The next day, all but one of the men had gone off in different directions in search of game. Simon was relieved that only the tall imposing man—the warrior named Withred—had stayed behind to watch them.
By late afternoon, the others had drifted back, mostly empty-handed after inept attempts to bag game. Only one man returned with a boar, and Simon cooked this on a spit. The animal provided them with a change from the smoked fish they had lived on since finding the camp.
Edwin, a man who Martha recognised as one of her pursuers from the village, had frequently leered suggestively at her as she paused during her camp duties.
He approached Withred at dusk as he tended the campfire. He nodded in the direction of Martha, who sat apart from the group of six men. ‘It seems a pity to sleep alone when Egbert’s mare is available.’
Withred gave Edwin a dismissive half glance. ‘No one touches the woman, get back to your bedroll man.’
‘But who would tell Egbert?’ persisted Edwin. ‘Certainly not the woman, she doesn’t even speak our tongue.’
‘Just leave her alone,’ said Withred with quiet authority. ‘The woman sleeps alone until Egbert returns.’ Not that I’ll allow even him to defile her again, he thought.
Piqued, Edwin walked across the square. ‘I don’t know why you save the whore for him,’ he muttered, ‘I thought you hated the man.’
By now, the others had settled down by the fire. Withred lingered a while, watching as Edwin took to his sleeping place. When Edwin’s snores began to sound, Withred entered the comfort of the hut.
Martha was apprehensive after witnessing the disagreement between Withred and Edwin. She was aware of the nature of the exchange, so wrapped herself tightly in her blanket beside Simon, watching nervously for any movement from the men by the fire. The tall, authoritative warrior had gone out of sight and this worried her. Having spent the day with him as their guard, she had come to realise that he wished them no harm. He spoke their tongue well and seemed always mild and relaxed. If he remained in the camp, Martha felt he would protect them from the wanton cruelty second nature to many of the men. With ankles chaffed from the rope hobble tied around her ankles, she eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep.
She awoke, her eyes wide and alert, a foul smelling hand clamped at her mouth. Looking up, she saw only an outline, but knew who the hand belonged to.
Edwin’s breaths came in excited gasps as he hoisted her to her feet and wrapped a sinewy arm around her waist. Gagged and frantic, Martha looked down to Simon, but he did not stir. His sleep, as was usual after a day of constant toil, had been instant and deep. Edwin’s strength proved too much, and Martha’s struggles came to nothing as he carried her away from the earshot of the clearing and into the bushes on the far side of the track.
Throwing her to the ground, he dropped to his knees beside her just as a dark, nimble figure slid in silently from behind.
Dominic’s hand slid through Edwin’s sparse hair and pulled his head back to facilitate the slashing of his throat down to the bone. He slid the blade across, then stepped back allowing Edwin to fall to the ground. There, his body went into a brief spasm before his death came.
Dominic wiped his blade on the rough grass and cut the rope that still tied Martha’s ankles. His tone was urgent as he pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m a friend. Follow me swiftly, woman, before the others awake.’
Before Martha had time to think clearly, Dominic guided her to the shadowy interior of the forest. Then it dawned on her. She looked back towards the clearing, her face aghast. ‘Stop! My friend’s still back there! He promised he wouldn’t leave me. How can I leave him? Take me back … now please!’
Dominic gripped her shoulders, urgent now as he looked directly into her eyes. ‘There’s nothing we can do and he’ll be safe for now because he’s still useful to them. It would serve your friend’s cause better if we get away from here; then we can plan for his escape.’
Martha still looked unsure. Stubborn and immobile, she shook her head.
‘Listen!’ urged Dominic. ‘Think clearly! We have the chance of getting away, and maybe you won’t be missed till morning. I promise you I’ll return tomorrow and free your friend. Now please come quickly, woman.’
Martha paused another moment, then relented in response to Dominic’s assurance. Relieved, he smiled and took her hand.
Murdoc sprang to his feet with his bow ready when he heard movement at the foot of the tree. His apprehension melted when he heard Dominic shout from below.
‘It’s me, and I’ve brought the woman.’
Murdoc lowered the ladder.
