The two men moved back, ensuring they were out of sight, as Bealdwine stood up, sniffing the air like an animal—his instincts telling him to be wary.
‘This time I’ll break cover and let him see me,’ said Murdoc. ‘Then it’s up to you.’
Nodding, Dominic nocked the same arrow that had killed the other man. ‘Right, go now’ he said quietly, as he gently pushed Murdoc from the cover of the bush.
Bealdwine saw Murdoc immediately and in an instant, flipped his hunting knife in his hand and threw it at Murdoc’s head.
Murdoc’s reflexes saved him, as his raised arm took the full force of the knifepoint. Bealdwine wasted no time covering the ground as he moved towards him, his ax swinging in a practiced blur as he ran. He ignored the swish of Dominic’s arrow, as it brushed his cheek.
Dominic prevented Bealdwine completing his deathblow upon the prostrate Murdoc, as he exploded out of his cover and rammed his palms against the Saxon’s chest, forcing him to stumble backwards.
The two men now faced each other, ax against sword. Bealdwine sneered at Dominic and insolently flicked his tongue at him as they circled. He continued to swing his ax in an expert manner around his head and shoulders, forcing Dominic to concentrate intently in readiness for an oncoming attack. Bealdwine quickly shimmied into killing distance and swung his ax overhead, then downwards, intent in cleaving Dominic’s skull, but was surprised to see his blow blocked expertly by Dominic’s sword. Quickly he repeated the attack, and again Dominic was equal to the task. Two more blows followed, and again they were repelled.
Both men were now panting with the effort of combat, as Murdoc slowly gained his feet. Again, Bealdwine readied himself to attack, as his breathing became more even. Dominic raised his sword, his knees bent slightly in a posture of readiness, just as the dead man’s pony, which had returned to find its master, ran from the undergrowth. Immediately aware of the brief advantage afforded him by the distracted Bealdwine, Dominic quickly removed his bow from his shoulder, then notched and released an arrow at short range.
Having little time to perfect his aim, the arrow entered Bealdwine just below the meat of his right shoulder, the impact sending his ax to the floor. Incensed, Bealdwine was quickly upon Dominic with his bare hands, spit flying from his drawn lips as he made to gouge at Dominic’s eyes.
As the older man, Dominic’s energy had drained with the intensity of the struggle, but he had enough reserves left to meet Bealdwine’s attack, and found the strength to push his wiry assailant a swords distance away. He swung his sword at Bealdwine, his first offensive swordplay of the combat. Bealdwine’s head took the force of the blow, but only the flat of the sword made contact, and sufficed only to knock him to his knees.
Dominic lost no time following up his advantage and kicked him to the ground with the flat of his foot, before stamping on the arrow, which protruded from his shoulder.
Bealdwine grasped his shoulder and howled in pain as Dominic’s sword was quickly positioned under his neckerchief. He looked up at Dominic with eyes that burned with rabid hate, and his death cry of ‘Woden!’ was curtailed as Dominic leaned his full weight on the sword, plunging the blade below his thyroid cartilage and into the forest floor beneath his head.
After removing the blade, it took him several minutes to recover, as he stooped, hands on knees, gasping. He looked towards Murdoc, slack jawed and panting, noticing that his companion still had Bealdwine’s knife protruding from his arm.
He attended him after recovering his breath sufficiently.’ There’s no easy way to do this,’ he said, as he quickly and unexpectedly removed the knife. Murdoc winced in pain, and Dominic examined the wound. ‘You’re lucky the knife pierced nothing vital,’ he said, ‘otherwise you’d now be bleeding like a stuck pig.’ He went to his pony and returned with a cloth bag.
Murdoc watched as Dominic tipped the powdery contents of the bag into his drinking bowl. ‘Burdock root?’ he asked.
Dominic nodded as he mixed the powder with water from his gourd, then he daubed the stiff paste onto Murdoc’s wound. ‘This should soothe the pain and stop the wound going bad.’
