The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain)

by Atkinson, F J

  ‘Gods!’ yelled Murdoc, ‘we had them, and let them go. I swear that Egbert is protected by the devil himself!’

  Having expected more men to arrive, Dominic had set his trap in the hope that it would act as a diversion and confusion—as well as acting as a killing pit. The intention then was to kill as many men as possible from distance, before melting back into the forest along with the others.

  An awful screaming now came from the pit, and Dominic and Murdoc ran over to Martha and Simon who stood by it. Martha covered her mouth and buried her head into Simon’s shoulders as the bear went about its dreadful task on Hereward.

  As soon as he had hit the damp stone floor of the pit, Hereward had sensed he was not alone. As he had fallen from above, the huge shape nuzzling in the corner had flinched. Instinctively, Hereward backed to the opposite corner of the pit and fumbled for his ax, but to no avail. The weapon had dislodged from his person and bounced into the shadows.

  The bear brought its full weight down upon him and started to maul. In desperation, Hereward broke free and endeavored to claw his way up to the rim of the pit, screaming in his futility to scale a vertical height that had already defeated the bear’s efforts at escape.

  He screeched again as the bear raked its huge fore claws over his head, leaving his scalp hanging ragged and loose down his back like a baggy cap. His end didn’t come quickly. The maddened bear repeatedly tore at him with its great strength, and his screams emerged terrible and falsetto as his disemboweled gut spilled onto the slimy floor.

  At the rim of the pit, Dominic and Murdoc winced as they watched the grisly scene, whilst Withred led the others into the hut and out of earshot.

  Dominic grimaced as the bear began to feed on Hereward. He glanced at Murdoc. ‘A death befitting a killer of children I think.’

  Murdoc stared down into the pit, his eyes glazed and distant. ‘I looked on like a coward while that man and others raped my mother and my wife.’ He watched indifferently as the bear started to tear chunks from Hereward. “Murdering bastard,” he muttered, as he coldly watched the bear feed, while even Dominic had to turn away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  No one really knew how old the village was. That it was in existence before the Romans came to the island was common knowledge. Tales abounded in the village of past heroes who had fought alongside Boudicca. The warrior queen had led the Iceni tribe to the north, and had been able to unite the normally warring factions, thus amassing a huge fighting force, which had inflicted heavy defeats on the Romans in uprising at Verlamion, Londinium and Camulodunum.

  The retribution by the Romans had been swift, and seventy thousand Britons had died in the terrible counter strike. The action of the joint forces of the Iceni and Trinovantes had not been without merit, however, and the Romans had realised that the Britons were obedient but not servile, and from that day on treated them with caution and some respect.

  The village had existed in peace since then, and four centuries had passed with little change. The seasons came and went and the population fluctuated according to the success of the harvest or the outbreak of disease.

  It was after a succession of good harvests and the resulting growth in population, that a new group of farmsteads began to appear. Still within the confines of the wooded lands, the farmsteads settled where outcrops of arable land occurred within the usual unyielding clay of the forest. The cleared land to the east and west of the forest was not available, so the forest was the only option for expansion.

  A group of men had cleared an area large enough to accommodate houses and storage huts. This completed, they cleared a further area of the virgin woodland ready for livestock and crops, felling trees and burning the underlying vegetation. Within eighteen months, the village was ready for habitation, and a group of younger men, along with their wives and children, moved in and planted the first crops.

  At first, things had gone well. The harvest had been a success, and the livestock had produced abundant offspring. It soon became apparent that new fields would be desirable to provide excess produce for trade. Deeper still into the forest, more trees met the ax as still more land was cleared. Then disaster struck.

  Returning from Verlamion with provisions, some of the men had died after bringing a pestilence back with them from the town. Soon the entire village had caught the disease, and within a year, all were dead.

  Fifty years had passed since the disaster, and thirty years since Brinley, then a boy, had dared to travel to the village. Along with a group of men, he had made the journey to bury the few scattered bones that remained of the victims of the tragedy.

