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

by Atkinson, F J

  After covering the entrapment with a hide frame, a thin layering of soil was scattered over it.

  ‘It doesn’t fool me,’ said Darga, ‘the soil’s too crumbly, not like the hard earth around it.’

  Augustus rolled his eyes in supplication. ‘You’re too quick to complain lad.’ He threw a shovel to Darga. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Help us blend in the soil and stop your carping.’

  Next day, Dominic and Murdoc returned. They looked with approval at the completed work, as Augustus and his brothers beamed with undisguised pride at their handiwork. ‘I see you took an injury,’ said Augustus, looking at the strip of cloth on Murdoc’s arm.

  Dominic lifted the cloth to observe the laceration. ‘Yes it seems that Mur’s collecting scars to show to his grandchildren.’ He peered at the crusty wound. ‘Lucky that he heals well—one leg and one arm now saved.’

  Darga had remained unmoved by the arrival of Dominic and Murdoc, but could not resist boasting, ‘You should see the spikes beneath—they would pierce the hide of an ox.’

  ‘Egbert’s hide will do for now,’ said Joseph. ‘When do we leave Dom?’

  Looking back down the track, Dominic pondered the question. ‘By my guess, we’re half a day ahead of them. It’d be wise to leave as soon as the ponies are packed and ready. I’ve further plans for them down the trail.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ said Augustus. ‘Come—William, John, Sam—we’ve work to do!’

  Murdoc smiled at the enthusiasm of the four men, and joined them in the task of loading the ponies. ‘It seems we’ll have no rest until this is done,’ he said. ‘Oh, for a return to the easy life toiling in the fields and hauling on a plough.’

  Dominic smiled as he walked over to the hut and shut the door and window in preparation for their departure.

  After leaving the camp, the Britons travelled hard, and after two uneventful days rode along a track that ran through a narrow valley whose sides formed a steep vee. After passing through a deep basin-like depression within the valley, Dominic stopped. He nodded to Murdoc, who was aware of the next part of the plan.

  ‘There’s a stream ahead,’ he said to the others. ‘It runs down the valley away from us, but if we can dam it, then dig a channel back to this depression, following the natural fall of the land back to here, it should quickly fill with water. The stream runs fast from the recent flooding so it should take no time for the hollow here to fill head-high or deeper. The raiders have to come this way to reach the village. I don’t need to tell you what an obstruction this will be to them. The steep sides of the valley will be their only route around the pool we create.’

  Augustus was off his pony at once. He removed the spades from the pack pony and threw them to his brothers who had dismounted along with him. ‘Let’s get damming and digging then,’ he said. ‘Show us what you’ve in mind and we’ll get the job done as quickly as we can. How much time do we have?’

  ‘Time enough,’ said Dominic. ‘We move quicker than them, so they’re a good distance behind us, I guess.’

  Darga expressed scepticism at the plan. ‘We’ll lose time doing this, and tire ourselves for the fighting we must do. They can only be a short distance behind us. Surely, they’ll catch us in the act. I say leave dam building to beavers. Surely we would be better putting your other plans to action, and maybe fighting them directly.’

  Augustus exploded and threw a spade full of dirt over Darga, Throwing his shovel to the ground, he approached him menacingly. ‘Have you spent the entire winter with your fucking ears plugged!’ he raged. ‘Maybe it’d be better if you shut your mouth and picked up a shovel,’ He pointed to his own discarded shovel. ‘Or maybe I could just shove that shovel up your moaning arse, you piece of—‘’

  ‘Whoa!’ Murdoc stepped between them. ‘We’ve no time for this!,’ he shouted. ‘You must stop this now; we’re here to fight Saxons, not each other!’

  Darga spluttered and brushed the soil off his clothing. Knowing the futility of taking on the glowering Augustus, he sulkily took the shovel offered to him by Murdoc, who shook his head in incredulity and offered his palms to the sky.

  James and Murdoc guided the ponies to drag a fallen tree across the watercourse and partially stem the flow of water down the valley. The tree had fallen during the gales of the year before, leaving its roots encrusted by a huge lump of clay. This served to restrict the flow of the stream, as floating debris carried by the lively flow snagged on the root ball, further improving its efficiency as a dam.

