Werewolves of Wessex

by J Cameron Boyd

  Werewolves

  of

  Wessex

  Book I

  J Cameron Boyd

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  Copyright © 2017 J Cameron Boyd

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  Map 1066 England

  Chapter 1

  1065

  Lingering in pockets, the ground fog fought futilely against the heat of the rising sun. In its stead, the morning dew took a turn, covering the rolling fields in its cool condensation.

  The dampness made no difference to the sturdy hooves. They moved steadily onward with a slow, measured gait; moving horse and rider toward the slight rise on the other side of the open field. The tall, dozing rider slumped in the saddle, content to let the mare have her head. His head bobbed with each step, dark hair falling into his face. The man’s broad shoulders swayed with the horse’s motion, his long legs keeping him anchored in the saddle.

  The mare moved up and over the rise, gave a soft whinny and stopped.

  The rider stirred, opening one eye at a time. “What is it, girl?”

  A short snort was all he got.

  Blinking sleepily, William Cutworth gazed at the waking world before him. “We’re here.” He smiled and stroked the trusty mare’s neck. “You’re such a good girl. I really should have given you a fancier name than the Latin word for brown.” He urged the mare onward.

  Spread out before him and Brunneis, was the horse farm of Miles Piston. William knew the farm and Miles well for he had been coming here, once a year, for nine years to help purchase horses for Harold, the Earl of Wessex.

  ‘Nine years,’ William’s thoughts going back in time. ‘I had just turned ten.’ He recalled how unsettling that period of his life had been.

  When he was nine, he came to Harold, then the Earl of Anglia, not to be his charge or employee, but as property. He had been sold by his father for an undisclosed sum (paltry at best, William assumed). That was just before Harold’s father took ill and died.

  Being the heir of Godwine, the Earl of Wessex, Harold inherited his father’s title, lands, and keep. The very next spring, Harold moved his wife, Edyth, and the rest of his household to the larger keep. And though his new home was a greater distance from Miles Piston’s farm, the Earl retained the man. At the time, Miles, though still quite young, was considered to have the best eye for good horse flesh in all of England—a reputation that had grown stronger with every passing year.

  William always felt that he was given the privilege of special duties such as the horse buying treks because Edyth had taken a shine to him the very first day she laid eyes on him. And, as time passed, William came to look upon Harold and Edyth more as his parents than his employers. By the time he was twelve, William was a freeman and the stable manager’s apprentice. By fifteen, he was demonstrating an uncanny ability to work with animals. This was especially so when it came to horses. In the pubs, it was a standing joke that the boy could speak with them. They all knew that, in a gentle manner, William would have any horse doing his bidding within an hour after their first meeting.

  They respected him for that, but it was also looked upon with scorn. “A horse has to know who’s boss,” they would bellow after a few pints of ale. “The dumb brute will turn on you if you don’t let him know what happens if he steps out of line.” No matter that William’s methods were not accepted by all—They worked.

  As a part of his duties, every spring William would make the three-hour journey to the Piston farm to add more horses to the Earl’s expanding stables. This year there were to be six new horses.

  And now, as the Earl’s stable manager, William was making his first solo trip to Miles’ farm. It was a long day of traveling, but the quality of beast the horse breeder provided was worth the effort.

  William’s dark, blue eyes surveyed the farm stretching out before him, concern registering on his tanned, handsome face. The fields and paddocks, curiously, were empty of horses. But two men were standing on either side of Mile’s front door. Neither man was the horse breeder.

  They were tall, broad, and had the look of travel. But what chased all the sleep from the stable manager’s mind was how they stood. Their posture was disciplined.

  ‘Soldiers!’ The thought begged an explanation. ‘A raiding party from across the sea?’

  William turned Brunneis and urged her toward a stand of trees. As his feet hit the ground, he whispered, “Stay, my girl, and enjoy the grass behind these trees.”

  Taking the quiver from Brunneis’ saddle, William strung his bow and started down the hill.

  The King of Norway had been actively seeking a warmer climate to occupy for the past five years. And though King Edward’s army had kept him from an all-out assault, his raiding parties were troublesome. They were more than just forays to scout out where the country was the most vulnerable. The thugs plundered, enslaved, and killed every time they ventured onto the isle.

  William stayed out of sight the best he could, but when he reached the farmyard, there was nothing for it. Pulling an arrow from the quiver, he strode determinedly toward the front of the house.

  With his appearance, both raiders reached for their weapons. The men were well armed; one with a nasty looking mace, the other with a well-used battle ax. But, with his short sword and bow, so was William. And the young man could do more than train a horse. He was also employed as a soldier in the Earl’s household.

  William was a far better fighter than Harold’s own sons, so the arms training he received ensured that William could step in as one of Harold’s personal bodyguards if needed. William was more than capable of wielding many forms of weaponry, but he preferred the weapon of his heritage—a poor man’s bow.