Later, Martha told them of the raid on her village. Her tale was harrowing as she recounted the butchery of her people, her failed escape, and briefly her treatment under Egbert.
When she finished, Murdoc took her hands into his, as she began to weep.
‘Yes I know,’ he whispered as his own tears came. ‘Sometimes my own loss makes me want to jump from this platform, but we must keep alive for the people who need us; for the people we can save.’
Dominic had listened and been moved deeply by Martha’s story and Murdoc’s response. ‘Yes, we can still save many of our kin,’ he said, ‘and we start at sunrise with Simon’s rescue.’ He looked drawn as he spoke and for the first time Murdoc thought he could detect fatigue in him. Dominic continued. ‘It seems more blood must be spilt before I can get on with my life. But we need to get moving on this, the other raiders will be back before we know it and I’m planning a surprise for when they get here.’
‘They all deserve death,’ said Martha coldly. ‘But promise me I can have vengeance on the fat leader. I’ve a thousand reasons to hate him.’
‘Egbert is his name,’ said Tomas, ‘and he’s as bad as they come.’
Dominic reassured Martha. ‘We’ll deal with him when we must and he will pay for his crimes I can certainly promise you that. For now, though, we need to free your friend. Tomorrow, we’ll watch the camp before they set out to catch game. Once they’re in the woods we should be able to deal with them separately. Then we can take Simon from the tall guard who usually stays behind at the camp. He seems to be the one who gives the orders now this Egbert has gone.
‘Yes, he is a stern man and he kept the others off us as much as he could,’ said Martha. ‘It seems we owe him much’— she paused as she considered Withred—‘but maybe not his life. He rides with them so he should die with them.’
Tomas stirred uncomfortably. ‘I think you talk of Withred. I never saw him kill any other than men who attacked him. He also saved me from many beatings from Egbert.’
Dominic who had been testing the tension on his bow looked at Tomas. ‘I sense no hate in your voice, lad, when you speak of this Withred, but tomorrow will be a lot simpler if we kill as the opportunities present themselves. We’ve no time to be merciful with any of them, it will only hinder us.’
Tomas nodded. ‘I know,’ he murmured, ‘you must do as you will.’
The next morning, one hour before dawn and aided by a full moon, Dominic and Murdoc descended the tree and ran into the forest. Their route as ever was through thick undergrowth. Dominic rarely used the same passage twice, leaving Murdoc to wonder how his companion had the faintest idea of where he was going. Occasionally he would stoop to examine the floor then look around and continue through the brush. After an hour, just as the first light of day seeped into the forest, he stopped and signalled Murdoc to crouch beside him by a hazel shrub.
‘We’re next to their camp,’ he said. ‘I brought us over rough ground to be sure we wouldn’t run into them. We need to watch and predict their movements if we’re to get this done without injury.’ He parted the bush to give him a partial view of the camp. ‘It looks like they’ve found the body I left them.’
As Murdoc and Dominic watched, a breathless and agitated Deorwine, a cousin of the fallen Aelred, aroused Withred from his sleep. ‘Get out here, Withred! Edwin’s been murdered and the woman’s g
one!’
Withred was up instantly and went outside to join the other men around Edwin’s body. He looked at the bled corpse and shook his head in frustration. ‘The idiot,’ he growled. ‘I told him to leave the woman alone. But how did she escape?’
‘Maybe the old one helped her,’ said Deorwine, looking towards Simon who had just awoken. ‘We should torture the truth out of him.’
There was a general murmur of agreement from the rest as they moved towards Simon.
Withred strode before them, reaching Simon first. He turned to the men and signalled them to keep their distance. Taking Simon’s wrists, he examined his hands then turned back to the men. ‘This man can have had no part in the slaying; whoever killed him would be covered in his blood.’ He pointed back towards the dead raider. ‘Look his blood is everywhere apart from on this fellow … and anyway the old man’s ankles are still bound.’
All looked at Simon who sat propped on an elbow looking mystified.
‘What do you know of this?’ asked Withred. ‘The woman was never far from your side. You must have heard the struggle.’