After Dominic had bandaged his arm with a strip of cloth torn from Bealdwine’s shirt, Murdoc got gingerly to his feet and gripped Dominic’s arm. ‘Yet again I’ve reason to thank you for saving my life.’ He turned and looked at the lifeless Bealdwine, whose partly severed head lolled at an angle to his body. ‘If they all fight like him then maybe we would be better to flee as Griswalda advised,’ he said. ‘I fear this is a tide we can’t stem forever.’
‘Maybe not, but try we must,’ said Dominic. He picked up Bealdwine’s hunting knife, and flipped then balanced it in his hand. ‘A good knife,’ he mused. He glanced at Bealdwine and turned to Murdoc. ‘I think we should leave his companions a message. Pray, bring me the rope from my pony.’ He turned to attend to Bealdwine.
CHAPTER TWENTY- SEVEN
Several days earlier, the floods had also delayed Osric and his followers, but when the waters dropped low enough for departure, a gathering of raiders assembled in the town square. Ponies stamped and bellowed steam into the stark air, whilst the men talked and joked as they awaited Osric’s arrival. An aura of tense anticipation interlaced the discourse of the men
Their leader, when he joined them, was dressed in a thick, fur jerkin and hide breeches. His braided, red hair hung like copper wire from his iron helmet, brushing his bare shoulders. He placed one hand on the hilt of his broadsword as he addressed the men. ‘With Egbert and Wlensling showing us the way we should reach British villages before too long.’ He reined his pony so that it faced the town and raised a gold encircled arm towards it. ‘If anyone doesn’t relish a tough journey through wild lands, then I say to him, retire to the tavern and town and prepare you for a straw death.’ The men waited in silence as Osric once again turned his pony to face them, and smiled. ‘As I thought—none of you wish to die like old women … indeed, many of you wish to profit further from your association with me. This time though, the treasure will be British women and children to sell in the markets. The prices are high for slaves now. Believe me; we’ll grow rich from this campaign.’
‘And like good merchants we’ll sample the goods for quality before we sell!’ shouted Egbert. ‘Would it not harm our reputation to sell shoddy goods?’ Raucous laughter broke out as Egbert stood in his saddle grasping his groin, a look of ecstasy on his bearded face.
Osric smiled and turned his pony to ride out of the town; the malevolent assembly in his wake.
For the first few days they followed an easy track alongside the edge of the forest. This would afford them an easier passage for a few days. The route was familiar to most of them, having raided throughout the area in the previous years. It was Egbert’s idea to take the easier route, knowing as he did, that the course he had taken when escaping from the forest would be in poor condition after the recent floods—the narrow path round the steep incline in particular.
In discussion with Osric, Egbert had planned to enter the forest at a point familiar to him, where he was confident that he would be able to lead the party; first to Dominic’s camp, and then along the ancient track to the newly discovered lands.
The anticipated easy start proved tough in the aftermath of the flood. The well-used and rutted path was liberally dotted with deep puddles, often forcing the riders to travel thigh-deep through muddy water. Soon, grumbling broke out amongst the men, especially at night when they had to search long and hard for dry tinder.
The extent of the previous years killing was apparent, and very few people were in evidence. Still awaiting resettlement, much of the land lay empty, and when they came upon abandoned villages, there was little sign of life. Many of the buildings lay in ruins, and a few bones were all that remained of the many victims—the hungry beasts of the forest having scavenged on the corpses during the cold winter. One thing that most of the villages did provide was fresh water. The raiders had anticipated colonisation by Saxon
folk after laying waste to the villages, so no corpses polluted the wells.
The men saw hardly any game—their shouts and curses as they struggled through the boggy terrain serving to set the animals to flight long before they got within killing distance.
On the forth day, the war party set up camp near to Murdoc’s sacked village, where grey smoke curled sluggishly upwards from a damp-wood fire that had been a struggle to light. The men stood around it, palms facing the chill-relieving heat. Wood from the ruined village was added to the pyre, and soon the good-sized blaze forced the men to back away a distance from a heat that toasted faces and caused damp clothes to steam.
Osric sat on a log a few yards away from the blaze and beckoned Egbert to join him. Their boots, stuck on upright sticks jammed into the ground near to the fire, steamed as they dried out. ‘By my reckoning it’s only three days travel to the village; the village from where you allowed the woman to escape with the old man. It’s there where we must enter the forest I think.’
