by K T Findlay
‘That’s what I’ve been wondering all along!’ muttered Wulfstan in his ear.
Rowena spoke up. ‘I don’t believe you think it is a death ride. From the beginning you’ve said that you expect to win. I’ve never seen you tell a lie to anyone since I met you, and I don’t believe you were lying about that either.’
Berthilda nodded her agreement.
The twins stayed mute, looking from face to face.
Sherelda, humming to herself once more, reached for another pork chop, and began to eat. She caught the Prince’s eye and smiled softly at him.
‘And what do you think Sherelda?’ he asked.
She swallowed, and said ‘I think we’ll win. I think we’ll win because you’re going to change the game. You changed the game as soon as you arrived at the manor. You changed the way the decisions were made, and Cuthbert was gone. You changed the game with Rowena and Berthilda in this very hall, breaking all the rules, and you got away with it. I don’t think you’ll let us fight with swords the way we tried to today. You’re planning something different.’ She cocked her head on one side, looked carefully at him, and took another bite of pork.
Thomas laughed. ‘Two things Sherelda. First of all, you are absolutely right. I am going to change the game, and we’re not going to even try to fight like that. But we’re going to practise as if we were, so Grimketil will continue to be smug. Secondly, you used the words “we’ll win”, not “you’ll win”. Does that mean you want to be one of my warrior women?’
Sherelda looked down shyly. ‘I never thought I could be. Not until this afternoon with the bow. But I’d like to.’ she looked up, anxiety flitting across her face again as she glanced around the table. ‘If you’ll all have me.’ Then quickly she dropped her gaze to the floor again.
‘After what you did today?!?’ cried Rowena. ‘How could you not be one of us?’ Then startled, she clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh! Forgive me Your Highness! I didn’t mean to speak out of turn!’
Thomas laughed again. ‘No need to apologise. I know I want her. It’s even better if you all do too. Are we agreed?’
There were nods all around the table.
Thomas stood up, raised his goblet and said ‘A toast then, to the first five.’
When the chatter and laughing subsided, he held up his hand for calm. ‘Now, let me tell you how we are going to win this fight.’
As they talked, Wulfstan floated around, keeping one ear on the conversation, a nose on the lovely smells of dinner, looking at everything, but always, always, his gaze was drawn back to Sherelda.
That slight golden glow was back again. A little stronger than before. What was it that it reminded him of?
11 When all at once
At breakfast the next day, Thomas wanted to get to know Sherelda and the twins a bit better.
‘We got caught down in Kent about a year ago.’ said Deena.
‘It was a Mercian war band.’ added Deana reproachfully.
‘Sorry about that.’ said Thomas truthfully. ‘I can honestly say it was nothing to do with me.’
The twins looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before Deena continued. ‘We were sold directly to the manor where you bought us. They found out we were skilled weavers, which is how we earned our living before.’
Deana laughed. ‘But we made sure they had to work for what we made. We pretended that one of us was great and the other rubbish, but constantly swapped around so they couldn’t tell who was who. We learned to steal food because we never got enough to eat ourselves.’
‘So you were free before the war band came?’ asked Rowena.
‘Oh yes. We worked with our parents. They’d gone to the market when the war band arrived, so it was just us that got caught. About half the men in the village were killed because they fought back. Only a few of the women managed to get away. We saw them looking out at us from the edge of the woods as we were marched off.’
‘A nasty business.’ said Thomas. ‘I hate slavery. I really, really hate it. I’d set you free right now if I could, but I can’t. The best I can do is to promise you freedom when we win.’
The twins nodded.
‘That’s a lot better than where we were!’ said Deana.
‘So how about you Sherelda?’ asked Berthilda.
Sherelda looked sad. ‘My father sold me a year ago.’
‘Could he not afford to keep you?’ asked Rowena.
‘Oh yes.’ said Sherelda. ‘But he said girls were a waste of food and he no longer wanted to keep me, so he sold me to a trader, who sold me to Cuthbert.’
Thomas reeled in shock. He hadn’t considered the possibility of someone being sold into slavery by their family, except where famine or poverty forced them to do it. For a father to do it on a whim staggered him.
‘You’re joking?!’ he said softly.
She sadly shook her head.
‘He even tossed the coins from one hand to the other and grinned as the slaver walked me away.’ She burst into tears. ‘Then Cuthbert bought me, and life became unbearable. I really don’t want to talk about it. I even hate my own name because it reminds me of my father.’
Thomas replied instantly. ‘Well that’s at least one thing I can fix. You can have any name you want.’
‘What do you want it to be Your Highness?’ she asked through her tears.
‘That wasn’t what I said.’ he replied, his voice soft and gentle. ‘I said you could have any name that you want, meaning that you can choose it yourself. A free woman, with a free choice about what she wants to be called.’
She stared at him. ‘Really? Any name I want?’
‘Anything at all.’
She thought for a moment, then a happy expression came over her face. ‘I’d like to be called Melody.’
Rowena laughed. ‘That’s appropriate, the way you hum and sing all the time!’