  The two that had been guarding the house were rapidly advancing on him. William quickly nocked his arrow and let it loose. The arrow caught the first guard just above his body armor, severing both his windpipe and carotid artery.

  With the fall of the first, the other guard slowed and looked about for cover. Before he could find safety, Will’s second arrow took out an eye. The man’s ax split nothing more than dirt as it dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  Pulling his sword from his belt, William broke into a sprint. The two had been guarding the house. That meant they were holding prisoners or standing watch for someone within. William knew that Miles Piston’s wife was a beauty, and he feared the worst.

  William dropped his bow and hit the front door with everything he had. He crashed into the main room, saw three bodies and with a yell, smashed through the door to the Pistons’ private chamber.

  The man, naked from the waist down, scrambled for his sword as William hurtled into the room. The horseman never wavered. His momentum buried his sword to the hilt in the man’s chest.

  Only then did he look to the bed.

  Miles’ wife, Sarah, lay gasping on the bed. Angry, red marks showed on her upper body and face as Sarah futilely tried to cover herself with her ripped clothing. It was evident to William that she had fought the brute with everything she had.

  “Carden,” she moaned. “Carden tried to protect me.” Tears streamed from her wide eyes. “They cut him down without a thought. My boy,” she sobbed. “My brave, sweet boy.” Then, in a panic, Sarah clutched at William’s shirt. “The girls! Did you see my girls?”

  “I saw no sign of them. Where would they be?”

  “Miles hid them under the floorboards in front of the hearth.” She started toward the main room.

  “Sarah, I’ll get them.” Willi
am stopped her. “You get dressed.”

  William wiped his sword clean on the man’s leggings, then found the loose floorboards. The two, trembling girls shrank from him, clinging to each other.

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” William tried to reassure them. “It’s your dad’s friend, William. Remember me?”

  They cried out as William tried to reach for them, and would not come out until Sarah rushed into the room. She gathered the terrified girls into her arms. The three clung together until Sarah saw Carden’s body crumpled near the kitchen table. Burying the girls’ eyes in her skirts, she hurried them out into the yard before they could see their brother.

  “Sarah, are you okay?” William asked when they were all outside.

  “He did not …” Sarah’s voice faltered. She swallowed with difficulty. “You came in time to stop that.”

  William nodded. “What happened here? Do you know where Miles is?”

  “Miles was getting the herd together down at the river paddock. He saw the men coming and got back to the house, but there wasn’t time to get everyone out. There was only room for the two girls in the hide-hole.” For a moment, she could not go on.

  “Come,” William said. “Let’s get you and the girls into the woods.”

  As they started walking, Sarah was able to continue. “There were ten of them. They wanted to know where the rest of the horses were. Miles thought that if he showed them where the herd was, they would leave and not harm us. So, he went out with them.” She shook her head. “But only five of them went with him. Carden and I … Carden was amazing. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. They were laughing at us. I don’t think they expected a young boy to put up that kind of fight …” Her voice broke.

  They had reached the forest. William sent them far into the woods, then checking his weapons, he called for Brunneis. Hoping he was in time, they dashed toward the river.

  ***

  Brunneis was at a dead run when William neared the paddock. The two men watching the horses saw him approach. Leaping onto the two nearest horses, they raced toward the lone rider.

  William nocked an arrow and let it fly. The second arrow was in the air before the first man hit the ground.

  Miles and the other three were nowhere to be seen as William reached the paddock. What he did see was that the two he had shot had been stringing the horses together on a line for traveling.

  “Where are they?” William growled as he hopped off Brunneis’ back and pulled his sword.

  The horses in the paddock were snorting and milling about, but above the noise, the guttural scream of a struggling horse reached his ears.

  Chapter 2

  William sped in the direction of the horse’s cry. Slipping from tree to tree, he closed in on the location he thought the animal’s call for help had come from. Moving as silently as a ghost, he kept on the lookout for the three men he knew were somewhere in these woods. His hope—that on this day they had yet to kill.

  Then another sound reached his ears—the cracking of a whip. And with that, another scream of anger and fear from the horse. William tore toward the sound, his need for a silent approach driven from his mind by the gut-wrenching sounds.

  There was Miles! He was being held between two of the marauders. As far as William could tell, they were facing in the direction that the horse’s screams and the sound of the whip came from. Miles was being forced to watch the beating of one of his cherished animals!

  Again the scream came, in every way as defiant as a scream could get, yet filled with as much fear as anger.

  William forced himself to push aside thoughts for the horse. He had to focus on Miles. ‘He’s alive,’ he thought as he drew close to Miles and his captors. ‘Let’s keep him that way.’

  Moving stealthily toward the three men, William saw the man wielding the whip. He and the horse were down a slope about fifty feet away.

  Reaching his target undetected, William took out the marauder to Mile’s left with a sword thrust to the man’s kidney. His anger added force to the attack, burying the blade to its hilt. The man released his grip on Miles and fell, wrenching the sword from William’s hand.

