curved over a low hill and disappeared from view. Something niggled him, but his befuddled brain refused to unearth it. Eager to get back inside and sleep off last night’s wine, and too tired to challenge the stranger before him, he pointed up the track.
‘That’s the way to Fincath. Follow it, do not deviate from it, ignore any lesser track that runs from it, and you shall reach the mighty ringfort before the light fades.’
‘Then we’ll get on our way,’ Dominic said. ‘My thanks to you, fellow.’
Daman scratched his head, his legs wobbly, as he watched Dominic’s group ride over the hill and out of sight. Finally, it came to him. ‘The slaves … they escaped.’ His mutterings continued as he entered the hut, eager to seek his bed again. ‘Fincath will have their innards … the slaves … run away, they did.’
Thirteen days after Fróech and Colman’s search of the monastery, they sat with Fincath in his hall. Before them stood several jugs of ale, many now empty.
‘Crafty monks,’ said Fincath. ‘If I find out they lied to us I’ll burn their buildings to a char. This time next year, no one will know they ever walked this island.’
‘Maybe we should go back and catch them unawares … send Latchna back maybe,’ said Fróech.
Fincath poured himself another flagon of ale from the jug. ‘He found no tracks coming from the marshes, you say?’
‘None,’ said Fróech, as Fincath slid the jug over to him. ‘He reckons they perished in the marshes; their bodies sucked out of sight. There they lie, under the mist and mud, he says.’
‘More than likely they lie under the monastery blankets,’ said Fincath. He looked to his other son. ‘What say you Colman? Has the ale weighted your tongue tonight?’
‘Yours is loose enough for ten tongues of mine, father,’ said Colman, ‘and it’s monks’ ale that loosens it.’
Fincath rubbed his belly and belched loudly. ‘It’s good stuff, that’s for sure. That’s why they still live untroubled in this tuath—that and their bread and honey.’ He studied his flagon, considering his options. He peered from under his brow line at Fróech. ‘You think we should send Latchna back then?’
‘It’ll do no harm,’ said Fróech. ‘Many days have passed since we left the monastery. If Latchna observes the monastery for a couple of days, he’s bound to see them if they’re there.’
‘And then we can get them back and destroy the monks along with their bread, ale and honey,’ said Colman.
The irony of Colman’s tone was not lost on Fincath, but before he could respond, Fróech interjected.
‘What we do to the monks can be discussed at another time,’ he said. ‘Merely making an example of their Bishop may be best.’ He waved away the immediacy of the problem. ‘But we can deal with that when and if we find the slaves. What’s important now is Griff being aware of our anger towards him. He’ll have replacements sent as soon as he finds out. He knows he can’t afford to lose our trade, and more importantly to him: our gold.’
‘His boat’s captain should be back at Norwic by now, so Griff will be aware what happened here,’ said Colman.
‘After I finished beating him around the dock and screaming my displeasure at him, he took the first tide and left,’ said Fróe
ch. ‘The fat bastard should have got back to the British shore two days ago with the news.’
The solitary door to the hall opened, causing the flames on the lighted brands to dance and sputter as a chill breeze entered and whispered around the room. A retainer stood at the door, looking back towards the road that led from the hall.
‘You’d better have a good excuse for allowing that draught to freeze my balls, lad,’ said Fincath, as he stood and shook his flagon at the retainer.
‘Three riders approach from Britannia, my lord,’ said the retainer quickly. ‘They are Griff’s men. Come to check on business with you.’
Fincath and Colman looked at Fróech. ‘It can’t be,’ said Fróech. ‘It’s impossible for these men to have been sent by Griff … not so soon.’ They stood together, their swords brandished, as Dominic, Withred and Flint walked in.
Fincath approached them and saw they were without weapons. His retainers knew better than to allow strangers into his hall, armed. The last man who had been careless in the matter had had his eyes gouged out—the orbs thrown to the hounds. Fincath, himself had done it.
