Cissa readily complied and nimbly sprung upon his pony. His legs splayed out as he roughly heeled the beast’s ribcage, forcing it to gallop towards the distant cliff face, followed by Egbert.
Cissa reached the crag first and looked frantically for a way up to the higher ground above. Seeing no route, he reined his pony round to face the approaching Egbert. ‘We’re trapped, and look! The wolves have followed us, and their number is great.’ His head bobbed up and down as he counted. ‘I count fifteen … by Erce’s breasts! I count fifteen Egbert!’
Egbert turned and saw them; a scrawny but bold pack that had strung out and cautiously approached them. He jerked savagely on his pony’s halter as it skittered nervously beneath him. His eyes darted to the wolves, then to Cissa. ‘They’ll not attack us, we’re too big and too much trouble.’
‘Then why do they still come?’ asked Cissa shakily. ‘Why are they so interested in us? They must have been watching us for hours.’
‘We’ve dealt with wolves before,’ said Egbert. ‘Even if they are hungry enough to come close, a few kicks from the ponies will see them off.’
Cissa mumbled his undying allegiance to Woden as the lead wolf again howled.
Both ponies began to whinny and jump at the noise, and a further howl caused Cissa’s mount to suddenly rear up and throw him onto the rough scree that lay at the bottom of the sea cliff. Seeing this, the wolves advanced, but Cissa quickly gained his feet and made to regain his saddle.
Egbert jerked his pony’s rein and moved alongside the scrambling Cissa. He kicked his startled companion back to the ground. Cissa was now stricken prey to the wolves, and they fell upon him at once, engulfing him in a snarling, free-for-all of biting and tearing.
Egbert grabbed the rein of Cissa’s mount and rode a safe distance away from the screaming scene of carnage, from where he watched the dismemberment of Cissa, detached and indifferent. The wolves needed a feast, and neither he nor the ponies were going to provide meat for their table.
He turned and galloped off, Cissa’s pony following, until he came to a point where a great promontory of rock cut across the shingle beach and projected into the sea. Slowly, he rode around the base of the cliff looking for a path that would allow him an easy climb upwards away from the beach.
The cliff face radiated dull orange in the strong moonlight, and the calming glow along with the rhythmic slap of the waves against the rocks made Egbert crave for sleep, despite his proximity to the wolves. Down the beach, he could still make them out as they fed on Cissa. He considered the possibilities. He could either attempt a risky moonlit climb up the cliff face, or camp where he was and risk the attention of the wolves. He decided to stay, reasoning that the wolves would sleep for the night after stuffing their bellies on Cissa.
He slept fitfully but safely that night, and the dawn came without further incident. Part of Cissa’s ribcage and a few tattered clothes down the beach were the only indication that the wolves had fed on him. Of the wolves, there was no sign.
The daylight now afforded him a good view of a possible route up the cliff face, and after a careful and tricky ascent, he was able to reach the top of the buttress. Once on top of the cliff he proceeded along it, through the knee-high grasses that grew there in abundance. After a while, the forest curved round in a great arc to meet the edge of the cliff, and Egbert had no choice but to enter the woods yet again.
No longer able to follow the track, he rode through a sea of brambles and nettles, which he slashed at angrily with his ax, managing merely to snag the weapon in the ensnaring undercover. Later that day he found a clear brook that provided him with fresh water.
He pooled Cissa’s sparse provisions with his, realising he had only enough food to last him another day. Wearily, he resumed his journey through the tough scrub of the forest.
It was in the late afternoon that he heard the honking of geese beyond a rise of trees before him. He hoped the geese were tame. This would mean a nearby village, and possibly Saxon folk who had begun to settle the eastward shore of the country.
He rode through the tree line to find himself on what looked like a well-used dirt road. A line of geese waddled upon it. He melted back into the cover of the trees, unsure of the situation, not wishing to show himself for the moment. Eventually, the line of geese passed, and their handler, a stout man wearing a russet tunic and woollen leggings, walked by wielding a long narrow stick with which he deftly tapped the geese.
