Concerned, Martha sat beside him. She was very fond of the old man. He had been a respected and popular figure in their village, but she was aware he had lived a long life and must be feeling his age. ‘It’s a good idea not pushing it too fast,’ she said. ‘I keep forgetting you’re a lot older than me.’
Simon looked at Martha and paused, then laughed for the first time for days. ‘You’ve a fair tongue on you, lass, I’ll give you that, but it’s uncertainty not my age that’s caused me to sit down here. I thought I knew this part of the forest but I’ve slept a good few nights since I last walked so far in.’ Pondering, he viewed the surrounding woodland, then looked at the stream. Having come to his decision, he slapped his knees and stood up. ‘Come on … we can do no worse than follow this brook,’ he said. ‘It has to lead to the track eventually.’
Their route beside the stream proved arduous and awkward. In some places, the vegetation was thick enough to force them to walk knee-high in the brown swirling water. By mid-afternoon, both had tired considerably and so sat down on a grassy bank by the streamside. They rested a while and drank from a clear brook that fed the main flow.
After their rest, they continued as best they could along the edge of the stream until they came to a natural clearing where the ground fell away. Here, the stream took a tumbling route down an incline before them. The break in the trees provided them with a panoramic view of the forest, and for the first time Martha was aware of its enormity. Away to her right—the route they had already travelled—she could see a defined edge to the line of trees where the cleared, arable land lay. She judged they were now three or four miles into the forest’s interior. The trees entirely covered the rest of the land before them.
Overwhelmed, she turned to Simon, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘How are we supposed to get through that? There’s no end to it.’
Simon pointed to a linear slash that ran through the trees. ‘That line … see it? It has to be the track we’ve been looking for. That tells me we’ve come the right way. That’s how we’ll get through the forest.’
They continued down the grassy hillside alongside the stream, grateful of the brief respite from the claustrophobic gloom of the forest. Suddenly, Martha clutched Simon’s forearm. Looking to her, he saw her staring into the distance. Following her gaze, he saw that the trees loomed near, forewarning them their easy walking was about to end. But something else had alarmed Martha. Through a rare gap in the trees, half a mile away, bright sunshine reflected off what could only be metal, and this meant only one thing: the helmets or chainmail of unknown men.
Simon was confident the group ahead could not see them, but signalled for Martha to kneel low to the ground. ‘It seems we’ve got company, even here. Looks like a group of riders to me. Surely they’re not after us.’ He considered it a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, they’re here for another reason. Probably looking for more land and more slaves.’
‘Then we need to get going,’ said Martha. ‘Our folk need to be warned so they can prepare.’
‘No haste today, though,’ said Simon. ‘We need to let whoever’s ahead put some miles between us; once we get into the trees again we can camp for the night.’
But the long night was spent absent of rest. Cold and hungry, they lay curled in a bank of hazel unable to sleep. The next morning found them tired and stiff as they continued into the deeper forest. Growing weaker, they tired quickly whilst still early into their trek; their progress becoming ever more hesitant and weary with each difficult mile.
It was just after mid-day when they found the apple tree. It was not the native crab apple, but a cultivated variety that owed its existence to a legionnaires long-discarded apple core. Its fruit were plump and ripening, and the tree swayed gently in the breeze as they approached it. It provided them with their first food for two days. They sought out a shaft of sunlight and sat in its warmth, eating their fill of the welcomed crop.
‘My belly’s going to burst with these but I’m not bothered,’ said Simon wiping apple juice from his chin. ‘I reckon the track’s near, and this apple tree’s an accident created by a hungry Roman. Maybe he left the track to relieve himself after eating his apple … looks like he then fertilised the ground.’
Martha laughed aloud at the thought of it—the first time she had laughed since the raid. The sound was a sweet melody to Simon’s ears and he could not help but laugh with her. Cathartic, their laughter verged upon hysteria as the tensions of the last two days seeped from their very pores.
After they had composed themselves, Simon scooped many of the wind-fallen apples into the bundle he carried. Martha smiled at Simon as he secured the bundle over his shoulders and was about to tell him what a fine pack pony he made, when the smile froze on her face.