‘Where’s the black man,’ said Fincath as he pushed Dominic chest, causing him to stumble back three steps. Any thoughts that Dominic had of reacting to Fincath’s belligerence, vanished when twenty of Fincath’s guards stomped in through the door. The rattle of metal upon armour sounded about them as Dominic faced up to Fincath.
Dominic had anticipated this reaction from Fincath and had his story ready. He was to be the spokesman. ‘Ambrosius is indisposed,’ he said as he recalled the name from his meeting with Daman at the trading post. ‘He was wounded as he strove to protect Griff in a scuffle at Norwic docks. We are here to check you are satisfied with the goods sent, and also to hear of anything else you may desire from our island.’
Fincath felt the restraining hand of Fróech upon his arm. He looked at the hand, and then at Fróech, whose expression advised not so hasty, hear what he has to say. Fincath jerked his arm away. He turned his attention back to Dominic.
‘It’s lucky for you, that my son seeks to quell the ire of an old man,’ he said. He swept his arm around him, his tone intensifying, as he invited Dominic to look around the vast hall. ‘You’re here to check we are satisfied with the goods are you. Do you see any goods!’
Dominic, along with Flint and Withred, floated his gaze around the hall. Long lines of empty tables filled the floor space. Lighted brands and oil lamps provided the main source of light, yet many puddles of dark shadow infested the hall, making the place seem poorly lit and gloomy. A clutter of plates and several jugs of ale beside three disturbed chairs, told Dominic that Fincath and his sons had been the rooms only occupants until moments previously.
After looking around, Dominic took a closer look at Fincath and the two younger men who stood beside him. Like Fincath, they were stocky, strong looking men. All three had a snake symbol inscribed upon their foreheads. He remembered Guertepir’s words when describing the highborn of the tuath: ‘The head will have an indelible mark on the forehead: the mark of the snake.’ The men had to be Fincath’s sons. Dominic groaned inwardly as he recalled Guertepir’s price for releasing Murdoc when they returned. Another problem they could do without.
‘Well? What do you see?’ said Fincath.
Dominic shook his head. ‘Nothing, my lord. Nothing but tables and chairs.’
Fincath nodded; his bottom lip pushed up like an arch; his smile upside down and grim. ‘Nothing but tables and chairs,’ he nodded. ‘That’s because your slaves didn’t even arrive here. Stolen, they were, even before they reached my trading station. What do you say to that, good envoy of Griff?’
Dominic looked to Withred, looked to Flint. None of them had to pretend to be astounded at the news, but Dominic now had to think quickly and respond. The children were either captured or dead. Now things had changed.
Astonished, he replied. ‘We had no idea they had escaped. The man at your trading post told us nothing.’ He thought quickly. ‘It’s just as well we’re here now, then. Now, we can try to deal with your problem.’
‘And you will deal with this problem, believe me,’ said Fincath. Now, he gave his instruction to the captain of the armed men surrounding Dominic, Withred and Flint. ‘Just you and six men remain here. Dismiss the others,’ he snapped.
Dominic chanced a quick glance at Withred as the men left. Withred’s brief returning look to Dominic held a hint of relief.
Still, Fincath wanted to be sure. ‘How did you get here,’ he asked. ‘Why did you not sail with the others who came?’
‘We sailed from the western shore,’ Dominic said. ‘We had business to attend to in the west for Griff, and it took us nearer the western shore. From there it is a shorter sail than from Norwic.’
At the mention of the west, Fincath’s eyes narrowed. ‘You sailed from the west you say. That must have taken you to that bastard, Guertepir.’
Wary that any attempt to wriggle around the matter would evoke Fincath’s suspicion again, Dominic decided it would be better to validate Fincath’s assumption. ‘Yes we did go to Guertepir, but trade is trade. Griff’s business is gold not politics. If he considered who has been fighting who before he sold his wares, he would soon be in rags.’
Fincath spat on the dusty floor. ‘But Guertepir, for Epona’s sake! That spawn of a poxed whore would never have been born if my great grandfather had managed to remove the head of Eochiad, his ancestor. Cattle thieves the lot of them; and you tell me that Griff now does business with them.’