  The man on Mile’s right was swinging his spear toward William when Miles, no longer held up by the brute on his left, collapsed against him. Miles landed on the shaft of the man’s spear, taking it to the ground.

  Seizing his knife, the raider took a wild swing at William. William backpedaled, dodging the moving blade as he searched desperately for something he could wield as a weapon. A hefty branch on the ground caught his eye. He dove for it, grabbing the limb as he rolled. Coming up on one knee, William swung the branch in front of him, blocking the blade slicing toward his throat.

  The blade stuck. William wrenched at the branch, pulling the knife from the raider’s hand. Swinging with enough force to drop a bull, William slammed the limb into the man’s temple. He hit the ground to move no more.

  William turned to the last marauder and horse. Miles’ magnificent black stallion was up to its belly in a bog; the marauder still plying the whip across the horse’s back and neck. The horse struggled to get free; the struggle only driving it deeper into the sucking mud.

  Feeling hot anger rush over him, William ran to where his sword lay buried in the body. He tried to yank it free, but the blade must have caught a rib and was jammed. William planted a foot on the raider’s back and, using two hands, pulled it free.

  He whirled back to where the horse was. The sound of the whip had stopped. The raider had spotted William. The man was nowhere to be seen.

  Sword in hand, William, crouching low, headed for cover. As he ran, an arrow whistled past his ear and thudded into the trunk of a tree.

  ‘Bow,’ he thought. ‘I need my bow.’ The bow was on Brunneis’ saddle. William sent a shrill whistle into the forest.

  The sound of hooves was his answer.

  Brunneis slid to a stop near William’s hiding place. William rushed to her, and as he untied the bow and quiver, another arrow struck Brunneis’ saddle.

  With a slap on her rump, William sent Brunneis off and darted in the direction the arrow had come from, working his way through the trees. He knew that the archer would probably be on the move so he still had to guess where the next arrow might come from. A movement caught his eye. William slipped behind a tree and waited. Again, he saw something. It was a bow. Then he saw the arm holding it. The man was moving to where William was hidden behind the tree.

  William dropped his bow and pulled the quiver off his back. Peeling his shirt over his head, William picked up the bow and quiver again. Throwing his shirt to the right side of the tree, William whirled to the left, arrow already set to fire. The raider loosed his arrow, and just after it passed through the empty shirt, William’s shaft found the man’s throat. The man struggled for a moment, then lay still.

  Hurrying back to Miles, William checked the man’s head. The gash was nasty, but William was sure Miles would recover. Leaving him, William went to the bog’s edge. The stallion was quiet at the moment, but as William approached, started struggling again.

  William talked softly to him as he cast about for a way to get the exhausted animal out of the death trap that was now pulling at its belly. Brunneis walked up behind William and gave him a nudge.

  “Hey, girl. Got any ideas on how to get this poor sod out of his predicament?” Having Brunneis near seemed to quiet the horse. “Even if I had a rope, I doubt you could get him out by yourself. He’s tired beyond being able to help.” William pondered for a moment. “Wait! They were tying horses to a long rope when we got here.” Then softly to the stallion. “It’s okay boy. We’re going to get you out of there.”

  Hopping onto Brunneis’ back, William asked for speed. “Come on, old girl. We need to save that young buck from an early grave.” The mare wove through the trees without once scrapping William’s leggings against them.

  At the paddock, William ran to the horses tied to the line. Moving through the
horses as quickly as he could, he cut them from the long line, and put all but a gray horse back into the enclosure.

  Gathering the rope, he led the horse back to Brunneis. “Sorry guy, but I’m going to need your help.”

  Mounting Brunneis, he turned her toward the river. Brunneis took off, dragging the gray with her.

  Chapter 3

  “Shush!”

  ‘Ah come on, Maud,’ she thought. All she had done was shift her leg that was cramping up.

  Maud stared at Claire, her eyes narrowed threateningly, waiting for her to apologize.

  Lit only by a half-moon and the distant stars, the night sky provided just enough light for Claire to see the annoyance etched in the face inches from hers.

  ‘There is no way,’ she though obstinately. ‘Her shushing was much louder than my wriggling.’

  Defiantly, Claire stared back at her older sister, waiting for her to give up and go back to the watch they had been keeping.

  They had crept away from the keep just after grandfather, who was always the last to retire, had gone to bed. Since then, they had been hiding in this brush pile for what seemed like hours. But when Claire looked at the guards’ fire, she noticed that it was still burning strong; proof that it had not been as long as she thought. But for fifteen-year-old Claire, who had never once ventured out into the night alone (being out with her sister did not count) it seemed like ages.

  Her body was cold and stiff, and she was cross with fatigue. The excitement ignited by the conversation they had overheard earlier this evening had long faded.

  As Maud gave in (Claire knew she would win) and with a nasty scowl, looked back into the valley, Claire cast about for something that would occupy her mind. All she noticed was that a mist was beginning to form. The promise of dampness adding to the night’s chill air solidified a decision that Claire had been toying with.