Fifty yards away, pointing towards them, a man stood.
As Martha watched, she observed more men gathering beside him. She grabbed Simon by the hand and pulled him to his feet. ‘Run!’ she screamed. ‘They’ve seen us! Come on, we must get away!’
Simon was despondent as he watched the approaching men. He did not move. Despairingly, he said: ‘It’s no use … it’s too late. There’s nowhere to hide and we can’t outrun them. There’s nothing we can do now.’
Soon, a laughing and mocking rabble surrounded them. Martha recognised the fat leader of the raiders. There would be no mercy with him. Their lives would soon be over, she knew that now. His delight at slaughter and rape in the village had been beyond anything she could possibly imagine. The man was a monster … pure and simple.
Egbert spat in her face as he pulled her towards him, then slapped her hard across her head, knocking her to the ground. His voice quivered with rage. ‘The cause of all my hardship, you are. What a pleasure it’ll be teaching you a lesson!’ As he loosened his tunic, he cast a mocking glance at Simon. ‘And who’s this that attends you, whore-woman? An old shit who’s long overdue the grave by the look of him. But first things first. I’ll see to him at once.’
Impatiently, be beckoned a nearby man to donate him an ax. Simon crouched; looking up at Egbert. The Saxon planted his feet firmly, ready to deliver his strike.
He turned laughing towards his men. ‘See how the old rooster defends his hen.’ He cupped Simon’s chin in his hand and leaned close enough for Simon to smell his sour breath. He continued. ‘You’ve done well to survive the years, old un, but, here, do me a favour … stretch out your scrawny neck so that I can take your head off with one swipe.’
Egbert stepped back a pace to deliver the deathblow. Simon bowed his head and prepared to die.
Egbert, excited now, looked at the men near to him and challenged them to a wager. ‘Who’ll bet a sheepskin bedroll that I can’t remove the old goat’s head with one slash of this ax?’
Some were about to respond when Withred reached the group. He held up his hand to Egbert. ‘Wait Egbert, not so quick, you’re forgetting that we’ve still not found the lad. The old one could take his place, or do you wish to eat Hubert’s cooking again?’
Egbert considered this for a moment. Hubert, a skinny warrior with dubious personal hygiene, had been the camp cook before Tomas had arrived. His meals had been badly prepared and often undercooked, and Egbert had lost count of the number of times he had hurled his food at Hubert after attempting to chew on his stringy offerings. He had been surprised at Tomas’ adaptability around the campfire and was aware of the pronounced improvement in both quality and quantity of food since the boy had taken over cooking duties from Hubert. He put this down to the boy’s background and assumed that all Britons knew how to cook. He looked now at Simon and reasoned that a Briton as old as he must also know how to provide decent fare.
He nodded at Withred. ‘I think you might be going soft, but maybe you’ve got a point.’ He paused a moment as he considered the possibilities. ‘Okay, I’ll let him live … for now. I can always kill him later if he proves to be no better than Hubert at cooking. As for the woman, she’ll make up for losing
the boy. Let’s hope Eadmund holds him as I speak.’
They looked up the track towards the leafy hollow where Eadmund had undertaken a search for Tomas. Egbert shouted at them. ‘Well! What are you staring at you useless sods? Get up that hill and find him! Don’t forget we’ve still not found the bastard who killed two of our men!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tomas lay still as probing feet kicked softly into his body. Edmund’s arms followed as the barbarian took hold and pulled him from the leaves. Grinning, he thought of how his prestige would recover, how Egbert would stop pushing him around, now he had recaptured the slave-boy.
Tomas gaped when witnessing the arrowhead sprout from the centre of Eadmund’s chest. The Saxon’s own brief look of astonishment rivalled that of his captive as he observed the protruding shaft vibrate with every weak pulse of his failing heart. Tomas pushed Eadmund from him, and the man fell dead at his feet. Then he noticed the group of three standing fifty paces away. Quickly, he waved his arms above his head and directed his rapid shout at the strange looking man holding the bow. ‘Don’t shoot at me, sir! I’m not one of them. I run from them like you. I was their slave and now I’ve escaped. I speak British. I am British.’
