It was the first favour that Joseph had ever denied any soul. He died cradled by his life-long friend. Augustus hugged his body, his hefty frame shaking with sobs. ‘Such a gentle man,’ he said through choking tears. He looked up to the others his eyes desperate and questioning. ‘He passed from life to death so quickly, how can that be,’ he asked.
The other men stood with heads bowed, some weeping, others numb. None of them had an answer to Augustus’ sad question. After a while, Samuel went to him, and bade him place James to the ground.
As Augustus wearily stood, Dominic spoke softly into his ear. ‘I’m sorry but we don’t have time to bury him. They’ll be upon us soon, if we stay much longer. We’ll hide his body quickly and return for him if we get through this. That’s my pledge to you.’
Murdoc came to them, as William and John gently lifted James’ body and concealed it at the side of the track. ‘They’ve started to cross the water,’ he said quietly. ‘All the men have climbed onto the banking. We’ve no fear from their archers for now.’
Dominic readied his bow at once. ‘Come!’ he shouted. ‘This is why we flooded this valley. Now’s the time to act.’
As they reached the rise, they saw the raiders struggling to cross towards them. The dismounted men had climbed onto the precipitous valley sides and were carefully threading their way along from tree to tree. Attached by ropes to their ponies, adding to the difficulty of the traverse, the men coerced the skittish beasts along the deep pool. Some of the ponies attempted to haul themselves onto the steep banking, but their efforts proved futile and they slid back into the water, adding to the confusion and entanglement. Two men fell into the pool with them and floundered in the swirling murk, before taking mouthfuls of water and sinking into the deeps.
‘Let them have it for James,’ said Dominic coldly. ‘Send them to their Gods.’
Darga’s bravado had departed him with the death of James. His voice quavered with suppressed fear as he looked towards the flooding. ‘Would it not be better to go? We’ve delayed them enough surely—they can’t be more then fifty paces away. We need to be further ahead than this.’
‘No, we press our advantage!’ snarled Augustus as he stood, bowstring stretched to his nose as he took aim. ‘Fuck off, if you’ve no stomach for the fight!’
Darga stayed at the rear of the group and reluctantly wielded his bow.
They began their attack with varying success. Dominic as the seasoned hunter quickly hit three men, who fell into the water to join the two who already lay on the bottom of the pool. Murdoc and William also had a kill each, before the Saxons halted and seeked cover behind the trees that precariously grew from the steep banking. Many of the ponies, now unfettered, returned to the far banking where they whinnied and shook their heads waiting for their masters to return.
‘I saw Egbert again,’ shouted Murdoc, ‘but he hung back with his leader, out of direct range, then hid as soon as the arrows started to fly.’
‘It’s no accident he’s survived so long,’ said Dominic, as he sighted his bow around the trees looking for him. After a while, he looked towards the sun as it dipped below the tree line. ‘Night’s not far off, and we’ve killed all we can for now. They’ll not expose themselves to further attack while we stand here. They’re also waiting for darkness. We need to use the remaining light to put distance between us, then we can make ready to meet them again in the morning. We also have a further job to do before it gets dark’
‘It looks like Darga’s already gone,’ said Augustus. ‘His pony’s missing and so is he.’
Dominic looked up the track and silently cursed. ‘We’re better of without the useless bastard. Let’s get away from here, quickly.’
After an hour riding up the trail, Dominic stopped. ‘The road here splits, and we must draw them into the forest on the leftward track. If we hide the other fork—the one that leads to the village—they should take the open route into the deeper forest. We’ve just enough light left to get it done.’’
‘But surely they’ll remember the way they came last time,’ said Augustus.
Dominic looked thoughtful. ‘The forest can be confusing,’ he said. ‘Even I sometimes become baffled if I tread an occasional route. No, their eyes should naturally follow the open pathway. Don’t forget, we killed their best two trackers.’