Egbert, seeing the man was unarmed and no threat, waited until he passed before stepping out onto the rough road behind him. ‘The geese look ready for the feast herdsman; I hope they bring you a good price at market.’
The drover jumped and turned round at Egbert’s address. His tongue was Germanic. ‘You would do well to show yourself before you talk stranger. My heart nearly stopped just then.’
Egbert was relieved to hear his native tongue. ‘At least we understand each other settler. You’ve warriors like me to thank for your tenure in this land; men like me are clearing the land of the inferior stock. I intended to travel to Camulodunum, but lost my way along with my men in the forest after a hard campaign.’
‘Then you’ve done well to find your way out, for it’s said the forest has no end, and many strange beasts dwell within. My brother for example, he—’
‘You’re right about strange beasts but the forest does not go on forever,’ said Egbert, impatient at the leisurely talk of the drover. ‘Camulodunum man, I need to get there—how far?’
‘It’s two days on foot, one day mounted. If you follow this track until it meets a wider way and then turn away from the forest you cannot go wrong. The road will take you to town.’
Egbert rode with the man to his village where he spent the night. The next day he followed the man’s instructions to the letter and arrived in Camulodunum at dusk.
The Romans had fortified the town, but very few stone buildings now remained. Wooden boarding now made up the walls of the current dwellings, while thatch was the material used for roofing. The town, though very old, now had a frontier feel about it, and many different garbs were evident in the streets. Warriors, fresh from plunder and pillage, strutted round in gaudy ostentation, in contrast to Saxon farmers and traders dressed in rough woven clothing. The good housekeeping and sanitation that was typical of Roman occupation had broken down completely, and now dogs and pigs scavenged throughout the filthy streets. In places where the ground was clear of buildings, landless families had established impromptu smallholdings.
The central market area was a hive of activity with many people from the surrounding villages bartering products from the back of ox carts. Egbert walked amongst the throng, searching for Osric, but first he found Wlensing. ‘Hey Wlensing,’ he greeted, ‘when did you get back? It seems years since we parted in the forest.’
Wlensing squinted at Egbert in the sunlight, at first unable to recognise him. ‘Egbert? Yes, by Erce, it’s you. What have you been doing man? You look overdue the grave, and I swear you are only half the man I remember, although still twice my size.’
‘Try spending weeks on short commons in that filthy copse and you would be in the grave grim one. At least my girth gave me reserves to draw upon when food was scarce. How did your journey go after we parted?’
‘It was tough going through the forest, but the few villages we found were already settled by our own folk, and we all got back with little adventure. I ‘ve told Osric of the untouched land we all found beyond the first swathe of forest, and he intends to lead us himself to take more land and slaves next year when the weather improves. No doubt you’ll spend the winter in the alehouse.’ Wlensing eyes took in the throng that crowded past. ‘Where are Cissa and Hereward? Not whoring in the alehouse already?’
‘Hereward’s in a bear’s belly and Cissa in a wolf’s,’ said Egbert indifferently.
Wlensing drained of colour. ‘What dead? Both of them? What of Withred and the others?’
‘Withred is a stinki
ng traitor; he sides with the wolf-man and Britons. I presume the others — Deorwine, Leofric and the rest of them — are all dead. They were nowhere to be seen when we arrived at the clearing, and from what you’ve just said they are not here.’ He patted his ax. ‘This fellow will have a busy time of it when we ride next year.’
Wlensling looked stunned and incredulous. ‘I’ll take you to Osric,’ he said. ‘He needs to hear this.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Martha, aware that something was wrong, ran barefoot across the wet square to greet Dominic and Murdoc. Only one pony had returned and Murdoc was lying on his belly over it.
‘Quickly get him out of the rain and prepare the bed,’ urged Dominic.
Martha approached the pony and briefly caressed Murdoc’s head before flashing a look of concern at Dominic and running back to the hut.
Withred joined Dominic outside, and together they supported Murdoc into the hut where they helped him change into dry clothing and sit on the bed.
Ceola joined Murdoc on the bed, and curled beside him and hugged him. Murdoc hugged her back. ‘Don’t fret little one, Dominic will mend my leg. Seeing you already makes me feel better.’