  Water still flowed slightly through the barrier, but a backlog of muddy, leafy, water began to flood across the track and fall back towards the hollow. The men began to dig a shallow trough ahead of it, creating a steeper incline to speed its progress until it reached the deep, clay basin.

  After completing their work, the men stood admiring their creation as the muddy pool began to fill rapidly. Darga was the exception; standing hunched and sulking away from them. As the valley filled with water they were forced to step away from the water’s edge. ‘We must move ahead along the valley,’ said Murdoc, ‘before we’re ensnared by our own trap.’

  Once beyond the pool, Dominic looked to the heights above him. ‘Now we wait for them,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY- NINE

  After recovering Bealdwine’s headless body, a hush had befallen the raiders. Osric looked ahead. You’ll pay for this, wolf, he thought. He turned to his men. ‘Drag his body to the side of the track; we’ve no time to dispose of him in any other way.’

  ‘It would appear that the small, cowardly force you spoke of has struck again, Osric.’ The voice belonged to Alfred, the man who had questioned Osric on the matter of resistance when in the tavern in Camulodunum. He strode to the front of the assembly.

  ‘And cowards they are!’ shouted Osric. ‘Otherwise they would fight and face us.’ He gave the disillusioned Alfred a hard stare. ‘Anyway, Bealdwine’s death is a timely reminder and will put us on our guard and keep us alert … WHAT? Do you expect to ride unchallenged on every campaign?’

  Alfred walked away muttering. ‘No I’m prepared to die if needs be, but let it be a warrior’s death. I don’t wish to be left hanging like a rotting hare from a tree.’

  ‘Then get on your pony and follow me down the track!’ shouted Osric. He addressed the others who had stood morosely by their ponies listening to the exchange. ‘And that goes for all of you. Mount up and follow me!’

  The next morning as they progressed, Egbert looked thoughtful. Noticing this, Osric clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Cheer up swine-gut,’ he laughed, ‘you’ll be feasting and rutting before the summer arrives.’

  Egbert stared sullenly ahead. ‘We should reach the wolf’s lair today, and I would gladly sell my soul to hell if I could spend a week slowly torturing him.’

  ‘I can guess why you’re tense,’ said Osric, ‘but save the trouble of bartering your soul, that is surely already many times spoken for.’

  ‘We must kill him soon,’ said Egbert, ignoring Osric’s observation about his soul. ‘He’s the inspiration behind their futile resistance.’

  ‘We certainly won’t catch him in his lair,’ said Osric. ‘He is far to cunning for that.’

  It was mid-afternoon when they reached the clearing. Dominic had skilfully removed all signs of recent habitation, making the camp looked long abandoned.

  Osric rode into the square and looked around in admiration. ‘It’s a pity you could not secure this place for a base, Egbert. It’s well sited and would have provisioned us well today.’

  ‘It may still do, if they’ve left the cellars intact, but wait here, that disturbance in the ground is the place where Hereward fell to the bear in the pit. The wolf-man could have set further traps for us.’

  ‘Thanks for your warning, but it’s needless,’ said Osric. ‘Don’t forget I’ve recently seen what he’s capable of. It’s not my intention to stay here for longer than we need to, let alone fall into a trap. We need to check out the underg
round store for supplies. If we’re vigilant, we’ll take no injury.’ He turned and shouted to the men, who stood talking quietly and nervously in a group. ‘Four men over here, axes ready! The rest of you form a defensive ring around the camp.’

  Six of the younger Geoguth, eager to impress Osric and Egbert, stepped forward. Egbert nodded towards the hut door. ‘In there, six of you if you must, but study the ground below your feet first, it’s likely a trap lies in wait.’

  One of the men, a sinewy youth named Chad, lay on his belly and slowly snaked his way to the hut door, banging the ground before him with his fist. At a point six paces from the hut, his fist bounced as it hit the hide cover of the hidden pit.

  Wlensling smiled and walked over to Chad. He reached down, found the outer frame of the cover, and dragged it away from the cavity. ‘Well done, lad, see what you’ve saved us from.’