  He could still remember the eerie atmosphere and ghostliness of the place as the leaves whispered around his feet on that grey November morning. When they had first walked into the forbidding ghost village, they had no way of knowing which bleached bones belonged together, and in the end they had collected them and buried them in one grave, marking the spot by laying a cross of boulders. Some of the men, who had abandoned Christianity and returned to paganism, would occasionally journey to the old hazel coppice near the village and tie strips of colored cloths to the trees in an appeasement gesture to the old Gods.

  Back in his own village, many years passed with good harvests and no more outbreaks of the pestilence, and Brinley had become the unofficial headman. The population had remained stable, as an unusual occurrence of male births had ensued, so after spending their childhood in the village, many of the surplus men had left to marry and live with women from other settlements. Brinley had found a wife amongst the few girls, and she had born him two daughters. Life was good, but dark rumour had begun to circulate about raiders from the east.

  James had worked hard in the fields all day, tending the crops with the other men, and was surprised to see his sons were absent when he returned. He could see that his wife, Sarah, was troubled. ‘The boys?’ she asked. ‘Are they with you?’

  ‘No, they are not with me,’ said James, as he put his digging tool in its place in the corner. ‘I gave them the day off remember.’

  ‘They are still in the woods then,’ said Sarah, ‘and I told them to be back before sunset. I heard wolves last night and soon it will be dark.’

  James tensed, something was wrong. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have given them time off,’ he said, trying to sound unconcerned, ‘but don’t worry, they’ll be lost in their games as usual. I’ll get them. Ask Brinley to follow me in case they prove hard to find.’

  He climbed the steep hill that overlooked the village, and made for the tree by the pond—a popular meeting point for the local children. Weary and hungry after a day in the fields, he was eager to find the boys, then return with them to feed upon on the tasty stew Sarah had bubbling in her pot.

  He rounded the hill, which gave him his first sight of the pond. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. A shape lay in the water, partly submerged. He broke into a run, splashing wildly through the water. When he reached the broken body, he could see that it was his beloved boy, and that he had died of mortal injuries inflicted by cruel ax blows to his head and neck.

  Kneeling, he scooped Eidon’s body into his grasp. He looked up, stunned and disbelieving, his mouth gaping, as Brinley and the other men arrived on the scene.’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ said Brinley. ‘Oh sweet Jesus Saviour.’

  James merely shook his head, unable to absorb the gravitas of the moment. A heart-rending, keening cry from beyond the pond had the men running through the water towards the smaller of the two boys, who was huddled in shock, but otherwise unharmed.

  Brinley picked him up and brushed strands of muddy wayward hair from his eyes, just as the stunned James joined them with Eidon’s body limp and dead in his arms.

  The surviving boy, Cedric, sniveled in Brinley’s embrace, globules of mucus mixing with his tears as he gagged for breath and gazed wide-eyed and fearful into the forest.

  Days later, James and Sarah sat with a small assembly in Brinley’s home to discu
ss the repercussions of the tragedy.

  ‘Has Cedric spoken then?’ asked Brinley.

  ‘Yes, at last … this morning he told us things, just as I was beginning to think he would never speak again,’ said James, his face a pale stony mask. ‘It happened as we put his victuals before him. He decided to speak to us. It seems we did have visitors that day. He mentioned horses. There were riders in strange dress, and they looked at the land from the hill, then turned and rode back into the forest. But not before one of them—’ He stopped, his jaw muscles clenching and his breathing rapid as he fought to control his emotions. ‘But not before one of them killed our boy.’

  Anna, Brinley’s wife, went to James as he sat huddled with Sarah. She placed her arms around both of them, as they once again succumbed to their grief. ‘Your sorrow is shared by us all,’ she also wept, ‘… Eidon was a son to the whole village.’

  The men around the table sat in respectful silence whilst Anna led James and Sarah out of the hut and back to their own dwelling.