Egbert nodded. ‘That’s so. From there it’s only a few days to reach the storage post where the wolf-man ambushed us.’
Osric looked concerned. ‘Then we must be prepared for attack as soon as we enter the dark woods; we can’t take any chances this time. I’ll dispatch scouts as outriders long before we reach the wolf-man’s lair. Bealdwine is the best scout I’ve ever ridden with and he is a savage fighter. I’ll send him ahead with one other man, and pity the wolf, human or otherwise, which he sniffs out.’
Three days easier ride, over roads that had suffered less erosion than their previous passage, brought them in good time to Martha’s village. It had remained undisturbed and sombre since the raid. Simon’s delving tool still lay next to the hut where he had rescued Martha—a huge section of soggy, broken wall bearing testimony to the successful escape.
The men had no reason to stop here, and after a brief pause during which Egbert regaled the men with anecdotal accounts of his brutality in various parts of the village, the company turned into the deep forest.
It was the first time that Osric had entered the British woods for a long journey, and the difference in light and shadow immediately struck him. His mood became sombre and uneasy as they rode into the oppressive gloom.
Bealdwine and another man were dispatched ahead to scout the trail and shrub cover on either side of the track. The first day was to prove uneventful, and as evening approached, the two men returned to the main group, where Osric met them, seeking news.
Rubbing his back wearily, Bealdwine sighed. ‘There’s nothing to be seen, and nothing apart from the beasts of the woods have trampled the land ahead for many months. The trail’s easy to scout— there’s little undergrowth so early in the year, but there’s ample grass for the mounts …’ He again rubbed his back ‘… fuck, how my bones ache in this dampness.’
Osric was concerned that one of his hardiest and best men was beginning to show signs of weariness so early in the journey. A long, inactive winter had taken its toll on most of them, but Osric had hoped that days in the saddle would have restored the men to travel fitness by now.
He slapped Bealdwine’s shoulder, intent on raising his moral. ‘Come on Woodhawk, live up to your name, and don’t fret over a damp arse. You’ve worked well today, and before long you’ll be nestled between a pair of warm thighs.’
‘Let’s hope it is before long,’ said Bealdwine as he dismounted.
The next day they reached the bracken-filled clearing where Cerdic and Aelred had fallen to Dominic’s arrows.
Egbert pointed to a shrub on the edge of the glade. ‘That’s where we first saw the wolf-man, and from there he dropped Cerdic. If I’m not mistaken the trail runs north from behind that bush.’
Osric rode over and surveyed the faint trail that led from the bush. He turned to Bealdwine. ‘Be extra careful from here onwards,’ he said. ‘The trail ahead looks to have been used—even my untrained eye can see that. The wolf-man is close by.’
Bealdwine removed his hunter’s knife from his belt. He said: ‘This knife’s been sharpened to gut and clean wild men, Osric. Don’t worry for me, I’m not the one who will have his fucking heart removed before the day is out.’
Osric, encouraged by Bealdwine’s resurgent zeal, slapped the rump of the outrider’s pony setting it into a trot. ‘Then get you into the woods and bring me back a heart,’ he shouted, as Bealdwine and his companion vanished into the tree cover.
For the rest of the day Wlensling, a good scout in his own right, rode at the front of the group, occasionally stopping when the trail grew faint. Then, he would dismount and closely examine the ground until he was satisfied they were heading in the right direction. Bealdwine’s tracks were often visible as his wandering spoor criss-crossed the trail; proof that the main body of riders were still on the right course.
That night at camp, Wlensling sat with Osric and Egbert beside a welcoming fire. ‘Tomorrow should see us reach the Roman road that runs from east to west,’ he said. ‘After that, a further day and half’s travel should see us reach the storage huts.’
Egbert shifted anxiously at the mention of Dominic’s former camp. ‘Care will be needed from here on,’ he said. The Britons were able to kill some of my best men in these woods, but we now have a scout and warrior in Bealdwine to equal anyone in their rabble pack.’