  Egbert and Osric joined Wlensling at the rim of the pit. ‘By Woden’s stinking breath,’ whispered Osric, in awe of the malevolence below him. ‘But the wolf wouldn’t do such things if he knew how we’ll repay him and his followers for this.’ He looked towards the hut door, and then at the six volunteers. ‘Into the hut now, let’s quickly remove anything of use from the cellar and be on our way.’

  Chad led the other five men carefully past the pit and through the door of the hut, entering its dark interior. He was the first to fall into the second pit. The others pushing up behind were unable to see that Chad had fallen, due to the darkness in the hut. Dominic’s last act before leaving the camp had been to block the window opening and restrict the light. Because of this, the other five men followed Chad into the pit, falling five feet before hitting the spikes.

  Dominic had rightly guessed they would have been wary of the tactic of the pit and would find the first trap. He had then come up with the idea of digging a second trap in the gloom of the hut; his hope being that Saxon complacency might follow the first discovery.

  Osric and Wlensling now stood astounded as they looked into the pit. Egbert smashed the hut’s window cover with his ax to allow light to flood in and illuminate the grisly scene below them. Only three of the men had died instantly. Badly wounded, the other three men groaned in agony, pierced through by the rough, wooden stakes.

  ‘Stand back!’ said Egbert as he entered the threshold of the hut, still brandishing his ax. He looked at Osric, who nodded grimly and walked out of the hut with Wlensling. ‘Make to leave!’ he shouted furiously to the men around the square. ‘Tether the six spare ponies together so they share the weight of the others.’

  An awful screaming and a meaty, hacking came from the hut as Egbert dispatched the surviving men.

  Osric rode away from the clearing in a mad gallop, furious that his war band now numbered just thirty-three men. After his mount became exhausted, he waited, slumped in his saddle for the other men to rejoin him. His rage spent, Wlensling approached him with a fresh pony. ‘You took a risk,’ he said, ‘riding on ahead, alone. The Britons may have been lying in wait.’

  Osric’s eyes flashed. ‘Why should we fear a few fugitives, what have things come to if we fear an army of ragged peasants?’

  ‘They’ve sent eight of our men to Woden,’ said Wlensling. ‘It would be wise, at least, not to offer ourselves on a platter to them.’

  Osric sighed and looked to the ground. ‘See … hoof prints. At least we see sign of their passing. They were in haste. I pray we’ll meet them soon.’

  Osric’s hope proved futile, and two further days passed without encounter. On the afternoon of the third day since leaving the camp, they entered a thickly wooded valley.

  ‘A good place for an ambush, if ever I saw one,’ said Egbert to Wlensling, as he peered along the valley and up the steep slopes. ‘Not a place to spend the night, that’s for sure.’

  Osric joined them as they stopped to survey the scene, their ponies jittery in the oppressive atmosphere of the gorge. He looked up the valley and was about to speak when one of the outriders—a youth named Godrys who had gone on ahead—returned with news. ‘The valley is flooded across it width, I tried to ford it, but it’s too deep.’

  ‘I’ll take a look,’ said Osric, and rode ahead with Egbert and Wlensling.

  Ahead of them, a long narrow lake lapped against the side of the valley. Egbert grasped Osric’s shoulder and pointed ahead. At the other end of the lake, eight figures stood in a line. The men appeared to observe them until the main body of riders arrived. The figures then raised their bows and released two volleys of arrows.

  The Saxons were off their mounts in an instant and hit the ground for cover, lying flat beneath their ponies. Two men took fatal wounds and one took an arrow to the thigh.

  ‘Anyone who carries and can wield a bow, get to the front and send some arrows back!’ shouted Osric. ‘Don’t hide like women! If you possess a bow get to the front with me now!’

  Wlensling grabbed and shoved the archers forward, then checked the dead and injured men. ‘Someone attend to Cenhelm. He screams like a stuck swine!’ he shouted.

  Osric himself, had rarely used a bow, but slowly inched his way to the front, followed by just nine bow-carrying men. Largely unpracticed in using the weapon, the raiders nevertheless returned a flight of arrows back across the pool to Dominic’s group, who quickly retreated out of range.

