Part of me agreed − why not inflict pain and suffering in measure for what we had suffered? Yet, another part of me knew that was not right.
“These villagers did not burn the Villa or Wicstun or kill any of us,” I pointed out. “It’s Samlen we want and he is not here.”
Sigmund looked at me like I was sticking my opinion in where it was not wanted, lord’s son or not, and argued that we needed a base to operate from. By now, however, I was not listening, because I had just noticed something. Something that made my blood boil.
Standing in the centre of the village were two men. They appeared to be haggling over a barter. The goods concerned were food and a shield: a Welsh shield with a Christian symbol on it. Well, there would be many such shields around − one looking much like another − but the man who was holding the shield did not look just like any other. He looked like and was, without a doubt, Aedann: Aedann the slave, Aedann the traitor who had sold his countrymen with news of the amber treasure and as a result had caused the death of Cuthwine and many others.
There, in front of me, was my father’s Welsh slave, bartering for food like none of that had happened, like he did not care. Like none of it mattered. But, it mattered to me and I drew my knife and started running towards the village with one thing on my mind: I would kill Aedann.
“Cerdic, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” hissed Wallace, “Get back here now!”
The voice was full of authority, but I ignored it and carried on running. No one in the village had seen me at first. I was only fifty yards from Aedann and now I swerved, so I would be able to pass between two huts. Suddenly, my legs were swept from under me and I fell, full length, knocking my chin hard against the ground, so that I bit my lip and tasted blood.
Head spinning like it did if I’d had too much ale, I felt someone pick me up, so I struggled and hissed at them to let me go, but then I received an agonizing punch to the belly which doubled me over. I was heaved up onto this someone’s shoulder and carried away. I heard a high-pitched scream. Was that me, I wondered? Then I passed out.
When I came round, I was back in the copse and Sigmund was leaning over me. I groaned and spat out blood. I looked up at them both. They returned the glance with disgust.
“What were you doing boy, trying to give us all away?” Sigmund asked nastily.
“What made you go running off like that?” Wallace added.
I dragged myself up onto my knees and coughed, spitting up some more blood.
“Aedann, it was Aedann.”
“Your escaped slave − the one you think told Samlen about the jewellery?” Wallace asked.
I nodded and looked back at the village. One of the women by the well was pointing at the gap between the houses where I had been knocked down by Sigmund. Two men had armed themselves with short spears and were peering through the gap. They glanced at the copse, but did not seem to have seen us. A few of the villagers had started running around in panic, looking this way and that. We could see Aedann, still in plain sight, completing his trade and taking a sack of food off the villager then, heaving it over his shoulder he walked out of the village and away from us towards the Roman fort and Samlen. As he left, I was certain that he glanced towards our hiding place.
Wallace insisted we stay in the copse for two full hours and then, as it started to get dark, we scampered back down by the river and so found the company in the wood.
“My Lord, we were worried about you and were about to come and look for you,” Grettir said.
Wallace glanced at me before replying.
“We were seen and had to lie low for a while for the fuss to die down,” he said.
“Seen? But my Lord if you were seen, Samlen might know we are coming,” Grettir pointed out.
I thought about Aedann glancing towards us and the villagers running around in panic. Feeling very foolish, I looked at Sigmund who was watching me to see what I would say. I might as well come clean and confess, I thought.
“It was my fault; I saw Aedann and went to confront him. I was not thinking straight.”
There was silence as everyone in the company stared at me. Even Eduard and Cuthbert gave me a strange look.
“I’m sorry. I know this is not just about my own revenge, but the sight of him just ...” I shrugged.
I could not look at them and sat down on a log feeling miserable.
Wallace told the company that because of the time lost, we would now camp in the wood, post plenty of sentries and carry on at first light.
Eduard and Cuthbert came over to me, but seemed unable to say anything and I ignored them. I then felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Sigmund.
“Well lad, you sure buggered up today. But I will say one thing for you. It took guts to come out and admit that just now. Don’t make things any easier today, of course, but folk mostly feel better about a man who will admit a mistake,” he said.
“We’ll see. I hope that Samlen doesn’t know about us yet and we can carry on in the morning, without trouble.”
Sigmund shrugged.
“We can hope,” he said, but his tone was doubtful.
Hope. It drives men forward and keeps them struggling on, whatever the odds: whatever the difficulty. But the gods don’t deal in hope. They mostly deal with fate − what destiny has in store for a man. But Loki, the trickster God Loki: he deals in mischief and that night he was abroad mixing up his mischief. The winds carried his laughter far and made sure that news of our passing reached the ears of the one man we hoped would not hear. Perhaps Aedann was his agent or maybe it was one of the villagers − it makes no difference, really.
Whoever was the messenger, it seems Samlen heard about us and − sharing Loki’s laughter − he sent his men out to look for us and now, only a few miles away, they were waiting for the chance to pounce upon us.
The Amber Treasure Page 11
