The breeze shifted causing the predator to lose the deer’s scent. Back on all fours, it lowered its head and began to scan the hollow, but the deer’s gift from nature—its mottled coat—served to defeat the poor bear’s poor eyesight.
It was about to leave the clearing when a movement caught its eye. The fawn, hungry for milk, stood to harry its mother for a feed. The bear noticed the movement immediately and bounded across the clearing. The doe fled into the safety of the trees.
The fawn, though, had not of its mother’s guile or speed, and before it could move its spindly legs, the bear pounced upon it.
Five days later, the bear again craved for meat—its diet of roots and grubs having failed to satiate it. It stopped, cautious now, as it entered a section of beech forest. A familiar but rarely heard noise had alerted it. During its long life, its foraging had occasionally taken it to the edge of the wilderness where, from distance it had observed men. Not knowing what to expect from these seldom-glimpsed forms, it had always retreated and avoided contact with them. The bear had never regarded them as food, preferring instead to hunt predictable prey such as deer or salmon.
But today was different; today it was hungry and needed to feed; now its hunger gnawed at its innards. Padding silently through the beech wood, it stopped fifty yards from a wide girthed tree, under which sat two small figures. Mad with hunger, it bounded up towards them.
The second morning after Dominic and Murdoc had left them, Tomas and Ceola had spent the day around the base of the tree. Tomas had told Ceola all about his village and his friends, all of who were dead, but had made her giggle when telling her of his past mischief making and escapades.
Ceola, in her turn, had told Tomas all about life in her village. How she had loved to accompany her father into the fields on warm, sunny days. Throughout their chatter, they mentioned neither the invaders nor the loss of the people dear to them. They had no desire to revisit these times. They had managed to push the images away.
Ceola was the one who saw the bear watching them from distance. She had been listening to Tomas’ tale, tittering uncontrollably as he recounted an amusing tale from his youth. Now she held up her hand to silence him. ‘Shh! Look over there, Tom. We’re being watched.’
Tomas saw the bear and jumped to his feet. Aware of the danger, he pulled Ceola from the ground. ‘Quick! climb the tree!’ He lifted her onto the rustic ladder and looked towards the bear. It was bounding towards them.
He had just climbed from reach when it arrived with a rush of unbridled power. Leaving the ladder in place and pushing Ceola ahead, he made sure they both completed the climb up to the lofty platform.
Ceola screamed as the bear leapt high. Its claws raked into the bark, allowing it to cling limpet-like to the bole of the tree. It hugged the trunk with its limbs and began to shuffle up, its hide rippling as the powerful, underlying muscles flexed and contracted.
Tomas gasped and Ceola screamed again as the animal’s head and shoulders appeared above the edge of the platform. Tomas knew one more jump would see the animal amongst them. He remembered the bow and arrows left by Dominic. Grabbing the bow, he shakily nocked an arrow and pulled the hide string back as far as his nose. He released the arrow just as the bear tensed, readying itself for its final push. The arrow hit home, knocking it from the tree.
Ceola and Tomas looked down at the stunned, but still very dangerous brown bear. Tomas’ action had saved them for now, but the arrow in its shoulder was a mere pinprick to the animal. Again, it looked up at the startled children and readied itself to climb the tree.
Tomas still gripped the bow. He nocked another arrow as the bear rocked on its haunches, preparing to leap. A shout came from the forest, prompting Ceola to scramble to the edge of the platform. ‘It’s da and Dominic,’ she screamed. ‘They’ve come to fight the bear!’
Murdoc and Dominic had entered the clearing just as the bear had fallen. Fearing the worst, Murdoc ran shouting towards it with his spear at his shoulder. ‘HEY! HEY!’ He slowed to a trot twenty paces away. The bear studied him, then flinched as another arrow—this time sent by Dominic— slapped through its dense chest fur.
Dominic joined Murdoc who was readying himself for a suicidal rush. Knowing the noisy approach was the wrong way to go about scaring a bear, he placed a restraining hand on Murdoc’s arm. ‘Hold your ground and crouch low so as not to be a threat,’ he said, ‘… and don’t look it in the eyes.’ He looked to the ground and silently slipped another arrow into his bow. The bear stood still and continued to study them.