Simon shook his head and held up his bound hands to emphasise his bewilderment. ‘I know nothing. I slept soundly last night after yesterday’s chores and woke only when I heard your commotion. As God is my witness, I know nothing.’
Withred looked towards the trees, chewing his lip as he considered what to do next. Part of him was glad the woman was gone but he now feared for Simon who would undoubtedly suffer from Egbert’s wrath when he returned. He realised he would have to employ all of his guile to prevent Egbert’s wanton cruelty towards him.
‘I should have posted guards,’ he muttered. He looked at the men. ‘Egbert will be back soon, and he’ll flail you all now his woman’s gone. We must get her back. We must also be careful—the killer has to be a man of cunning and talent to finish Edwin without a struggle … maybe it was the wolf-man, he’s already shown how dangerous he is. Go in pairs and look for the woman but be careful. There’s a man in these woods who has already killed four of us.’
Deorwine left the clearing with a young Saxon named Leofric, his usual companion on the trail. Being the older man, Deorwine assumed responsibility of the search and was careful to instruct Leofric where to seek. Meanwhile he sat immobile on his pony as he scanned the undergrowth for movement.
Minutes passed with neither sound nor movement and Deorwine slowly became restless, his thoughts straying to the earlier deaths of his companions—Cerdic, Aelred and Eadmund—at the hands of the wolf-man.
‘Any luck Leofric?’ His shout was flat and nervous against the wall of thick greenery. Hearing no reply, he goaded his pony through the same bush that Leofric had pushed through. Seeing no one, he rode further into the woods, following Leofric’s trail. He stopped and called again. ‘Leofric, get back here now!’
Still there was no answer, so Deorwine continued to follow Leofric’s trail. He rounded a mound of bracken. He hitched his breath sharply as Leofric’s lifeless body confronted him. Lying prone under his grazing pony, Leofric’s left eye socket was empty and coagulating. The arrow which had caused the wound was gone.
‘Woden’s bollocks,’ whispered Deorwine. He dismounted and examined Leofric, then looked edgily around.
He was about to remount his pony when Murdoc’s spear entered his back. Its force knocked him to his knees, a desperate croak coming from him. He fell forward onto his face.
‘Murderer,’ growled Murdoc as he removed the spear. Again, he pierced Deorwine.
Dominic placed a restraining hand on Murdoc’s arm as he raised the spear a third time. ‘Save your strength Mur, he’s dead and before the sun sets we’ve to finish the others. We need to remain alert to every sound around us.’ He kicked Deorwine’s body. His dead face lolled to one side.
He spat on the corpse then pointed to a low shrub nearby. ‘We need to drag him and his companion out of site. The animals will feed on him now.’ Moments later, Dominic scrutinised the bushes. ‘Now to find the others; their trails should be easy to follow; they lumber like bears through the woods.’ He pointed to a shrub that appeared undisturbed to Murdoc. ‘See…two have passed through there.’
They followed a trail, visible only to Dominic, and continued for some time as it meandered through the forest. Ever mindful that four of the enemy were still abroad they took care not to blunder into open exposed clearings.
After a while Dominic stopped. ‘Listen,’ he breathed, ‘they’re just ahead and on foot. He whispered further instructions to Murdoc before ghosting forward.
Careful and tense, Murdoc followed towards the distant sound of a hurried debate. As they approached, Dominic turned and pointed to a six-foot wall of deep bracken. They slipped into the cover and waited.
Dominic nocked his first arrow as two men approached. So close did they pass, that he could almost touch their russet jerkins. He allowed them to continue a few strides, then nodded to Murdoc and walked from the cover.
The men walked away still unaware of their presence. Dominic addressed them. ‘Face me my friends so I may pierce your soft flesh.’
They turned, stunned into inactivity, as Dominic loosed his first arrow. It entered the throat of the nearest man with such force that only the feathers stopped it going through completely—the feathers left to protrude from his neck like a mocking adornment.
The other took flight and began to run down the trail. Murdoc watched his spear narrowly miss the man’s shoulder. Cursing and brandishing the ax he had removed from the corpse, he took up the chase, but the Saxon, fleet of foot, pulled away from him.