‘It’s just as well we did,’ said Murdoc. ‘See how that rushing fool Darga’s left his pony’s hoof prints churned into the ground. He may as well have left them a sign saying this way to the slaughterhouse!’’
‘Don’t worry; our prints will overlay them before we leave,’ reassured Augustus, ‘Come—William, John, Sam—we need to find brushwood to hide the opening.’
Some of the men set to work to gather dead branches, whilst some cut down shrubs. When they had gathered enough material, Dominic skilfully laid it across the fork in the track so that the old dead vegetation was behind the newly cut shrubs. These, he dug into the ground as if they had always grown there. Leaf litter was scattered around the base of the plantings.
Augustus admired Dominic’s handiwork. ‘If we ever get out of this alive you can plant a nice garden for my wife,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope it fools them then,’ said Dominic, ‘I’ll gladly create a garden for the entire village and work only for board and lodgings if this works.’
They moved back two hundred paces while William and John brushed all signs of their activity from the track. After they had completed the task, they rode over the area and down the trail, as if they had ridden through once only.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Osric had watched and waited when Dominic and the others had ridden from the rise overlooking the pool. With only twenty-five men left, he was still confident his depleted force could take the first village, which, Egbert had informed him, was only a day’s ride away.
Nightfall was almost upon them before they had the confidence to move from their precarious defence position, to the spot where the Britons had stood hours earlier. Godrys, the youth who had first reported the flooding of the hollow, approached Osric. ‘Are we to ride through the night,’ he asked.
Osric shook his head. ‘No, that would be madness. We’ve been ambushed twice in broad daylight, who knows what they have planned for us in the dark. No, we travel at daybreak. Egbert! Wlensling! Post guards around our position!’
Next day they came to the point where the trail divided. Given the task of riding a hundred paces behind the group, Godrys travelled with a gnarled, world-weary, warrior named Bryni. Their job was to guard against attack from behind. Both men sat high on their ponies looking over the top of the brush on either side of the trail, alert for any movement within the shadow of the tree cover.
The main group, led now by Egbert and Wlensling, passed the point where Dominic had disguised and hidden the track to the village. Happy to follow what they perceived to be the one and only route, they followed the track the Britons had desired them to take.
It was Godrys, riding behind and peering over the top of the fringe of shrubbery, who spotted the disturbed vegetation. He rode at a gallop to reach the main body of riders. ‘Osric, halt the group!’ he shouted. ‘We have found another hidden track back up the trail.’
The men stopped and rode back to Bryni, who was dismantling the disguise. Egbert dismounted and walked beyond the entanglement to the open trail beyond. ‘I see what they’ve done here,’ he said as he turned to Wlensling for confirmation. ‘Is this not the route we travelled upon before?’
‘Yes, said Wlensling, ‘they attempted to mislead us, and nearly succeeded.’
‘Little wonder we were fooled,’ said Egbert, ‘the woods all look the same to me.’
Osric clapped Godrys on the shoulder. ‘Well done lad, you saved us a needless journey.’ He looked up the trail where Dominic’s party had gone. ‘Still we can’t chance another ambush.’ He pondered a while; his lips pursed, and then turned again to Godrys. ‘We need to keep an eye on them; t
hey’re probably the main threat to us. Take Bryni again, and two others. Find them and watch them. If they turn to follow us, as I’m sure they will, send a rider at speed back to me at once. Engage them only if it’s safe to do so. I cannot afford to lose any more men.’
Godrys mounted his pony along with Bryni and two other men. It was easy for them to follow the Britons’ trail, and after they had ridden at a good pace for an hour, Bryni, who was at the front of the group, halted and raised his arm for the others to stop. The land climbed and opened out, treeless, before them, so that a false, flat horizon slashed across their field of view two hundred paces away. Stood on the horizon were six figures that looked at them silently before retreating behind the rise, and out of view.