Osric poked a stick into the fire, provoking a fresh combustion of flames. ‘Bealdwine reports that the woods ahead are empty of people. Maybe the harsh winter has put an end to some of their miserable lives.’ As he said this, an animal stirred in the undergrowth nearby, startling them and causing them to look uneasily towards the source of the noise. ‘But if they still live,’ he continued angrily, ‘they should show themselves and fight like men.’
Next day the riders joined the Roman road, and, again, Bealdwine and his companion went on ahead.
Hours passed without Bealdwine reporting to the main party, and it was mid-afternoon before Osric first voiced his concern to Wlensling. ‘Perhaps the easy passage of the road encouraged them to push further ahead. Knowing Bealdwine as I do—’ he stopped and pointed ahead. ‘See, there’s movement up the trail; Bealdwine no doubt.’
Wlensling saw the movement in the trees, his view partially obscured by the low forest growth surrounding them. Along with Osric, he approached cautiously until they were fifty paces away. Once there, he learned that Osric’s observation was true. However, it was a headless Bealdwine, hanging upturned and suspended from a tree, who awaited them.
They recognised him from his distinctive tunic. His chest was pierced by a thin sharpened stick, from which hung a wide piece of birch bark, upon the back of which was written ’Amyrorian.’
’Murderer’ whispered Egbert, as he reached the gawking men. ‘No doubt, Withred has taught them some of our tongue. It seems that the wolf-man survived the winter after all.’
CHAPTER TWENTY- EIGHT
After killing Bealdwine and his fellow scout, Dominic and Murdoc made sure there were no other outriders to worry them. They headed back to Augustus and the others to prepare the camp for the arrival of Osric.
Back at the camp, the job of digging the pit had gone well. Once through the compacted crust of the ground, Augustus and his brawny siblings had made quick progress, as little effort was required to remove the loose, grainy humus below, and it was not long before the diggers disappeared from view, with only their spades visible as they lifted them to throw out great showers of soil.
When they had completed the digging, soiled and sweat soaked, they stood knee deep in the nearby stream, washing the grime from their naked bodies. As they worked, the brothers had joked between their gruntings—their strong fraternal bond clear for Darga and James to see.
The charismatic Augustus, as the oldest, was a father figure to his brothers, and they had obediently done as he instructed during the excavation.
Samuel, the youngest, looked at the huge mounds of soil. ‘Shall we move the soil out
of sight now Gus?’
Rubbing himself dry with a piece of sackcloth, Augustus studied the pile. ‘It would have been better if we’d washed after moving the soil.’ He looked at his brothers who still languished in the stream. ‘Come on lads,’ he shouted, ‘you heard young Sam, let’s get moving!’ To emphasise his intention, he clapped his huge meaty hands together, causing the men to run from the stream and dress quickly.
Two of the brothers, William and John, were twins, and seemed to have a deep understanding between them as they worked harmoniously together. They shovelled the soil onto a wide piece of deer hide, which the other two men dragged to the edge of the clearing where it was disposed of, out of sight.
Darga sat on a stone near to the dead fire, hacking away at a wooden shaft. Beside him lay a number of completed spikes. He looked up as Joseph approached with another five rough branches cradled in his arms. He dropped them in a clattering heap and sat beside Darga to shape them.
‘Twenty or so should do it,’ said Darga morosely. ‘I just hope we get the chance to fight them toe to toe after this nonsense.’
‘Trust in Dominic,’ said Joseph, as he hacked at the stake with his ax. ‘Without him we wouldn’t have a chance against them.’
Darga stood and stretched, then threw a completed spike amongst the others. ‘That may be so,’ he yawned, ‘but I’ve yet to see the proof of this.’ He picked up an armful of spikes and walked over to the pit.
At nightfall, the six men stood around their work in an admiring circle. ‘See how those fangs snarl at us,’ said Augustus. ‘Let us hope they do a good job on the bastards.’
Joseph shivered as he studied their work. ‘Good God! How things change. I never thought I’d be responsible for such savagery.’ As he looked down, his eyes took on a distant look. ‘But evil must be met with evil,’ he murmured.
The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 18