The Wolves of Dumnonia Saga Box Set

by Peter Fox

  ‘A demon,’ Father Donagh repeated.

  ‘No,’ Heremund disagreed. ‘I am minded to agree with Carwyn. It awoke a memory, and as I said, if he was at St Germanus, then it’s no wonder he reacted that way…’ He trailed off, still deeply troubled by what he had witnessed all those years ago.

  ‘He spoke of vengeance,’ Carwyn said.

  ‘He is not alone in wanting to rout the heathens, my dear. None of us seems to have an answer to their smash-and-grab raids. They’re well gone by the time we can muster the fyrds.’

  ‘Or was he speaking of someone else?’ the Bishop asked. ‘There are some who say–’

  ‘Careful, Bishop,’ Heremund warned. ‘Unfounded rumours have a habit of coming back to haunt their creators.’

  ‘You have a wife and children, Heremund,’ the Bishop responded. ‘This young man may be a threat to you, particularly given your history. What do you know of his past?’

  Heremund shrugged. ‘He was a slave–’

  ‘Bound to whom?’ Eahlstan asked. When Heremund failed to answer, the Bishop’s expression darkened further. ‘You have no idea who he is. He is an escapee, who, I might add, you should have turned in. You, of all people, know that you are breaking the law by sheltering him.’

  ‘They tortured him,’ Heremund countered angrily.

  ‘And this surprises you?’

  Heremund looked back at the cleric coldly. ‘I’ve not seen such a base level of cruelty,’ he said.

  ‘I think you have,’ the Bishop replied, his tone challenging. ‘“Do unto others what you would have them do to you,”’ the Bishop quoted. ‘You talk of brutality and slaughter, and I hear hypocrisy.’

  Heremund’s eyes narrowed. ‘Just what are you saying, Bishop?’

  ‘That Saeric could easily be a fanatical rebel, escaped from captivity, come seeking vengeance, as he admits himself. Do you truly believe he has come here, to you, by sheer coincidence? I wonder, therefore, whether a guilty conscience drives your actions?’

  ‘Remember who you are talking to, your Grace.’ Heremund warned, sarcastically emphasising the honorific. ‘I can just as easily remove you from your post as I put you in it.’

  ‘Those marks on your refugee’s body may well be from torture, but for a virtuous purpose,’ the Bishop pressed on, ignoring the threat. ‘Such as extracting the identity or location of rebel sympathisers.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. The rebellion was crushed years ago.’

  ‘He must have been exceptionally troublesome otherwise, don’t you think?’

  ‘His masters were sadists, and I have no reason to doubt him,’ Heremund said defensively, but he found himself speculating whether the collar and ankle irons did tell a different story. Could their purpose have been to restrain a prisoner? Is that why he bears so many injuries; because he deserved his torture? He is quite clearly high-born, yet he has kept that secret well-hidden up until now. Heremund looked down at the unconscious young man, wondering who was right. No, he decided. I must trust my instincts. There is good in this young man, and he is no murderer. ‘Let us make enquiries about him. Someone in Escanceaster or St Germanus must know of him, particularly if he was tutored there.’

  ‘That may be a little difficult do you not think, since St Germanus burned to the ground, along with all of its records? A curse upon those wretched heathens.’

  Heremund held the Bishop’s gaze for a long moment, then he bent down and hoisted Saeric into his arms. He staggered for a moment, surprised at how heavy Saeric had become. He is putting on muscle, he thought. ‘Carwyn, you continue with the repairs. I’ll keep watch on Saeric.’

  He laid the Briton on his bed and pulled the covers over him. Saeric’s face was peaceful now and bore no hint of the malice it had held earlier. Who are you? he wondered again, feeling the hairs prickle on the back of his neck as he looked upon his mysterious assistant.

  Later, when Carwyn had completed her repairs, and the Abbot and his librarian had left, she came to sit by her husband. ‘He sleeps still?’

  Heremund nodded.

  ‘Do you think it is safe for him to stay here? This is a new side to him, a dangerous side. He frightened me, and I am not so easily scared, as you know.’

  Heremund looked into her lovely face, remembering the Bishop’s earlier warning. ‘He indeed harbours demons, Carwyn, but God has sent him to us – to me – and that is no coincidence, I think. I have a terrible feeling that the Bishop may well be right, and God has decided it is time for me to pay my penance. I’m thus unwilling to abandon him just yet, but I agree we must tread carefully.’