‘Careful,’ said Godrys. ‘We know what they’re capable of. We fight only if we have the advantage. The longer we delay them now the more time Osric will have to take the first village.’ Godrys knew that a successful strategy now would boost his standing in the group. He too could be a Gedriht like Egbert and Wlensling, and gain more gold and women. Surely, it would not hurt to ride over the rise and seek out the Britons.
Dominic and the others had climbed into a deep furrow—the result of river erosion over many years. A clay wall, twice the height of a man, towered behind them, giving them total protection from the rear. Pockmarked by neat round holes, the wall was home to a colony of martins that flew and wittered tetchily around their heads. It was a spot picked out specifically by Dominic when he had sat planning strategy with Withred during the long winter. It was also the limit of his previous wanderings. The woods beyond were unknown to him.
‘Four outriders, I counted,’ said Samuel. ‘The rest should follow soon.’
‘They’ve seen us, so ready your bows and aim at the rise, said Dominic. ‘If they show themselves, don’t hesitate.’
They had not long to wait. Godrys, unaware of the deep furrow, believed the Britons had fled through open country, so stood on the edge of the gully, totally exposing him and the others to attack.
They took six arrows from short range. Three of the men fell wounded into the gully where Augustus and his brothers quickly dispatched them with merciless ax blows.
Godrys had survived. An arrow had entered his left side—a flesh wound only—but had caused him to stumble backwards. He was quickly on his pony and turned to gallop back towards Osric’s men.
In the furrow, the men quickly readied their bows for the next wave of anticipated attack. Murdoc climbed the slope and peered cautiously over, intent to give early warning.
Three hours passed as they waited for the main body to arrive. Dominic, his patience strained, climbed the clay banking and stood on the top edge beside Murdoc looking down the trail. ‘Damn my fucking eyes!’ he bellowed. ‘Prepare to ride. They’re not coming. How did I let this happen?’
The men quickly mounted, then rode frantically back down the track.
After Darga had deserted his companions, he had galloped wildly away until his pony reached the point of collapse. Darkness approached and Darga spent the night just beyond the fork in the track. He had not gone far the next morning when his pony stumbled into a rutted hollow in the dried mud. It went down, throwing Darga. His head struck the ground and blackness came to him.
After a while his consciousness returned, and he realised he was now on foot; his pony had broken a foreleg. Stumbling to his feet, he began to run, frequently looking behind him as he did so. Unable to continue at pace, he slowed to a walk. He paused to get his breath but could hear nothing but his own pounding heart. Gasping, he continued slowly to the hazel coppice where the trees displayed tattered strips of coloured cloth. Here, the undergrowth was thin—the cover sparse. He began to run again to reach the swathe of thicker forest cover three hundred paces ahead.
He whimpered as he heard the riders on the trail behind him. Lurching wildly towards the distant tree line, he had only covered half the distance before they were upon him.
Wlensling was the first to meet him, riding his pony into his back, and sending him sprawling onto the ground. The other riders quickly surrounded him as Egbert and Osric dismounted.
Egbert withdrew his knife and pulled Darga’s head back by his hair making ready to cut his throat. ‘Ambush us would you?’ he growled. ‘Dig pits to ensnare us, eh? My only regret is that I don’t have enough time to kill you slowly, you British fuck.’
‘Stay your hand!’ Osric stopped Egbert in his tracks. ‘We need to find out what this man knows. Guthren, you speak some of their tongue. Get over here now!’ A thickset man with a straggly moustache joined them. Osric gave him his instructions. ‘Get from him what you can.’
‘Where do you ride to Briton?’ asked Guthren.
‘Back to my village, I had nothing to do—’
Guthren slapped Darga. ‘We saw you, so don’t lie.’
‘They made me do it,’ sniveled Darga, ‘I’ll tell you anything you need to know. I’ll lead you to my village.’
‘How many armed men await us there?’
‘Few—and most of them are useless. The better fighters you’ve already met.’
