Withred sighed. ‘This complicates things but it doesn’t surprise me,’ he said. ‘I would have done the same if three strangers had turned up on my threshold, then left the day after with a purse of my gold. What should we do now?’
‘Like you say, it complicates things,’ Dominic said. ‘As soon as we turn from the track, it confirms we were lying about going straight back to the docks. He’ll be back to Fincath at once, then we will be in trouble.’
‘We have to stop him then,’ said Withred.
‘Undoubtedly; there’s nothing else we can do.’
‘What do we do with him?’
‘Keep him quiet.’
‘Kill him, you mean?’
Dominic looked troubled. ‘I find it hard to kill anyone who’s done me no harm. For all we know the man might have been forced by Fincath to follow us.’
‘My thoughts too,’ said Withred. ‘I’ve never killed a man unless he deserved it, or attacked me.’ He rubbed his forehead, frustrated at the complication. ‘It was never going to be easy. Already we have the problem of getting Murdoc out of Guertepir’s grasp when we return to Dyfed—we won’t be taking a severed head back with us, that’s for sure— and now this. What do we do?’
‘First, we ride to the front with Flint and Kael. Then I’ll try to deal with it.’
All day, Latchna had been careful to ride out of sight behind the trackside shrubbery. When the criminal, Kael, had joined up with the three Britons, he had considered returning at once to Fincath, but had eventually decided to follow them, reasoning it would take only another few hours to establish whether the Britons intended to take a boat to their homeland. If they did, it would mean their meeting with Kael was of no significance; if not, he would return at speed to Fincath with news of British and Hibernian treachery.
For the rest of the day he kept out of sight, in the shrubbery just off the track, as he shadowed Dominic’s group. Frequently, though, he stepped back onto the track to confirm their position. One man, obviously a tracker himself, had ridden at the back of the group, and it had taken Latchna all of his skill and guile to remain hidden from him.
Now, as the riders stopped ahead of him, Latchna concealed himself behind a grassy mound. Five hundred paces distant, the tracker and another man spoke. Latchna watched as they turned to head towards Kael and the other Briton who waited for them. As the sun dipped under the low hills westwards, he saw the four riders leave the track.
He considered the significance of this. The docks were still five miles distant so they must have pulled into cover to camp for the night. That, or changed their route significantly. He had to be sure before he returned to Fincath. If they camped, he would have to wait the night out to ensure they continued to the docks the following day. If not, and they continued in a direction away from the docks, he would need to return to Fincath with news of British subterfuge.
Careful now, he tethered his pony and made his way on foot through the trackside brush.
Clever bastard was his immediate thought as Dominic grabbed him from behind and slammed him to the ground. Not one twig snapped, not one leaf rustled.
Dominic jammed his forearm across Latchna’s throat; his knife—a trophy from the Saxon, Bealdwine, who he had killed in a British forest—held to Latchna’s face.
‘Just keep still and don’t even think about fighting me,’ warned Dominic.
Aware he was out of his depth Latchna became compliant.
Dominic continued. ‘Good man, you’ve obviously got no wish to die. Now turn on your belly and give me your arms.’
Again Latchna complied, allowing Dominic to bind his arms from behind.
Dominic pulled him to his feet, then pushed him forward. ‘Don’t talk, just walk … ahead, until I tell you to stop.’
‘It’s you! Latchna!’ said Kael, as Dominic arrived at the camp, placed his hand on top of Latchna’s head, and pushed him down upon his rear next to Withred’s recently-made fire.
Sitting cross-legged now, his arms tightly bound behind him, Latchna eyed Kael disdainfully. ‘Yes it’s me, he said. ‘The man you owe your life to. If I hadn’t arrived with news of the slaves’ escape when you were playing tug of war with the cow, your eyes would have popped out of your detached head.’
Kael flicked a sly glance towards Dominic and the others. All had turned to look at him.
He turned away from them and back to Latchna. ‘Sounds to me that you’re still licking Fincath’s arse,’ he sneered. ‘Still a liar, too, by the sound of it.’’ Pointing to Latchna, he turned to Dominic. ‘This man’s killed many people who deserved to live. He is a known liar and will say anything to save his own skin. Kill him now, is my advice, unless you want to chance him getting news of your plans to Fincath.’