Deftly and quickly, Dominic again loosed an arrow. Again, the projectile found the bear’s chest. The bear reared high, standing tall as it swiped at the shafts. It managed to break them and dropped back down to its forepaws. Its head swung threateningly as it scrutinised Murdoc and Dominic through detached eyes.
Their senses prickled as the bear observed them. ‘Make slowly for the tree,’ said Dominic. ‘It’s readying itself to charge.’
As they moved, the bear quivered as if ready to attack. Dominic had nocked another arrow. He let it fly at the bear. Again, the animal recoiled as the arrow entered its shoulder. The strike served to make the bear turn and amble from the tree. Its walk became a trot, then a run, as it left the grove and entered the forest.
Dominic sidled to the spot where the bear had left the clearing. After satisfying himself they would not be troubled for a while, he walked back to Murdoc who had beckoned Tomas and Ceola to join them on the ground.
Once they were down, Murdoc picked up and hugged Ceola. ‘Thank God I heard you scream,’ he said as he kissed her. ‘It made sure we got here on time.’
Dominic ruffled Tomas’ hair. ‘Good lad,’ he said, ‘I see that you stuck an arrow into our shaggy friend. It’s not my first meeting with it, and I fear it won’t be my last.’
Tomas swelled with pride at Dominic’s endorsement. Ceola heaped more praise upon him. ‘Yes Dom, he was very brave; he would have killed the bear if you hadn’t got here in time.’
Tomas blushed at the attention. ‘I don’t know about that, Ceola. It was all I could do to hit it, I was shaking so badly.’
Murdoc, hugged Tomas, suddenly flooded with love for him. ‘But hit it you did, lad’ he enthused, ‘and so saved the day.’ He turned to Dominic with his arm around the boy’s shoulder. ‘What chance have the savages now, eh, Dom? They must dodge the arrows of shaking Tomas!’
The trill of Ceola’s laughter filled the woods with its purity, lifting their hearts, and bringing forth memories of simpler, happier times.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Egbert and his men made good progress along the ancient track. Abundant herds of deer, grazing on new, colonising shoots of growth, had kept the passageway largely clear of obstructive vegetation. Stone sets broke sporadically through the mulch, and upon this firm road, the pack ponies hauled their loads of provisions.
It was late afternoon on the fourth day of their trek when they saw signs that the forest was thinning. Around them, grew an overgrown hazel coppice. Festooned with strips of ragged, coloured cloth, the misshapen trees reared eerie and sentinel.
Wlensling, a well-built man with close-cropped ginger beard and stern expression, rode beside Egbert. His simple leather jerkin, cut at the shoulders, sported four lines of studs down the front. Thick arms displayed his only ostentations: two golden arm rings given to him by Osric for his courage in battle. His woollen breeches went into knee-length, fur trimmed boots. A close fitting iron helmet completed his austere appearance.
Taciturn, his voice was a low rumble. ‘It appears the land’s been shaped by human hands; see how they tie offerings onto the trees. It’s said that some Britons still worship the Christ God, but maybe they still fear the spirits of their dead.’
Egbert patted his ax. ‘They’d do well to fear this; anyone we come across from now on will feel it, that’s for sure.’
Cissa rode to join them. He pointed at the track ahead. ‘See there, the pat
hway’s been trampled. Who knows what’s ahead, we need to be on our toes here. There’s too few of us to tackle a big group of Britons.’
It was normal for Cissa to council heedfulness. His prudence had often served to counterbalance Egbert’s recklessness—it was the reason Osric had included him in the war band.
Egbert listened impassively to Cissa’s advice, then snickered to Wlensling. ‘Did you hear that? … he’s shitting himself again. Have you seen how he behaves after a raid? He even waits till the women have lost their fight.’
Wlensling frowned as he surveyed the woods around him. ‘That maybe so, but there’ll be no pickings for him here. We need to get this spying done and return to the comforts of the coast.’