  Brinley looked gravely at the other two men in the room—his short, grey hair and trim beard setting him apart from his untidy, hirsute companions. ‘What James just told us explains the hoof prints we found near the scene of Eidon’s death,’ he said. ‘It seems our fears were justified. As you know, there’s been much talk in the village about raiders from over the grey sea. Saxon folk have often visited our isle for one reason or another but since the Romans left, some of them have been running amok amongst our own folk, taking land and killing innocents on the shoreward side of the forest.’ He paused and looked anxiously towards the door of the hut. ‘And now, it seems, they’ve found new hunting grounds.’

  Griswalda, an old weatherworn Briton, looked up from the age-polished knot he had been studying in Brinley’s table. ‘By that, I take it you mean that they have found us,’ he said. ‘If that’s true what happens now?’

  Darga, the youth, slapped the table, his colour elevated. ‘If they come here we must be prepared to fight them. Eidon’s death must be avenged.’

  Brinley shook his head and sighed. ‘How are we to do that boy? We are skilled in the ways of the plough, not the spear or war ax.’

  ‘So we are to lie helpless and go to our deaths like swine to the butcher’s knife?’ said Darga. “Is that your council? Our people once took on and beat the Romans for God’s sake. Surely we can cope with cowardly savages that kill children and then run away!’

  Griswalda held up a restraining hand to the young man, his tone patient. ‘There is no doubting your intention Darga, but Brinley speaks the bare facts. We don’t know how to fight these people, because the Romans allowed us to live in peace whilst protecting us. We’ve forgotten how to fight.’

  ‘Damn the Romans!’ shouted Darga. ‘It’s because of them the raiders are on these shores. I spoke to a man from Verlamion last year; he used to live in Camulodunum on the eastward shore. He told me that the raiders took up residence there many years ago at the invitation of the Romans, to fight for them, he said. At first, they kept to their own quarters, but after the Romans left, they began to strut around the town, looking upon it as their own. Before long, they had driven out or killed the local townsfolk, and now use the place as a refuge and winter base for their plunderers.’

  Brinley was about to speak when Anna re-entered the room. ‘There’s much shouting in here,’ she said, ‘I suggest we save our energy for the murderers when they arrive.’

  Darga looked at Anna and smiled, and then looked to the other men. ‘See … it takes a woman to show us the way. The spirit of Boudicca is alive and in this room it seems.’

  Brinley now spoke. ‘I merely stated that we don’t have the knowledge or facilities to defeat the raiders, but like you, I don’t intend to cower in front of them like a dog. Ways must be found to defend ourselves.’

  ‘How long do you think, before they return?’ asked Griswalda. ‘We are now into the darkening part of the year and winter’s not that far away.’

  Brinley shrugged. ‘That I can’t answer, but we must start to think about preparation at once.’

  ‘There’s little we can do at this present time,’ said Anna. ‘We can’t neglect the harvest or the raiders will find only skeletons and graves to rob on their arrival.’

  Enthused now, Darga stood up and began to pace the room. ‘As soon as the harvesting is done I could go to nearby villages and rally our folk together. We could then get ready to meet the oncoming force head on. Surely they would flee when seeing such numbers.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard,’ said Brinley, ‘that would fail against them. They raid in many small bands, suitable for plundering against unprepared villages. This way they can colonise the land quickly. Few men, yes, but their war craft when pitted against farmers means they don’t need many men. So, by removing men from one village, you would leave it undefended, whilst our main force would be elsewhere.’

  Darga threw up his hands. ‘Then what do you suggest we do? There are too few of us here to have any chance against them.’

  ‘There will be a meeting of all boys and men in the morning before we go to the fields,’ said Brinley. ‘Resist them or leave may be our only option. But that is a decision we can not make without—’

  A cry from outside caused the occupants of the hut to jump to their feet. ‘Come quickly men of the village! Riders approach from the forest!’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Recognising the importance of preventing Egbert and Cissa returning to Camulodunum with the news of their scouting mission, Murdoc and Dominic had decided to give chase. A hasty reconnaissance of the surrounding area proved that no other riders would threaten their camp, and Withred, it was agreed, would stay behind to provide security for the others while they were gone.