  ‘Well, I shall trust you as ever, husband, but I want you to promise me that you will be careful.’

  He smiled back at her. ‘I will try my best. What I need to do is find out who he is.’

  ‘Perhaps you should ask him.’

  Heremund followed her gaze, and he saw Saeric blinking up at him.

  ‘What happened?’ Saeric asked, wincing and putting his hand to the side of his head.

  ‘You were coming back in here but tripped on your splint and hit your head on the table and knocked yourself out, you clumsy oaf,’ Heremund said. He smiled at the Briton, hoping it looked genuine.

  ‘Oh,’ Saeric said, sounding relieved and rubbing his temple. He frowned up at them. ‘I had a nightmare again. There was a bishop, I think.’

  ‘Ah yes, the Bishop,’ Heremund said warily. ‘He was real. He popped in to remind us to attend Easter mass next week, and to bring you along.’

  Saeric looked up at the smith, panic in his eyes.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Heremund said. ‘We’ll hide you in a dark corner where no one can see you.’

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Three days’ walk to the north, in a sizeable but somewhat run-down hall, a young, fair-haired noblewoman sat lounging in a straight-backed oak chair beside her younger brother, contemplating their scruffily clothed visitor with scepticism. She sat askew, with one leg over the arm, the other upon the table in front of her. She idly turned a wine goblet by its stem, then took a swig.

  ‘Honest, your lordships,’ their visitor was insisting, ‘I saw ’im wiff me own eyes I did. And when I ’eard you was paying silver for news of ’im, I come ’ere right away.’

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ said the young nobleman drily. He turned to his sister. ‘I thought you’d given up on all this?’

  Eanswith shrugged. ‘I paid one or two people to keep an eye out for him.’ She turned to the disgusting crofter, recoiling at his missing teeth, knotted hair, torn hems and bare feet. ‘What does he look like?’ she asked, bored already with this intrusion. Her father was at home, which meant that she and her brother had to behave themselves, forcing them to endure day after tedious day of fulfilling their aristocratic duties until he went away again. Surely the King will summon father to join one of his forays up north? she thought. God knows we need all the booty we can get now that the animals are dead.

  ‘…a tall, strong young man wi’ brown eyes,’ the serf was saying.

  ‘I’m a tall fellow with brown eyes,’ Edward countered, unimpressed, ‘like nearly every other man in this kingdom. Tell us something we don’t know.’

  ‘Where did you see this tall man?’ Eanswith interrupted impatiently. ‘And if it was in some shit-infested hovel away in Dumnonia, you’ve wasted your time, because I’ve no intention of going anywhere near those louse-ridden wealas. They can keep him.’

  ‘You can’t have a shit-infested hovel, Eanie. Bugs infest. What about shit-smeared, shit-piled…?’

  ‘Shut up, Edward,’ Eanswith said. She returned to her wine, waving a hand at her brother to dispatch this latest irritation. The dogs would feast well today.

  ‘I ’aven’t come from there my lady,’ the grubby serf said quickly, shaking his head vigorously.

  Eanswith flinched, imagining clouds of nits spraying in every direction. Now that would be an infestation. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Where then?’

 
The man looked nervously at Eanswith’s brother. ‘Scirburne, your greatness.’

  ‘What?’ Eanswith swung her legs to the floor and stood up, interested now. She approached the serf, then stopped, repulsed by the smell of him. ‘When? Where?’

  ‘A few days back now,’ he began, but Eanswith shoved him out of the way and yelled out the door for the stable boy to get her horse saddled up immediately. ‘It’s a ways to walk on me old feet,’ the serf continued apologetically.

  ‘Slow down Eanie,’ Edward said, also getting to his feet. ‘I thought you’d let him go. We have a new plaything now, and you don’t really believe that Sugu is going to be there by the time we ride all the way to Scirburne? He’ll be long gone, and that’s if he’s there at all. Why would he come back?’

  ‘To get you and me, you idiot. He’s on his way here; he could even be outside now! He’s had a month or more to recover, remember. We need to go out to meet him. Get your horse ready.’