Nursing the hope that the coppiced woodland would lead them from the forest, they pressed on. By mid-morning, the trees became sparse and they reached the village.
The huts stood abandoned and derelict. Looking at one, Egbert noticed it had lost much of its mud daubing in places, allowing the underlying wattle to stand out as if a rib cage on a rotting carcass. A line of boulders that lay in the form of a cross some distance from the huts confirmed they had nothing to fear from anything alive in the village.
Like the forest, the Saxons were silent—their ponies shuffling and grunting as they sent out billows of foggy breath into the cool, pre-noon air.
Frowning, Wlensling looked around. ‘I don’t like this place,’ he muttered. ‘It’s got a bad feel to it.’
Just as unsettled, Egbert took in the foreboding scene, but realised he could not let the men see any weakness in him. ‘It’s gloomy, I’ll give you that,’ he conceded, ‘but gloom doesn’t wield a spear, and it won’t put me in my grave. Come on, follow me, let’s delve deeper.’ He dismounted and led his pony into the clearing. The others followed with trepidation.
It was soon clear that the village had not met its ill fortune at the hands of enemies. The huts showed no signs of burning or deliberate damage—rather, they owed their sorry state to natural decay.
Cissa knelt and examined the stone cross. ‘These people fell to a pestilence or famine, I’m sure of it,’ he said. ‘They’ve been buried, so someone cared for them. Raiders would have left them to the animals.’
Wlensling looked around uneasily. ‘Then let’s get our water from the well and get out of here,’ he said. ‘Then we can get back in search of the living—this place freezes my very bones.’
Egbert pointed beyond the village boundary towards what seemed to be overgrown fields. ‘I guess that’s our direction. That would be the way they took their produce to trade.’ He heaved his bulk onto his pony. ‘That’s if any other wretches are left alive in this putrid place.’
Their track, indented by ruts baked hard by the sun, told of the passage of long-vanished ox drawn carts to and from the habitation. After a while, Wlensling dismounted and knelt by one of the furrows. ‘It seems this track was used for many years if the depths of these ruts are anything to go by. Maybe they lead to a bigger settlement—even a market.’
They continued through the early afternoon, following the tracks, but saw no living person. It was late afternoon before they heard the sound of human voices.
Two boys were at play in a tree near a small pond. The old Alder had begun to lean. One of its branches grew at right angles to its trunk and bridged the water. It was on this that the boys lay on their bellies, looking down into the green pool as they idled their day away. The reflection of a fat, bearded man had them look up.
He spoke in a tongue unknown to them.
They stared blankly at him, unable to understand.
Cissa, who had learned a few words of the British tongue from Withred, rode to Egbert’s side and asked in British, ‘Village?’
The larger of the boys nodded when hearing the word. Cissa adopted a shrugging, questioning posture. Again, he asked, ‘Village?’
The boys shimmied off the tree and sidled towards the riders. Egbert dismounted and pointed to one of the tracks leading away from them. ‘Village?’ he asked, emulating Cissa.
The larger boy nodded his head and pointed to another track leading from the pond. The path contoured around a small grassy hill before disappearing from sight. Egbert patted the boy on the head and smiled at him before mounting his pony. Nodding knowingly at Cissa, he took to the path.
When Egbert crested the grassy hill, he turned to the following riders, his smile all-conquering. They joined him and saw the reason for his rapture. The scene below was one of an undulating patchwork of long rectangular fields situated in a huge clearing of the forest. Like water on a swelling sea, golden cereal crops rippled in the breeze presenting a far from wild landscape.
Triumphant and laughing, Egbert turned to Wlensling ‘Now we can return you gruff bastard; look at that, even your miserable face must crack a grin.’
Wlensling indeed allowed himself a rare smile. ‘Yes, it’s a sight that’s for sure. Now we can get back. Osric will be delighted when he hears of this.’