Dominic was soaking and exhausted. Martha insisted he too change into dry clothing, but he shook his head stubbornly and insisted he could lose no time in further seeing to Murdoc’s leg.
After absenting the hut for some time he returned with eight neatly trimmed sticks and leather hide. ‘I’ll see how the leg’s begun to set,’ he explained to the others. ‘Then I’ll set it rigid again, this time with more care and better tackle.’
He removed the old splint, which had begun to move and deteriorate. Then he removed the soggy buckskin that had bound the leg. He murmured his approval at the pale, bruised appendage thus revealed. The others watched quietly as he applied the new splint. ‘The leg seems to be doing well,’ he said, as he tidied up the leftover bits and pieces. ‘I feared that rot may have set in…’ he looked at Murdoc. ‘…and that would have been the end of you my friend. But apart from a healthy bruise everything seems to be doing fine.’
The warmth and comfort of the bed sent Murdoc into a deep, snoring sleep, and after changing into dry clothes Dominic told the others of their chase.
After he finished, Withred spoke. ‘It seems we live in the hope that Egbert and Cissa perished under the mud slides, but the rest of the men must have taken another path to Camulodunum. They’ll report to Osric, so we can be sure that a raiding party will ride through here early next year.’ He looked at the others, his brow knitted into deep furrows. ‘What do you suggest we do?’
‘Nothing until Murdoc is fit to move,’ said Dominic.
‘I think it would be better if some of us leave soon to warn other folk of the oncoming raid,’ said Withred. ‘They’ll need time to prepare.’
‘I’m staying with Murdoc,’ said Martha.
‘I’m not leaving father,’ said Ceola.
‘I’ll go wherever Dominic goes,’ said Tomas.
Dominic walked to the open door and looked out at the heavy rain, frowning as he considered the possibilities. They could not stay where they were, that was for sure. Should they run or should they fight? Or both? After a while, he turned to the others. ‘The best we can do is find the nearest surviving village and try to help them prepare, although how we can withstand seasoned warriors is anybody’s guess. To lie down and die or continue hiding for the rest of our lives is the other option.’
‘Then we’ve no choice,’ said Withred, ‘and that makes the choice quite simple.’
‘I think you for one should go,’ said Dominic. ‘You know how the Saxons … Angles … call them what you will … you know how they fight, you know—‘
‘They fight ugly,’ said Withred simply. ‘Then the sooner you contact our people, the sooner they can be prepared in the right way,’ said Dominic.
Simon smiled and stood beside Withred. ‘I suppose I’d better go with you before the weather gets any worse for an old man to travel. My guile will make sure we don’t get into any unnecessary scrapes, and besides, we worked well together with the bear, why break up such a formidable partnership?’
‘I would be glad to have you Simon,’ said Withred, ‘together we are truly terrifying.’ The group laughed as the rain began to ease outside.
‘That’s it settled then,’ said Dominic. ‘You’ll leave markers for us to follow. I’ll keep an eye on Murdoc’s wound, and make sure he’s fit for the journey before we leave. I’ll also make sure the others are safe and fed. With luck, we should meet up well before the raiders set out on their next campaign. It’s important you travel quickly, and that means travelling light, so the rest of us will bring the bulk of provisions and weapons along when we set out later.’
That night the heavy rain finally ceased. Half filled with water, the pit in which Hereward had perished, finally collapsed and finished the job of his internment.
The next morning Withred and Simon prepared to leave. Dominic had a long talk with Simon and showed him how to leave markers for them to follow. ‘Most of your footprints will have vanished when we set out,’ he told him, ‘so it’s vital that you leave signs for me if you leave the trail, or any time you change to other paths.’
Their packs almost secured, two stout ponies stood patiently as Dominic carried out the final adjustments to their loads. Martha had helped to bind Simon’s supplies to his mount. Upset, she turned and hugged him. ‘We went through much together and you are now my father. I’ll never forget how you saved my life, and made me laugh even through the worst of it.’