  ‘Er, me lord an’ lady, not wantin’ to speak outta turn,’ the serf said, wringing his hands. ‘But… ’e ain’t goin’ nowhere. ’E lives there.’

  ‘What?’ Eanswith snapped, turning on her heel to face the revolting crofter. ‘Did you say he lives there?’ The serf nodded, again far too vigorously for Eanswith’s liking. She took a step away from him. ‘That’s a lie. He always said he’d go back to Dumnonia so that he could raise an army and come back to wreak his vengeance on us.’

  Edward let out a humph. ‘As if that’s ever going to happen. But you’re right, Eanie, there’s no way Sugu would have settled in Scirburne. Or anywhere in Wessex.’

  ‘E goes by a diff’ren’ name anows,’ the crofter ventured.

  ‘Of course he does,’ Edward said sceptically. ‘And I suppose he’s taken up a vocation or trade?’ Something occurred to him, and he smiled. ‘I know; he is a scortum? He would make an excellent living, especially in a garrison town.’

  Eanswith laughed in agreement.

  The serf frowned back at them both, not bothering to hide his distaste. ‘No, beggin’ yer pardon, but ’e’s a blacksmith’s thrall, yer lordship.’

  Edward laughed sceptically. ‘Of course he is.’

  ‘But yer lordship, this man is just like what you said you was lookin’ for. I seen ’im wiff mine own eyes, I did. ’E even has the marks on his neck and…’

  ‘As does every other slave in Wessex,’ Edward said. ‘No money for you.’

  He placed one hand on the man’s shoulder, smiling, then, while his eyes were locked with the serf’s, he whipped up his right and stabbed the crofter through the ribs with his dagger. The crofter let out a startled croak. Edward held him firmly while ramming the knife in a second time, the weapon making a wet thudding sound as it pierced his skin, lungs and heart. Edward shoved his victim backwards with some force, and the grimy serf fell onto the floor, dying noisily.

  ‘Brother!’ Eanswith protested.

  Edward paused in the cleaning of his blade. ‘What? He was making it up for the money. I know it’s been a while since anyone has come with news, but we’ve not heard a true word from anyone yet about Sugu, and he just told you what you wanted to hear.’

  ‘But I didn’t get to ask what Sugu’s new name was.’

  Edward frowned, sheathing his dagger. ‘Eanswith?’ he said, incredulous. ‘He was a swindler. Sugu’s gone, and he certainly isn’t some blacksmith’s apprentice living around the corner.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Eanswith replied, a thoughtful look on her face.

  Edward rolled his eyes.

  ‘But what if he is nearby?’

  ‘Leave it be, sister. He’s not. He’s back in his hovel in Dumnonia, just like you said, wailing for his dead family.’

  Eanswith wasn’t so sure. ‘I’m going to take a look,’ she decided.

  Edward spread his hands in exasperation. ‘I found you a new boy, who is much younger and comelier. What could you possibly want with Sugu now? He’s worthless!’

  Eanswith frowned. ‘No, not worthless,’ she said, deep in thought. She tapped her fingers on her goblet. ‘Let’s pay our thrall a visit. There can’t be that many blacksmiths in Scirburne.’

  10. Into the light

  Scirburne, Kingdom of Wessex

  Easter Sunday arrived alarmingly quickly. A bright, cheery day greeted Saeric when he opened the shutters, and the dawn breeze carried the first scents of spring in the air. Carwyn entered the smithy not long afterwards bearing a breakfast of warm barley cakes. She was accompanied by her husband, who carried a bundle of clothes in his arms.

  ‘Don’t bother opening up today, lad,’ Heremund said. ‘We’ll not be working.’ He glanced at his wife, then said, ‘now, there is a matter that we–’

  ‘I will deal with this, my dear,’ Carwyn said, cutting him off. ‘You may leave us.’

  Heremund frowned at her, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ll get myself and those two rascals ready then.’ He dumped the clothes on the bench and went out.

  Carwyn sat opposite Saeric while he ate.

  ‘As you know, today is Easter Sunday,’ she said. When Saeric said nothing, she added, ‘and we would very much like you to join us in church and sup with us afterwards.’

  Saeric shook his head. ‘You know I can’t,’ he said.

  Carwyn offered him a sympathetic smile and reached out to take his hand, but he withdrew it.