‘Apart from the cowardly bastard who fled at the first fight,’ sneered Guthren. ‘Tell me—is Withred at the village?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Darga, eager now to please, and hopeful now that he could be of use to the Saxons. Maybe he would ride with them on future raids. Surely, the fighting would be easier against undefended folk. It would get him out of his miserable life in the fields. ‘It’s he and Dominic who trained the village for combat,’ he added.
‘This Dominic, is it he who wears the wolf head?’
‘Yes it’s he.’
Guthren told Osric and the others.
‘Dominic is his name then,’ said Egbert. ‘Dominic the wolf-man. His wolf head and his man’s head will part his body before this campaign is over.’
‘It seems we’ve little to fear in the village, then, apart from Withred,’ said Osric. ‘We should be heedful, though, of some resistance. Ask him—’
Wlensling interrupted. ‘Godrys approaches at speed!’
Godrys arrived, exhausted, and wearily dismounted. He told of events back down the trail.
‘Three more men dead,’ said Wlensling. ‘We number just thirty-three now if my count is correct. That’s too many losses at this stage.’
‘Yet we still have enough men to get this task done with and return with slaves,’ said Osric. ‘We can cut their number by one now. Kill this coward, Guthren. He is no use to us. We know our way from here without him.’
Darga, aware from Osric’s tone and gesture of what was about to happen, implored Guthren who had raised his ax. ‘No don’t slay me! I can lead Withred and the others away from their defences in the village and make it easy for you to kill them.’
Guthren hesitated and told Osric of Darga’s offer. Osric pondered but shook his head.
‘No!’ screamed Darga. ‘I’ll kill them myself, I’ll—’ Guthren’s ax fell, shattering Darga’s skull. Egbert stepped in shoving Guthren aside, grunting as he added five more ax blows to Darga’s head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
An air of tension had infused the village after Dominic’s party had left. Withred and Brinley took charge of the few men that remained. As Withred cast a grim eye over his nervous but resole men, he knew they were all that stood between the women and children, and the devastating wave of destruction that threatened to engulf them.
Posted as a look out on the far boundary of the village, Tomas had instructions to blow one long blast on the ox horn he carried, should he spot the raiding party.
The warning blast would signal for the women and small children to hide in a boarded pit located under a storage hut on the edge of the village. Simon, it was agreed, would muster and lead them into the hideaway, armed with an ax.
The others would combat the Saxons on the village boundary. Withred had discussed strategy with the men repeatedly, until satisfied they could
at least put up a creditable fight and move quickly into position upon hearing the horn. He anticipated the raiders would be fewer after their contact with Dominic’s group. At least this would give them a fighting chance.
Tomas took up his position on an elevated banking overlooking the eastern track, as he had done every day since Dominic’s party had left. He had kept to the task diligently from dawn until dusk. Below him were the two main defensive positions set up by Withred. Sometimes he alleviated the monotony of watch duty by practicing his archery skills on the straw deer brought from Dominic’s camp—the figure now even more bedraggled than before. The afternoon was still and overcast as he took aim at the dummy, and he was pleased to see his arrow hit the kill zone just below its shoulder.
A clapping came from behind him. He turned to see a smiling Simon. ‘Well done lad, maybe it’s the wolf hat that steadies your head and improves your aim.’
Tomas smiled and self-consciously adjusted his hat. ‘It’s through practice Simon, and more practice, just as Dominic told me to do.’ He eyed the bundle that Simon carried.
Simon laughed and sat down on the grassy mound. ‘Hungry as usual I see. There’s bread and cheese and nice red apples for us here.’
‘I didn’t think I could be so hungry sitting around here all day,’ said Tomas as he joined Simon on the mound. ‘Martha said I’ve grown nearly as tall as—’
A familiar rumbling caused Simon to drop the hunk of bread he had unwrapped. Tomas who was quickly upon his feet, stared up the track, needing to be sure who approached before sounding the horn.
Simon stood beside him. ‘I need to get back,’ he said, as he made to leave. ‘If this is who we fear I’ll need to get the women and children into the hiding place.’
The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 20