Dominic shouted back. ‘Come nearer so I can get a better look at you! I’ll let you live if you satisfy me you are not one of them!’
Tomas walked towards them with palms outstretched. ‘See, I’m unarmed. My name’s Tomas and as you can see I’m too small to fight anyone.’
Murdoc could not help but feel sympathy for the lad who stumbled towards them. His smock hung loose and beltless over his bony frame; his hose was holed and muddy; his brown hair festooned with dead leaves.
Murdoc turned to Dominic who by now had realised the boy was no threat. ‘It seems we number four. What are we going to do?’
Tomas gave them his most winning smile, hardly daring to believe they were about to accept him into their number.
Dominic looked in a westerly direction and quickly outlined his intention. ‘We need to get to country I’m more familiar with, and where we can vanish into the woods.’ There was a grim cast to his eyes as he rested his piercing gaze upon Tomas again. ‘You seem harmless enough … so yes … you can run with us, but you had better keep up because once lost, you stay lost!’
Tomas, who had no intention of getting lost or falling behind even if it meant running until his lungs burst and his heart leapt from his chest, gave Dominic his most eager nod.
But Dominic continued his reading of Tomas, causing the boy to shuffle and squirm. Finally, he relented and got back to the business of escape. ‘No time to dawdle here,’ he growled. ‘Every minute’s precious. It’s lucky for you boy that the Saxons left and I took a look around, but now we need to move because they will be back.’ Turning on his heel, he ran towards an area of forest where young birch growth provided dense cover. ‘Follow me now and keep up!’ he shouted as he melted into the trees.
They travelled at a steady pace for the rest of the day without hindrance or pursuit, and finally came to rest by a bank of bracken. Dominic led them through a subtle break and into a cleared area unseen from the trail. It was one of many hidden stores scattered throughout his hunting grounds. He brushed aside leaf litter from the floor of the clearing and removed a rough wooden cover. From the hole, he took a wooden box containing dried, salted meat, edible plant tubers, and a cooking pot. With flint and iron, he soon had a fire going, and after filling the pot with water from a nearby spring, prepared a stew from the contents of the box.
It was the first cooked meal the fugitives had eaten for days and the finest feast they could remember.
After the meal, Dominic again looked Tomas in the eye. ‘Now lad, you say you were their slave, that means you know why they entered the forest. Were they after folk? Chasing those who had got away?’
Tomas shook his head. ‘No … a woman did get away at the village, but they soon give up the chase. They don’t chase people for long when they have other fish to fry. Their purpose now is to find a way through the forest and discover other villages to raid.’
The news troubled Dominic. He knew the savages would find the main track soon; they headed in a northerly direction, so could not fail to. If they found the road, they would also find his camp. He told the group of his fears.
Tomas became agitated. ‘But what are we to do against them? Two men, and a boy and girl, against a band of warriors. I’ve seen what they do. We need to keep running, then hide from them.’
Murdoc’s eyes blazed. ‘They are not warriors! What kind of warriors kill the defenceless … kill women, old men and children! They are cowards, I tell you! Stinking cowards!’
His anger fell from him upon seeing Tomas cower at his outburst. More composed, he placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry lad, and I admit you do speak sense. Forgive my anger, I’ve been through a lot.’ He sighed, feeling selfish now. ‘We’ve all been through it, not just me, and you’re right, we can’t meet them man for man, that would be suicide’—he hugged Ceola close—‘and anyway, my duty is to save this child.’
Dominic looked at Ceola and knew Murdoc was right. ‘Apart from anything, we’ll all perish if we don’t rest, and here’s as good a place as any to lay up,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent many a night here, and on an evening like this it’ll be dry and safe.’
Enclosed within the shaded interior of the bracken barrier, they settled down and talked until dusk. The night was then to pass without incident.