  ‘I am unclean,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be struck down by God for attending mass. Or you for being with me.’

  ‘He won’t strike either of us down. He is a God of compassion and forgiveness, too, Saeric. When you held the Gospel the other day, nothing happened to you. You need not fear His wrath.’ She reached out and took his left hand in hers. He did not resist. ‘I think there is another reason you don’t want to come out.’

  Saeric put down his half-eaten cake. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You will be amongst hundreds of people. The whole town will be there.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Saeric protested. ‘Someone will recognise me.’

  Carwyn smiled. ‘Actually, I doubt that your persecutors would even turn their heads if they saw you. You are a completely different man now. You’re filling out very nicely, and your old injuries are mostly hidden from view. In fact, I think you will attract attention. There’ll be more than one young lady who’ll turn an eye to this strong, attractive young man apprenticed to Heremund. The girls will chitter over who might win your heart, and the unmarried menfolk will be looking upon you with envy.’

  Saeric rolled his eyes at her, but Carwyn was unmoved. ‘It is time to show your face, Saeric. You cannot live a recluse forever.’

  ‘No.’

  Carwyn frowned at him, then switched to her native Dumnonian tongue. ‘I know that Saeric is not your name; it is Saxon, either given to you or taken by you. I also know that you are high born, with plenty of reason to hate my husband and his kind. So, I will ask you this now, and then I promise never to raise it again: were you tortured because you are in fact a rebel, and the reason you are so fearful of being seen is that you are wanted for treason? Do you refuse to tell us the names of your persecutors because they serve the king?’

  Saeric glared back at her, anger welling inside him. ‘What would you do if I said yes?’

  Carwyn chose not to answer Saeric’s challenge, and instead said, ‘The time for rebellion is over. We all want to live in peace now.’

  Saeric’s scowl deepened. ‘There will never be peace while the Traitor sits unchallenged in Caer Uisc.’

  ‘So then, you are a rebel?’ Carwyn asked, crossing her arms and frowning at him.

  ‘No,’ Saeric admitted. ‘Not yet.’

  She sat back and considered him for a moment. ‘That path is inadvisable.’

  ‘You know nothing,’ he said.

  Carwyn tilted her head and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Saeric, I lived in Escan–, Caer Uisc too, and I was there when the city fell to Mael. I was a young woman of fifteen. I know how awful
it was, believe me.’ She paused, struggling to keep her emotions in check. ‘But that was a very long time ago now, and the place you and I knew is gone. As I said, people want to get on with their lives. You should too. Let go of the past and all the pain it holds for you, for there is nothing you can do to change it now. Look forward instead. You have a good future awaiting you here.’

  Saeric looked away, struggling to come to terms with the finality of Carwyn’s words, and their indisputably good sense. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said, gritting his teeth. ‘I made a vow.’

  ‘We all made promises back then, vows we had no hope of keeping. You must know that.’ Carwyn’s frown deepened when he refused to answer. ‘What is it you are afraid of, Saeric? Why can’t you trust us? There is something else, isn’t there?’

  He looked at her, knowing that she could never understand his position or the terror of his captivity. ‘You don’t know her,’ Saeric said eventually, ‘she is a demon, a witch. She will find me.’

  ‘How old were you when you were taken into slavery?’

  Saeric frowned. ‘I’ve already told you. For most of my life, I was a bonded slave to an old couple who had a small-holding west of here. They bought me from the man who found me.’ His frown deepened to a scowl. ‘May he rot in Hell, devious bastard. Then I was taken…’ he stopped. Taken? ‘I’m not sure how old I was the second time,’ he admitted. ‘Sixteen or seventeen, I think.’

  ‘She can’t hurt you anymore, Saeric.’ Carwyn rose and put her arm around his shoulders.

  He stiffened but did not push her away.

  ‘You are safe with us, for two reasons,’ Carwyn said, and she held up a finger to shush him when he began to protest. ‘The first I have just mentioned: you look nothing like you did when my husband found you on this same floor two months ago; and two, Heremund has sworn to protect you, and I can assure you he has far more influence than your burgher and his depraved daughter, whoever they are. The only way you are going to accept that you are free is to step out into the light and show your face. Now, it is time to get dressed, or we’ll be late.’