As Wlensling made to leave, Egbert grabbed his arm and looked at him squarely. ‘Where are you going, man?’ he asked as if puzzled. ‘We’re forgetting our manners.’ He nodded towards the contoured track they had ascended a short while ago. ‘We’ve not thanked the lads for their information … they deserve a reward.’ He withdrew his ax and wheeled his pony around. At a trot, he headed towards the boys.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After putting the bear to flight, Dominic had managed to bring down a deer in the woods. This, he roasted on a makeshift spit back at the camp. After eating their fill, the fugitives sat in the warmth of the fire comforted by its ochre glow in the dimming evening.
Murdoc looked worried as he spoke quietly to Dominic. ‘We’re too near to them. They’ll surely hunt game and wander close.’
‘Yes we’re in danger even here,’ agreed Dominic, ‘and we need to keep on our toes, though I still think this is the safest place providing the young ones stay up the tree.’ He peered into the gloom, scrutinizing the shrubbery for signs of disturbance. ‘The bear still worries me, though. Maybe one of us needs to stay here with the others.’ He pondered the options a while. ‘It would be better if you stayed with them while I go and keep my eye on the camp.’ He took an arrow from the hide quiver that lay at his feet, squinting as he looked along its shaft and examined its trueness. ‘Don’t forget they can’t be allowed to return with any news of other souls to slaughter. Perhaps we can delay the inevitable, who knows? Anyway, I’ll leave in the morning and see what I can do.’
‘Maybe you can get the woman and old man out,’ said Murdoc. ‘It grieves me to see them under the yoke of the bastards.’
Dominic replaced the arrow in the quiver. ‘My thoughts too,’ he said, ‘but they’re useful to them, so we need not be too hasty.’
Next day Dominic watched as the Saxons left the encampment in small groups leaving just one man to guard the area. His concern grew when two of them passed close and headed to the vicinity of the tree platform.
He considered following them, but confident Murdoc would be aloft and out of sight with the children, he decided instead to sit and watch the camp. One man remained to guard the captives. Dominic pondered whether to kill him, but uncertain when the others would return, decided the deed could wait.
The woman walked to the edge of the clearing but returned to the cooking fire when the guard called her back. She had come close enough to show herself to Dominic, and he guessed her age to be no more than twenty years. Her blonde hair was matted and dirty, defeating the efforts of the bronze clips to hold it in place, so that it hung long and untidily around her face. Despite her unkempt appearance, he could see that underneath the grime her face was fine-boned and pretty. He imagined how radiant it would look when smiling and happy. As she walked away, Dominic noticed how her slender figure moved with a grace and dignity that seemed defiant of the hardships she had endured.
The old man and young woman continued to salt the meat d
uring the remainder of an uneventful day. The produce was taken to the underground store. The guard, who spoke the Celtic tongue, communicated occasionally to the pair. To Dominic’s surprise, the man’s tone seemed mild and relaxed as he addressed them.
In the late afternoon the others began to return from the forest, most of them empty handed. Dominic was careful to remain hidden. Just one of the men had made a kill, and the group ate boar that evening, cooked over the open fire.
It was after this meal, just before dusk, that a heated discussion broke out between two of the Saxons. One was the man who had guarded the captives that day. After a while, he walked into the hut leaving the other men around the campfire.
As darkness fell, the men settled down to sleep, leaving the two Britons alone some distance from the main group. There were no guards posted and Dominic decided the time was now right to liberate the pair.
He stole to the edge of the clearing, stopping dead when a silhouette moved across the front of the fire. Not breathing, he watched as a shape approached the sleeping woman and pulled her to her feet.
Awake, she struggled as the man dragged her across the open ground towards the thicker woods. Dominic knew immediately what the man had in mind. A dark rage surged within him as he thought of the dead and defiled he had found at the wrecked village.
He tensed as the woman, dragged by her hair, stumbled past him. She passed close enough for him to feel the draught of her passage. Stealthily, he followed.
Hours earlier, Martha had experienced overwhelming joy when Egbert had departed the camp. Equally elated, Simon had taken solace from the knowledge that Martha would not be forced to lie with Egbert again—at least not for the time being. That night the other men left them alone, and Martha had been able to sleep deeply.
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 8