Morning came and Dominic was up early. Before the others had arisen, he had prepared a simple meal of forest fruit and dried meat. Murdoc was the first to wake and joined Dominic who was staring moodily into the forest. Sitting beside him, he asked: ‘You look grim this morning, man. Whatever bothers you?
Dominic gave a thin smile and shrugged. ‘I was just thinking of how my life has suddenly changed. The simplicity has gone and though I long for it back, I now feel a duty to our folk.’ He looked at Murdoc, his eyes welling. ‘Like you, I’ve seen what they do to people. The sacked village I came upon provided me with enough scenes to fill a thousand nightmares. Women, children, the old, the weak—all of them cut up and left to rot. How can you pray to God, to your Jesus? He’s supposed to protect innocent people, isn’t he?’
Murdoc paused a while before answering. ‘I do struggle with it, believe me, but my faith is just about hanging on even though my own family was butchered. The scriptures tell us that God gave man the freedom to direct his own path to heaven or hell. Don’t forget, our old Gods were not innocent of bloodshed. Our druids sacrificed folk to please them when the Romans first came here.’
Dominic stood and looked back to the sleeping Tomas and Ceola. ‘Well it seems that someone looks after those two for now. Be it God or providence we may never know, but I preach caution today. Bastards are in the same forest as us … that I do believe in … that’s what’s real, my friend.’
Soon after, the others roused. After a hasty breakfast, they made ready to leave. Tomas approached Murdoc who held Ceola. Embarrassed and awkward he asked him, ‘May I carry her for you?’ He looked at his feet as a distant memory came to him, then lifted his head again. ‘I used to carry my little sister through the woods, you see. And she was the same age as Ceola.’
Murdoc looked at his daughter. She nodded her assent to him. A sound sleep and Dominic’s food had served to revive her spirit, as well as her physical wellbeing. He handed her to Tomas. ‘Don’t let her drop,’ he smiled. ‘She’s more precious to me than all the gold in this land.’
They left then, and Dominic took the lead. Occasionally, he would instruct them to stop and be silent. Then he would run stealthily ahead again, checking the intended route. This done, he would emerge from the trees several minutes later and beckon the others towards him.
Their furtive passage continued for the rest of the day until stopping beside a wide-girthed beech. Dominic led them into a group of shoulder-high shrubbery behind th
e tree. ‘We’ve earned another meal and another night’s rest,’ he said. ‘Now where have I hidden my provisions?’
He searched for a short while then dragged a crude but effective ladder from clinging undergrowth. Turf and leaves swathed it, as well as a long coil of rope. He shook the ladder to remove the accumulated mulch and tugged firmly at the rope attached to its top rung. The others looked puzzled.
He laughed and pointed above into the canopy of the beech tree. ‘The ladder gets us as far as the first bough, after that the climbing’s easy. There is a platform thirty strides from the ground which as you can see, or should I say can not see, is hidden from view.’
Murdoc grinned at Dominic. ‘How many more surprises can we expect?’
Dominic shrugged. ‘This is just one of the many overnight shelters I use on my travels. They come in handy and I keep the best in good repair. In the trees or underground; I don’t mind providing they keep me safe.’ He nodded to the children. ‘Now they will keep them safe, I hope.’
Ceola and Tomas were sitting under the tree talking quietly to each other. They had walked hand in hand all that day and a bond had begun to grow between them. Their shared misfortunes and horrors had drawn them close. Ceola was comfortable being with Tomas.
Dominic saw an anxious Murdoc trying to locate the high platform. He decided to put him at ease. ‘Don’t worry about Ceola getting up there, this old tree provides an easy route up to the hideaway. Once you’re past the ladder, just follow me, do as I do.’
He placed the ladder against the tree and scurried up to the first branch, eight feet above the leaf-strewn floor. Tomas and Ceola went next, with Murdoc the last to climb and ready to assist Ceola should she struggle. Dominic’s assurance proved sound, and they easily reached the first bough. Then they picked a benign route through the branches until reaching the platform—a concealed and roomy loft, high above the ground. Dominic pulled up the ladder with the attached rope.
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 6