He looked at Fróech and Colman, who shook their heads in disgust, but Fincath’s resigned sigh hinted that he was nonetheless ready to talk business.
He waved Dominic and the others to the table. ‘Sit,’ he said. ‘We will discuss what Griff can do to make this right.’
A lengthy discussion ensued as Fincath negotiated replacements for the escaped children. Dominic played the part of the hard-nosed agent well and quibbled with Fincath, before reluctantly agreeing a much-reduced price for the next shipment of ‘goods.’
‘And it will be gold on delivery this time,’ said Fincath. ‘Make sure Griff is aware of that. Take it or leave it, tell him. If he decides to leave it, he can say goodbye to any future trade with me. No more gold goes to him until I see the next slaves with my own eyes.’
As Dominic continued to play the part, Flint squirmed inwardly. Although aware that Dominic had to go through the motions, he, nevertheless, could not help being alarmed at the thought that Maewyn, Elowen and Mule were abroad and possibly alone in this strange land. The thought filled him with the utmost compulsion to run out of the hall and start his search for them immediately.
His discomfort was not lost on Dominic who made to wrap up his business with Fincath.’ So you want a girl-child and two youths to replace the slaves who escaped. Also twenty barrels of iron ingots, as well as finished goods: hauberks, helmets, spears, cloth. I’ll take gold now for everything but the slaves. Griff, himself, has to give payment up front for finished goods—the slaves he will have to chance from his own pocket for now.’
Withred’s eyebrows shot up on hearing Dominic’s request for gold from Fincath. Clever bastard, he thought. Gold would come in handy for bribes. Better still, it would provide recompense for the disposed villagers back home in Britannia. The Hibernian was partly responsible after all. Without him providing a market for slaves, the raids would not happen.
Fincath eyed Dominic coldly. ‘Your master taught you well it seems. His fist is as tight as a runt’s ring-piece.’
He turned to Colman and whispered to him. Colman left the hall. Fincath now turned his attention to Flint and Withred.
’Silent ones you are,’ he said. He studied Flint, blatantly looking him up and down. ‘Looks like you’re more used to war than trade, fellow.’ Before Flint could respond, Fincath turned his attention to Withred, giving him the same appraisal. ‘As for you man; it would be better if I keep the children away from
you lest you keep them awake at night with your fearful visage.’
Withred scratched the stubble on his head as a flicker of a smile played upon his lips. ‘Maybe I’m not fair to look at,’ he said, ‘but I’m certainly fair in trade, and that’s all that counts here.’
‘Nevertheless, trading is a recent occupation by the look of you,’ said Fincath as he re-examined Withred. ‘And by the sound of you, you’re Saxon.’ He looked at Withred’s scalp, then grabbed and scrutinized his hands. ‘Head covered in scars, hands full of callouses. Hardly the hands of a man who stacks rolls of linen and silk, are they?’
‘I am of the Anglii tribe, not Saxon,’ corrected Withred, without animosity. ‘And you’re right; my hands are formed by the stroke of cold, hard iron, rather than the caress of soft cloth.’ He nodded towards Flint. ‘But like my friend here, my role is to protect Griff’s men.’
‘You’ll certainly need your skills if you hang around Hibernia too long,’ said Fincath. ‘There’s always someone here to part travellers from their gold.’
Colman re-entered the hall carrying a bulging purse. He threw it on the table next to his father. Fincath picked it up assessing its heaviness in his hand. ‘Speaking of gold, here’s the amount as agreed earlier,’ he threw the purse to Dominic, ‘…less the gold for the replacement slaves—that will be paid when I see them with my own eyes.’
As Dominic caught the purse, he noticed that darkness had fallen outside. Briefly, he considered making his excuses. Then they could leave and travel through the night looking for clues to the children’s whereabouts.
It occurred to him, then, that scrambling around in a dark and strange land, only to greet the morning exhausted and unfulfilled did not seem such a sensible idea. No … it would be better to stay the night with Fincath and glean information from him about the theft of the children.
‘You think the children may be dead?’ he asked, with this in mind.
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 41