  Behind a huge clump of juniper, Osric and his fellow bowmen peered cautiously at the retreating Britons. Feeling safer now, Osric stood and marshalled the archers. ‘I want you stood across the track with bows ready to hold our position,’ he shouted.

  ‘We hit one of them,’ said Wlensling who had walked behind the archers as they released their salvo. ‘I saw a man stumble as they retreated. I could swear he was hit. Success at last.’

  ‘That may be so,’ said Osric as he continued to stare up the track looking for movement, ‘but we’ve just lost two more men, and one to wounding. That’s a quarter of our force gone, and we’ve still not reached the open land. Moreover, we still have to get through this water-fucked valley. You’ve been through here before with Egbert, how deep is this hollow?’

  ‘It dips steeply down,’ said Wlensling. ‘We’ll have to swim if we’re to get across.’

  ‘This campaign seems cursed,’ rumbled Osric, ‘If we attempt to swim, then we’ll be easy targets for the British arrows. Most of the men, me included, can’t swim anyway.’

  ‘Then I suggest we allow the ponies to swim, and the men attempt to climb round the steep valley sides. At least there is some cover there.’

  Osric sighed and nodded in resignation. ‘We’ve little choice, other than go back and find a different route. But that would put many days on our journey.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Darga had been the first to see the men approach. His confidence had grown as the track had quickly flooded. Now he felt secure behind the water, just as centuries later other men would feel safe behind the protection of a moat.

  When Osric, Wlensling and Egbert appeared below them, Murdoc’s face turned ashen, and his voice quavered with suppressed rage. ‘It’s Egbert, damn him, he survived after all.’

  Darga immediately fumbled for an arrow and shakily notched it to his bow. He was about to pull back when Dominic clamped his arm in restraint. ‘No not yet, I’ve told you we don’t release at solitary targets, the distance is too great to hit them individually from here. Wait until the main body joins them. We’ve more chance if we let fly skyward at a big group.’

  They waited until the raiders had bunched in numbers at the water’s edge. At Dominic’s order, they sent two salvo’s into the scattering men.

  ‘They also have archers!’ shouted Murdoc. ‘Retreat along the track and out of their range!’

  As they turned and ran, Murdoc thought Joseph had stumbled, so turned to help him to his feet. Joseph, kneeling, held out his hand for assistance, his face drawn and pale, but fell to the ground just as Murdoc reached him. An arrow had pierced him below his shoulder blade.


  Augustus was at the scene at once, and hefted James like a side of beef over his shoulder, running with him beyond the range of the arrows, which landed randomly to stick into the track behind them.

  Dominic examined the wound and shot a grave look at the surrounding men. ‘The arrow must come out,’ he said to James. ‘You can’t travel with it sticking out of you; every twist and catch will put you in agony if we leave it in. How they hit you, I don’t know—they’re not archers, that’s for sure.’

  James lay on his stomach but turned his head to see Dominic. ‘Do it then,’ he whispered. ‘If it must be done, get rid of it.’ Dominic grimaced as he closed his hand around the arrow and tugged it free.

  James gasped as the arrow left him. Dark blood pulsated from the wound. Augustus immediately took hold of him, then turned him over to cradle him in his great arms.

  ‘I’ll have you tied to a pony in no time like a sack of flour, said Augustus. Here we—’

  James shook his head, stopping Augustus, and looked into his concerned face, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’m too wounded for that, you must leave me here to rest … I just need to rest.’ He closed his eyes and Augustus gently stroked his brow. After a while, his eyes flickered open as clarity briefly returned to him. ‘I’ll not be able to avenge my son now,’ he whispered.

  Augustus laughed dismissively, but his tone was desperate. ‘Of course you will. Of course, you’ll be able to avenge him. It’s merely a pinprick man. You, yourself, will take care of the shits that killed your lad. Don’t doubt that.’

  James didn’t respond and Augustus thought him gone, but again he revived and managed a weak response. ‘Promise me, my old friend … promise me … you’ll—’

  As Joseph’s last breath left him, Augustus’ face twisted in grief. ‘Of course I’ll finish what you intended to do,’ he said, as his tears now flowed freely, ‘…but you may yet do it yourself. Don’t sleep now lad, there’s too much to do … stay awake for me please.’