Dominic had not shifted his gaze from Kael since Latchna had spoken. ‘I do not kill any man on the say so of another,’ he said. He turned to Latchna. ‘Until you spoke, I reckoned we had only one problem … now maybe we have two. Why was he subject to torture? What disagreement with Fincath was so bad that he put that welt upon his neck?’
Latchna again eyed Kael with disdain. His smile was sardonic. ‘Told you he had a disagreement with Fincath did he?’ He gave a dry little laugh. ‘No … he had a disagreement with a lad over a game of dice; disagreed with him so strongly that he cut his throat and allowed him to bleed out like a butchered swine. Then he robbed the—‘
‘Do not believe the lying lackey!’ Kael stood over Latchna jabbing his finger in accusation. ‘I’ve told you; he will say anything to save his own—‘
Dominic now intervened, grabbing Kael, who looked ready to attack Latchna. He threw him back to Flint. ‘This is getting us nowhere. It’s one man’s word against the other, and we still have a job to do.’
He looked both men over and could not help thinking that Latchna seemed the more worthy man. Something in the way he had responded to the shiftless Kael rang true with him. Maybe Latchna was just a scout like himself, doing his job for Fincath. Anyway, why would he lie about Kael?
Turning to Withred, Dominic made his decision quickly. ‘We’ll leave this man here with you, Withred. Guard him until we get back with the children. Then we’ll leave him bound and make for the docks.’ He looked at Latchna whose relief was palpable. ‘Don’t worry, we will leave word of your location here, and as soon as we are at sea someone will release you.’
Latchna looked relieved. ‘Being bound for a couple of days is but a small worry to me … I expected you to kill me.’
‘Give me reason too and I will,’ said Dominic. ‘Scouting for Fincath, however, is not reason enough.’
Withred, who shared Dominic’s perception of Latchna and Kael, spoke to Flint who still restrained Kael.
‘Did he tell you how to get to the children as you rode with him today?’
‘Yes he did,’ said Flint. ‘The way seems straightforward … over some rough ground, but straightforward it seems.’
Withred’s look to Dominic was telling. Now we know the way to go, do we really need a murderer in our company.
Dominic read Withred’s look immediately. He looked to Kael. ‘I will not take a killer to Britannia—will not expose the children to your presence. You lied to us, of that I have no doubt. Somehow, you escaped execution and I will leave it at that. You, too, will remain here with Withred, and be released—‘
Kael’s rising fury suddenly exploded as he grabbed Flint’s knife from its belt loop, jerked free of him, then lunged forward. Latchna had no chance to defend himself as Kael thrust the dagger through his heart, killing him instantly.
Flint hit Kael from the back, knocking him to the ground. Still wielding Flint’s dagger, Kael was able to wrest himself from Flint’s grasp and stumble to his knees. As he made to attack Flint, Dominic’s arrow entered his eye. Feebly, he pawed at the arrow before falling dead to the floor.
Dominic attended to Latchna. He looked to the others, the shake of his head confirming what they already knew.
Withred could not help but smile at the young man’s frustration. He put his hands on Flint’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. ‘Every Mistake Is A Lesson Learned,’ he said, slowly stressing every word. ‘You’ll never fall for that move again, so take comfort from it.’
But Flint was far from comforted. ‘My line of work means I cannot afford to make mistakes. Mistakes lead to the grave for people like me.’
As Withred and Flint had spoken, Dominic had begun the task of removing Kael from sight. Grunting as he dragged him towards a clump of thick shrubbery, he said, ‘This man made a mistake, that’s for sure. Always thought he’d be a problem … seemed a shifty bastard from the beginning.’
Dominic placed Kael out of sight and went to Latchna. The man lay dead on his side, his arms still tightly bound behind his back. ‘This man may or may not have deserved to die—who knows what his past deeds were—but no man should die as he did.’ He looked to Withred and Flint who were gazing thoughtfully at Latchna. ‘Your turn,’ he said as he pointed to him. ‘Drag him next to Kael. My old back’s done enough.’