He placed her hands in his and smiled. ‘I’m honoured to be called your father. I told you that God would take care of us and he did. We’ll meet soon. This parting’s only for a little while, don’t forget that.’
Dominic left them and approached Withred, who was fiddling with the straps on his mount. He clapped him on his back. ‘We’ve put much trust in you man, don’t betray it, a lot depends on you.’
‘I could have betrayed you when Egbert came to the camp, don’t forget that,’ said Withred. His sincere expression melted into a smile as he looked at Dominic. ‘So don’t take too long joining us, I’ll look out for your bald head, or should I say that ridiculous hat.’
Dominic clasped Withred’s hand. ‘You’ll see my hat soon, don’t you doubt that, but now you must leave while the best of the day is still before you.’
Tomas and Ceola came outside and the group said their final goodbyes. Withred and Simon walked slowly out of the clearing, for now leading their ponies.
The previous days’ rain had made the trail difficult underfoot, but the two men made steady progress for the next few days and encountered no one. Careful navigation ensured they passed the area of mudslides without mishap; the mud having firmed after the rain had stopped. Eventually they passed through the area of overgrown coppice, which had first given Egbert and his men a clue that human habitation was near. Two further days of steady progress passed before they came upon the abandoned village.
They rode silently through the ghostly place, past the boulder-formed cross, until they reached a forsaken field at the village boundary. Hazel shrubs and birch trees had colonised the field and they now swayed at the height of two men across its expanse. Simon dismounted and walked a short distance into the scrub and thoughtfully rubbed the bark of the nearest tree. The place reminded him of his own village. Reminded him of all the people he had lost forever. The raiders had probably ridden through the place and left it alone because there was no one left here to kill. Disease had beaten them to it, he was sure of that. He turned towards Withred, looking past him back to the village. ‘There was much disease and plague when I was a boy. It seems that this place fell foul of it too.’
Withred’s look was bitter, his tone sardonic. ‘One less village for my old companions to devastate then,’ he said.
They continued, past the pond where the two boys had played, and took the track that e
ventually wound to the hill summit and afforded them the same breathtaking panorama of human colonisation that Egbert’s group had observed weeks before.
Withred smiled in wonderment at the scene as a westerly wind tugged at his iron-grey hair. He turned to Simon. ‘It’s little wonder that invaders seek out this blessed land—its beauty is beyond words to describe.’
‘Then we must talk to the people who live here,’ said Simon, as he gently heeled his pony down the track in the direction of the village, ‘so its beauty is not despoiled forever.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
The alehouse contained a varied selection of rough tables and benches; some set within dusty alcoves where lewd acts were visible through tattered ill-drawn curtains. A fire in the middle of the room burned low in an iron grate, filling the place with an acrid pall. Topped by wooden, plugged barrels, a stout oak table stood against a rotten, plaster wall, where, as drunk as his customers, the barkeeper leant back in his chair. He blinked foolishly as a ray of sunlight found its way through a slatted window, sending a dust speckled-shaft into the murky room, before resting across his eyes.
Egbert sat in a shadowy corner staring moodily into his flagon. A pewter plate strewn with stripped chicken bones lay before him. A drunken harlot, fast asleep and snoring, leaned against him, her rouged-smeared lower lip drooping slackly from a mouth that displayed a selection of broken, discoloured teeth.
Her slumber suddenly ended when Egbert grabbed her hair and threw her roughly to the floor. ‘Away! I tire of you and your sow’s breath.’ He kicked the woman in the stomach. She retched, then vomited, as she crawled away from his reach. Egbert slumped heavily back onto the worn, stained bench and shouted to the drunken barkeeper. ‘More ale you sluggard! Don’t make me come over there and get it myself!’
The barkeeper pushed his chair from the wall with the back of his head and managed to throw himself onto the floor with a crash, promoting a cackle of laughter from a drunken woman nearby. Egbert merely growled as the barkeeper slowly picked himself up, unplugged a barrel, and filled another flagon. He stumbled over to Egbert and after steadying himself, placed the ale on the table, before weaving his way back to his upturned chair.
The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 13