Thomas joined in the laughter, grinning happily. “Right. Melody it is! New family, new name.’
He clapped his hands. ‘Normally something like that requires a toast, but we’ll do that at dinner. For now, I’d like you five to go and check out the horses, while I go and talk to the head of the guards about releasing Kelsey to me.’
In the guard house, the man had shaken his head and said he couldn’t do it because it directly countered the King’s instructions. However, Thomas persisted, and eventually won the argument by saying that Kelsey was vital to his bet with the King, and so came under the heading of essential equipment, which of course Offa had guaranteed. Equally of course, Thomas was the personal owner of the head which had been the cause of all the trouble, and he clearly wasn’t holding a grudge!
Kelsey was overjoyed to be free from the boredom, and to be so visibly rehabilitated by the Prince.
Thomas was well pleased too, not just because of Kelsey’s training skills, but also because having a big, strong, well trained warrior around was always helpful when difficult discussions were to be had! That was doubly important, as first thing this morning he’d heard rumours of a war band on the loose not far from the manor, and he’d made the decision to send his four male riders back to protect it.
At the palace, he set the women and Kelsey to work out a training regime for sword play. He only set down a few conditions.
1. The women were to learn the tactics of using an Anglo Saxon sword, and shield together. This was not to become expert themselves, but so they could learn what their opponent was up to, and likely to do next during combat.
2. They needed to learn how to deal with people fighting with hand axes and spears, as they were far more common than swords. There was a special need to learn how to deal with spear and shield, the most common combination of them all.
3. The programme was to build up their strength, especially their arms, but at the same time to enhance their speed.
4. They were to do this kind of training in public, for one very clear purpose. He wanted word to get back to Grimketil about how poor they looked, to keep th
e man confident and relaxed. If Thomas had been working with men, they would never have agreed to the consequent loss of face. The women could take the long view, and as slaves they were used to being scorned. Payback would be all the sweeter when it came.
As for himself, he sat down to really plan the weapons choice he believed would let them win the contest.
Wulfstan had the most important task of all. The first of the slavers were approaching the town, and Wulfstan’s job was to seek out any possible candidates before they reached the marketplace, so Thomas could check them out before anyone else.
He drifted straight up above the palace, gently rising higher and higher, scanning 360 degrees as he went. At about five hundred feet he spotted the first of the slave groups bumbling their way towards Tamworth, currently about a mile away to the west. There was another group two miles behind them, and a third a mile beyond that. He swooped over to scout things out.
It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny with a light breeze, which was completely lost on the slaves in the first group. Misery and resignation showed on their faces as they walked along in their bonds. The slavers didn’t need to do anything other than walk alongside. The slaves couldn’t get away, and there was no point in hitting them for fun, as bruises would only mark the price down in the marketplace.
Wulfstan watched the slavers themselves. The leader appeared emotionally detached, just a businessman with cattle for the market. Money was what interested him, and the shuffling mass behind him was simply today’s method of getting it.
A couple of his armed assistants were less detached, their grins and nasty comments revealing humanity’s dark underbelly, the part that delights in the suffering of others. They clearly enjoyed what they were doing, getting both amusement and satisfaction from the misery they were inflicting.
For the most part, the slaves made no response to the verbal abuse. What was the point? They couldn’t do anything to stop it, and to retaliate would only result in the abuse turning physical. So they walked on in silence, the dust clouding around their shoes.
Wulfstan took his time, carefully scanning the faces and body language of each and every one for that spark that might indicate the right spirit. Nothing.
He flew on down the road, skipping past the all male second group to the third. He wasn’t very hopeful after the first two groups, so he was paying more attention to the wind shifts as he changed his altitude. This aspect of the air still fascinated him intensely, and Thomas’s likening them to the currents in a river to explain what was happening, only partly assuaged his curiosity.
He was so intensely focused on the interplay between a higher and lower layer, trying to find and ride the exact boundary, that he almost missed the excitement breaking out beneath him.
Roughly in the middle of the column was a group of five women. There was nothing to mark them out from their fellows, at least not at first glance. But to someone really looking, there was an alertness that should have warned the slavers that something was up.
They all wore the same kinds of wooden stocks, two long pieces of wood joined by a hinge behind the neck, then a large hole that clamped around the throat, followed by a smaller hole that held the left wrist and another ahead of that for the right. At the far end, out of reach for the hands, was a simple clasp to hold the whole thing locked together.
A rope linked the back of each slave’s stock to the front of the stock of the person behind them so the slaves were effectively shackled in strings of five. The stocks alone made it almost impossible for the slaves to escape, and even if one did, she couldn’t even feed herself. Being roped together meant they couldn’t run either, as they’d jerk each other around and would almost certainly fall within a few strides.
As they came level with a path that crossed from one side of the road to the other, the women made their move. Without a word, the one in front jerked her hands and the stocks flew apart. Within a second the other four had done the same, and all five were bolting down the path to the right, wordlessly fleeing into the forest.