The next day, at first light, they took to the track.
Flint pointed to a colony of trees in the distance. ‘According to what Kael told me, half a day’s ridethrough those woods should see us to our destination. If we keep beside a faint path that runs near a stream, we’ll come to the monastery.’
Looking pensive, Dominic thought things through. After a brief assessment, he said, ‘We need to get the children and be back at the docks by evening. Fincath will send his sons out today, be sure of that, so time will be tight for us.’
To Withred, he said, ‘I think it would be better if you continued down the track to the docks. Druce will need to ready the boat for the journey back home, so you need to alert him. It’s crucial the boat is ready to sail and we’re on it as soon as we reach the docks.’
‘That leaves just two of you,’ said Withred, concerned. ‘What if things go wrong again?’
‘They’ll come after us in numbers, I’m sure, so it doesn’t make any difference how many we are … we’ll die anyway if we can’t avoid them. Speed is the thing now. We need to get this done and get on the boat.’
Withred mounted his pony. ‘I’ll see you at the docks, then,’ he said, aware that Dominic’s shrewdness had not failed them up to now. ‘Get there by this evening, though, or I’ll be frantic.’
Kael’s description of the route proved true, and by midday, Dominic and Flint viewed the monastery grounds from the same outlook used by the children seventeen days earlier.
Dominic spotted a young monk coming up the path from the fields below—a lad, no doubt, sent to watch for intruders.
‘We need to avoid him,’ he whispered to Flint, as he pulled him into a pile of bracken before them. ‘We need to view the grounds for ourselves, first. The monk will deny the children are here, he has no choice, he doesn’t know who we are.’
They lay still as the monk passed by. When satisfied he was out of earshot, Dominic and Flint parted the green wall before them to give them a view of the grounds below. They watched, as below them, Mule walked over to the pond, hand in hand with Elowen. Maewyn was not with them. Flint looked to Dominic his face both elated and trembling with emotion.
‘We’ve done it Dominic,’ he whispered, as his eyes welled. ‘We have crossed the sea and found my brother and niece, and hopefully Wyn is nearby.’
Dominic hugged him then, as the strain and tension of the last few weeks—the worry that his brothers and niece could be dead— finally voided from Flint. Now he sobbed, unable to contain himself, such was the flood of relief and emotion that engulfed him.
‘Go to them. Let them know you have travelled the earth to get them back,’ Dominic said, smiling through his own tears.
Flint stood and waded through the bracken until he was clear of its snagging grasp. The slope ran down before him to the pond. He looked to Dominic, his face now beaming. Unable to speak, such was his joy, he turned and began to run down the slope. ‘Aiden! … Elowen!’ His tears came again as Mule and Elowen looked up towards him. ‘I’ve come for you!’ he shouted. ‘We are going home!’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Fincath gnawed on his nails as he peered from the ringfort’s gates. A day and night had passed since he had dispatched Latchna to follow the Britons. To determine their route was Latchna’s mission—to confirm if the Britons had been true to their word. Either way, Latchna should have been back by now. After all, hadn’t he ordered him to spend just one day on the task. He would personally whip the man to the bone if he had tarried needlessly.
He turned, as Fróech and Colman (both mounted) approached him. Behind them, ten other men sat astride ponies, ready for the chase.
‘Don’t run the horses into the ground,’ fussed Fincath as he held onto the noseband of Fróech’s pony. He peered up at his son. ‘You have all day … and this evening should see you at the docks.’ Fróech rolled his eyes to Colman as if to say, The old bastard’s telling us how to do our jobs again.
Fincath pointed to the man directly behind Colman, as he continued to address Fróech. ‘Eion’s almost as good a scout as that lingering bastard, Latchna. Have him watch for any deviation from the trail. If so, send five men with Colman to investigate. You continue to the docks. It must be determined whether the Britons have left as they said they would.’
Fróech heeled his pony into a walk through the gates. Fincath walked beside him, still holding the pony’s noseband as he peered up at Fróech.