‘He can’t be allowed to tell the others!’ shouted Dominic who ran a short distance behind Murdoc. ‘If they know we’re after them things will be much harder!’
His bowstring sang as he released another arrow at the fleeing man. It missed and whispered harmlessly into the undergrowth. The man passed out of sight over the brow of a small banking. When Dominic and Murdoc reached its crest they saw he had stopped.
Having met two of his remaining companions, he was breathlessly relating events to them. Hoping to turn the tide, and without hesitation, they then ran screaming at Dominic and Murdoc—their war axes aloft.
Dominic had scant time to let one more arrow fly. This time it bit flesh and one man fell. He drew his sword as the others closed.
Murdoc armed himself with the dead man’s ax and prepared to engage in combat for the first time in his life. Though strong and athletic, a village life as a stockman had not prepared Murdoc for brutal combat with a seasoned warrior. The man who met him seemed formidable but having fought only unarmed peasants since arriving on the island his hack at Murdoc was lazy and ill timed. Murdoc avoided the slash with inches to spare. Snarling his frustration, the Saxon came at him again, this time with an overhead swipe. Murdoc again avoided the attack and the Saxon stumbled. His ax continued its arc to bury itself into the forest floor. Murdoc, seizing upon the man’s incapacity, swung his own ax in a hasty sideswipe. The parry landed with rib-cracking power. With a ‘whoeff’ the Saxon fell to his knees. Grimacing and holding his side, he looked up to Murdoc to behold his last mortal sight—the grey blur of cold iron falling upon him—this time splitting his face from eye ridge to chin.
Murdoc turned rapidly, adrenalin surging, ax raised, ready to fight. He saw Dominic in combat with a worthy adversary: a huge Saxon wearing a ring mail hauberk. Both men circled, gasping for breath after several inconclusive engagements. As Murdoc approached them, the Saxon stumbled over a bramble tendril. Though fleeting, the trip gave Dominic the split second he needed to lunge unopposed. After a brief resistance as it met the hauberk, his sword continued into the man’s vitals. Dominic complimented the breach with a lateral dagger thrust to the Saxon’s neck, killing him instantly.
Dominic, who had his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, regarded Murdoc. ‘The next time we fight . . . promise me you’ll take on . . . you’ll take on the giant.’
&n
bsp; Panting himself, Murdoc’s smile was dour. ‘I think not Dom … the big game should be left to you … a child could better me now, let alone that giant … sweet Virgin Mary how this fighting tires a man.’
‘We’ve not done yet,’ said Dominic, straightening. ‘This Withred—the fiercest and truest warrior of them all according to Tomas—remains at the camp with Simon.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Withred had waited anxiously all day for the men to return, his concern growing as late afternoon gave way to early evening.
Simon had spent his time tidying the camp and stacking firewood. He had cooked a rabbit over the open fire which Withred had shared with him. Indeed his captor had frequently told him to rest and had generally gone out of his way to make sure the old Briton had not overstretched himself.
Withred sucked on a rabbit bone as he sat beside the fire and looked into the forest. He glanced briefly towards Simon, then back at the forest. Fifty paces away stood the blood-smeared wolf-man. By his side was another.
He rolled to one side as Dominic’s arrow struck his sitting stone before skidding skywards. Withred knew he was exposed; knew the next arrow would take him down. Thinking rapidly, he ran to Simon and grabbed him as a shield. Simon’s neck felt a cold blade pressed against it. ‘I speak your language,’ Withred shouted, ‘so talk to me and keep away or the old man dies.’
Dominic sighted another arrow at Withred. He hesitated, unwilling to chance hitting Simon.
Murdoc shouted at Withred. ‘Let him go, Saxon. It’s no use. Your friends are dead.’
Withred was in a quandary. If he let go of Simon, the wolf man would kill him. But he could not stay holding Simon forever. Something had to give. He attempted a compromise. ‘I’ll release him if you swear to your Christ to spare my life. Ask this man who he owes his life to. I saved him and the woman much torment at the hands of the others.’
Dominic and Murdoc looked at Simon. After a brief pause, Simon nodded in affirmation.
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 9