  Although half a day behind, Dominic reckoned that Egbert’s injury would impede his and Cissa’s attempted escape, so he expected to capture them quickly.

  They selected two sturdy Garrons to ride and lost no more time starting the chase. They urged the mounts into a quick trot as Dominic leaned forward to study the track. ‘If we go as quickly as the land permits and stick to their trail we must catch them soon,’ he said.

  Murdoc sat upright peering into the trees and shrubs around him. ‘We’ve the advantage of your knowledge of this part of the forest, and their trail’s still visible, even to a farmer like me. If they leave the track and stumble through the brush, then so much the better.’

  Later that day, it seemed that Egbert and Cissa had indeed left the main track. Dominic stooped to examine the signs, but soon looked back up the trail. ‘It looks like they left here, but thought better about it.’ He rubbed trail dirt through his fingers before wiping his hands clean on his breeches and standing up. ‘They are still on the trail, but it looks like they wasted time here, so they are closer than I thought.’

  They continued, and as night drew near, they had still not sighted Cissa and Egbert, though their spoor was fresh. They slept rough that night and awakened to a gloomy sky the next morning. After weeks of fine weather, the day held an air of unrest.

  ‘See how heavy the sky is,’ said Dominic, frowning, as he peered up at the swirling, leaden clouds above the leaf canopy. ‘The damn ponies will be knee deep in water before the morning’s out.’ He crouched and tested the firmness of the ground. ‘All the surrounding forest drains onto this track, and I’ve seen many trails destroyed by torrents over the years.’

  ‘Let’s hope we sight them soon then,’ said Murdoc, ‘their trail will disappear if the rains come.’

  Dominic looked again at the earth below him. ‘It seems we’ve gained ground on them already, this dirt tells me we may find them today.’

  They had gone but a short distance down the trail when the clouds released their deluge. The rain pattered on the track before them, bouncing high, even from the glutinous clay, such was its intensity, and soon a shallow stream began to flow beneath them. They donned weather capes, which quickly became soake
d and clung to them like sodden rags as they struggled on through the bleak morning.

  ‘This is no use!’ shouted Murdoc from under his soaking hood. ‘The water’s already half way up to the knees of my pony. We need to get to higher ground and wait for the storm to pass; it would be dangerous to continue!’

  ‘No, keep going!’ shouted Dominic, as the wind soughed violently through the trees above them. ‘If we struggle so do they. We’ll come upon them soon, trust me!’

  They rode for another hour before Dominic stopped and dismounted to examine a smaller trail that joined the main track. Nodding he looked up at Murdoc. ‘This is the trail that Egbert’s men used before; it leads to the clearing where I first saw you. I thought they might have gone this way, but nothing’s passed here for days. It seems they failed to see it.’

  They continued down the main track, Murdoc becoming increasingly concerned at the worsening state of the clay embankments that rose steeply above them on either side. ‘I don’t like this at all Dom!’ he shouted. ‘See how the sides of the slopes glisten with water! If this continues the land could slide and we’ll be buried!’

  ‘Then keep moving!’ shouted Dominic. ‘I know this part of the trail and we’ll be through it soon!’

  Moments later, true to Dominic’s prediction, they emerged from the sunken lane at a point where the hillside dropped away steeply on one side, but reared higher than before on the other. The rain ran down this incline, directly across the track and gushed into the steep drop to their left.

  It was clear that the going was going to be slow here, as huge bites had fallen away from the track and slid down the hillside. In places, the track way was barely wide enough to take one pony. Murdoc rode his in the lead position, but had to stop suddenly when reaching a point where the path had entirely succumbed to the weather and slid down the hillside, along with much of the embankment above it.