‘Their heads … I want their heads,’ he hissed. ‘If they are still on this island, whatever the reason, you are to bring me back their heads.’
Fróech patted the blade at his side. ‘Sharpened this morning to a very keen edge … sharpened for that very reason.’
Finally, Fincath let go of Fróech’s pony, allowing him to jab it into a trot down the hill.
‘And if you see Latchna!’ shouted Fincath, ‘tell him to get himself back to me at once. He has some explaining to do!’
The twelve men continued down the track until they approached the trading post at mid-afternoon.
Colman rode at the head of the assembly with Fróech. ‘We’ll look in on Daman and hear his news,’ he said. ‘Maybe he’s seen the Britons pass by.’
‘Daman’s got a helper now,’ said Fróech. ‘Remember that drunken shit, Odhran, who spilled a goblet of wine on father … you know … the one who’s lucky to be alive still.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Fróech as it dawned on him. ‘Father punched him around the hall. Knocked his teeth out and broke his nose; kicked him so hard he probably ruined his manhood too.’
‘Well,’ said Fróech as he dismounted, ‘we’re about to be reacquainted with him.’ He pushed through the door into the dim room. ‘Daman,’ he shouted. ‘Daman, have you seen …‘
He voice faded when he saw Daman and Odhran, both comatose, lying before him. Snoring loudly, they lay under the storage shelves. Beside them lay two upturned and empty flagons of Fincath’s prized Gaul wine. Fróech’s face was a picture of astonishment as he took in the scene.
Daman, a cord of elastic spittle hanging from his lower lip, had stirred and opened one blurry eye to look at Fróech. He frowned as the gravity of his situation slowly penetrated his brain.He sat up, banging his head on the storage shelf. It was Fróech! . . . oh help! . . . oh shit! . . . it was Fróech standing over him! Fróech grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Hardly able to stand, Daman wobbled before him.
‘F-F-Fróech,’ he attempted, but Fróech, who was having none of it, dragged him to the door and threw him outside.
Fróech followed him, cold and furious. He shoved him to Colman, ‘Hold him there till I come back,’ he said.
&nb
sp; Back inside, hands on hips, an icy rage gathering inside him, he towered over the still-snoring Odhran. ‘Too pissed to even hear me,’ he said as he removed his knife.
Outside, Colman had dismounted and grabbed Daman who swayed before him, looking cowed and wretched. Colman’s face was a picture of disgust to rival Fróech’s as he appraised Daman. Daman could only look to the floor in shame.
Colman was about to give Daman a lambasting when Fróech walked from the hut. In his left hand, he held Odhran’s head by its hair; in his right hand, he held his own bloody knife. He tossed the head away and watched it roll across the crusty ground.
‘He’ll sleep forever now,’ said Fróech, as he wiped his knife across a clump of grass, leaving it a mixture of green and streaked crimson. He looked at Daman who continued to look at the ground. ‘Now before I do the same to you, what have you to say?’ He walked to Daman and grabbed his hair, forcing him to look him in the eyes.
‘N-n-nothing,’ my lord,’ said Daman. ‘Except that he …’ Shoulders hunched, he pointed to Odhran’s head. ‘… Except that he pestered me day and night to break into the wine.’
‘And have you no mind of your own, man?’ asked Fróech, his voice laced with disgust.
‘No … I was weak my lord,’ admitted Daman, looking down to his feet again as soon as Fróech let go of his hair.
Fróech pushed Daman towards Colman, then jabbed a thumb behind him towards the hut. ‘Kick him back in there, brother.’
He looked to a rider mounted nearby. ‘Ennis … you stay here with the drunkard, and make sure he tidies the place and himself up before we get back. We need him here … he can live for now, but I’ll let father have the last say on that one.’
Colman returned after kicking Daman back into the hut. He looked down the roadway. ‘Some use that was,’ he said, ‘now we have no idea whether they passed here or not.’
‘Probably did,’ said Fróech. ’Eion has been looking for signs all day, and they’ve not left the main track, he reckons.’
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 44