The speed and silence of the break caught the slavers completely by surprise, and the women were a good fifty feet down the path before the one closest to them raised the alarm.
The guard kept his position and flung his axe about, screaming at the remaining slaves to sit down where they were. Cowed, they immediately tumbled to the ground, the slavers angrily waving their spears and axes around them.
Only two of the slavers were mounted, and these shot off down the path in hot pursuit, the grin of the chase etched on their faces. It would be a short run. There was no way a woman could outrun a horse. The only question was whether to recapture or kill them.
Wulfstan swooped down to get a closer look, but had to stay at tree top height to keep his ribbon from winding through the branches.
The tight and twisting nature of the trail allowed the women to increase their lead before they got to a bend in the track where a low branch came down to shoulder height. Their leader raised her hand, and they skittered to a halt.
‘Here! Pull this branch back around the corner so they can’t see it.’ she said in an urgent yet quiet voice.
Their feet scrabbled for grip in the dirt, and their whole bodies strained to keep it pulled back as far as possible.
Wulfstan floated down through the branches to get a closer look.
The leading woman picked up a stone that she could hold in her right hand, which she held behind her. ‘I’ll go out as a dummy. Don’t let go until you’re certain you’ll hit him!’
She stepped out onto the path at the corner so she could just be seen.
The lead horseman cantered into view, ducking his head out of the way of the lower branches. He gave a cry of triumph as he saw her, and urged his horse forward.
The woman stood stock still as he approached, her face frozen in a mask of terror. Then suddenly she turned and ran.
Another glad cry echoed from the horseman as he focused on her disappearing skirt and flying hair, but it never completed. The released branch caught him completely unawares, knocking the wind out of him and sweeping him off his horse.
He hit the deck face down and travelling feet first. The pain from the branch was forgotten as the rocks and roots on the path tore at his lips and nostrils. He’d have screamed if he’d been able to breathe.
Finally he came to a halt, pain hitting him from all directions. By god, he’d make that girl pay when he caught her!!! It was a thought both clear, and powerful.
It was also his last.
The woman dropped her blood stained stone next to the head she’d just smashed with it. She paid the bleeding corpse no attention at all, and grabbed the man’s spear just in time to duck out of the view of the second mounted man as he came down the path in pursuit of his friend.
When he rounded the corner he saw one of the escapees falling to her knees next to his fallen friend as if to steal his purse. He howled with rage and raised his spear above his head as he rode towards her. He never saw the other woman’s spear thrusting up from his left.
It entered his side below the ribcage, but in an upwards manner, slicing through his lungs and other organs. He gasped, and blood bubbled and oozed out of his mouth. A snarl twisted his face as he brought his own spear around his body and into the woman who had struck him.
But she was no longer there. She’d ducked under his horse and out of reach.
Uncoordinated, and struggling to breathe, the man had lunged too far, and had to struggle to sit back upright on his horse. It was a wasted effort. The rock claimed its second victim, thrown straight into his face by the purse stealer.
He toppled backwards off his horse and onto the ground, dropping his spear as he went. Like his friend he too fell on his face. Fury took hold, and the adrenaline shooting through his veins allowed him to raise himself on his arms, but that was as far as he got before the purse stealer plunged his own spear into his back. He felt the blow, but there was no real pain as he slumped on
ce more to the ground. There was only the blood filling his lungs, even faster than before, stopping him from taking a proper breath. A horrible glubbing accompanied the bright red bubbles frothing from his gaping mouth.
A tenth of a lungful was all he managed to take. Dizziness began to take hold. In desperation he rolled onto his side, shifting his weight to snatch another tenth of a lungful.
In front of him, two other women were calming the horses. The one who’d stabbed him first, was watching back up the path in case of further pursuit, his own blood trickling over her right hand as she held the spear. The purse stealer and another woman were now searching the body of his friend, stripping it of anything they could use. One chuckled when she pulled out his purse, felt the satisfying weight, and heard the lovely jingle of coin.
The woman on watch turned to look at him. To his surprise there was no hatred on her face. In fact there was no emotion at all. She simply registered that he was still alive, turned and walked towards him, moving the spear into a two handed grip.
His vision blurred and began to fade. His chest heaved again and again, trying to get air into the fluid filled lungs. He barely felt the spear entering his chest, rupturing his heart. It made no real difference. Hypoxia took its last steps, and he drifted painlessly out of the world.
‘Finally!’ she muttered, as she pulled the blade free.
‘Quickly girls.’ she said, ‘Strip them of anything we can use. We’ll have to ride two on one horse and the three smallest of us on the other. I don’t know how far the poor beasts will be able to take us like that, but it will put more distance quicker between us and the slavers.’
Wulfstan had been staggered at the quiet efficiency of the operation. They had shown a sense of calm, and acted cleverly under the ultimate pressure. The two who’d used the spears, had arms and shoulders with a bit more muscle than the average female frame, but the other three looked normal enough. Well that was a puzzle that would have to wait. These five were going to be just perfect.