It became clear that the going was going to be much slower now. Huge bites had fallen away from the track and slid down the hillside. In places the passage was barely wide enough to take one pony. Murdoc took the lead, but halted when reaching an area where the path had slid down the hillside along with much of the embankment above it.
Dominic snatched his own mount to a halt. Down the slope, a huge landslide of wet clay carved a slow, glutinous path of destruction down the hillside. The bite had plucked a number of shrubs and small trees from their anchorages on the steep incline, these twisting and turning in an agonised ballet as they accompanied the slithering mound down into the valley.
Dominic assessed their chances. They would undoubtedly end up under the clay if they carried on. He made his decision; it would be better to cut their losses and at least return in one piece back to Martha and the others. He shouted to Murdoc, ‘We can’t chance going on in this! It would be madness! We need to get back to the camp and hope the mud’s seen off the murderers!
Murdoc twisted in his saddle, his face smeared, the rain tracing clean rivulets through the clay upon his cheeks. Above the din of the storm, he shouted: ‘How the shit do we turn the ponies? The path’s too narrow and they’re stuck in the clay!’
‘Dismount and coax it backwards!’ replied Dominic. ‘But take it slowly. The track will give way if we’re not careful!’
Murdoc did as Dominic bade and was able to follow him back along the track. Eventually, they reached a spot where the ponies could stand two abreast. A wet sucking had them look behind. They watched as the path fractured from the hillside and slid into the steaming depth of the deep gully.
‘I was here two summers ago on a fine day,’ said Dominic, looking at the place where the track had been. The clay was dry then, but cracks ran along it where it met the slope. I expected the rain to have worsened it but I thought we could at least have got beyond this point.’
‘Like you, I hope the raiders lie under the mud,’ said Murdoc as he swung onto his pony. ‘If as you say our chase ends here.’
Dominic, already mounted, coerced his pony back through the sunken lane as the rain increased its deluge to a new intensity. ‘We’ve no choice but to return!’ he shouted back to Murdoc. ‘And if your God exists then pray to him now, for if these walls give way you’ll be meeting him soon!’
Murdoc’s God ensured the towering embankments held firm, and they emerged from their ominous shadow moments later, unscathed and relieved. The water now lapped at the knees of their ponies.
‘I hope this nag can float,’ said Murdoc with apprehension as he coaxed it through a swift flow of current. ‘If this continues we’ll have to swim back to the others.’
His pony, keen to be on drier ground, attempted to jump the swirl of water before it, but lost its footing and slipped sideways towards the slope. Now, the pony fell onto its side and began to slide down the incline with Murdoc beneath it. Man and beast continued downwards for some twenty feet, until thick shrubbery halted their slide. Murdoc’s shinbone sheared cleanly, its snap audible even over the raging storm. He looked up to see a shocked and motionless Dominic staring down at him.
At first he felt nothing, but the reprieve was short-lived. Moments later, a searing hammer blow struck beneath his knee.
The swirling green of the forest darkened to pitch-black as the intensity of the pain threatened Murdoc’s very consciousness. The pony had twisted in its efforts to regain its footing making things far worse. Murdoc’s widened eyes and clenched white teeth stood in stark contrast to his clay-smitten face as his lucidity returned. He looked up the slope. Dominic appeared blurred to him. ‘Get it off me, man!’ he screamed.
Dominic, his earlier torpor gone, dismounted and ran down the slimy slope. The pony twisted again, forcing Murdoc’s face into the mud. Retching and heaving, he prayed for Dominic’s intervention.
Dominic slipped onto his rear and slid the short distance to Murdoc, coming to a halt on the pony’s belly. He stood and grabbed at its bridle, tugging hard until the pony found its feet and relieved Murdoc of its weight. Terrified, it then ran down the track and out of sight.
Dominic could hardly dare look at the leg, but his sigh was audible and thankful when he saw that the bone had not broken through skin. Meanwhile, Murdoc groaned and fidgeted, trying not to give vent to the screams that welled within him.
Dominic raised him to sit as the rain drove into the clay. Breathless, he addressed him. ‘Don’t worry, my friend, you’re with a man … who once survived a broken arm … alone in this forest. The first thing to do … is to get you up onto the track again.’
This proved less than easy. Murdoc, after much encouragement and coaxing, eventually managed to support himself on his good leg and place his arm around Dominic’s shoulders. Their first attempt at gaining the path above proved futile, and they tumbled and slipped back down the slope. Now Murdoc’s howls resounded through the thin and reedy atmosphere of the forest as he tumbled and bounced upon the damaged leg.
After a lengthy pause, their next attempt saw them reach the path. Here they gasped out their utter exhaustion as they recovered from the haul.
Dominic sat upon his haunches as fought for his breath. ‘I’m getting too old for this … companions who break their legs should be left lying in the mud … so that old men like me can have ease of bone. I’ll have to treat the break in your leg here and now … if you’re not to spend the rest of your days begging for alms in the gutters of some forsaken town.’
Murdoc looked down at his shin, wincing as he saw how the protrusion of bone pushed up under the skin. Ashen faced and breathless, he looked to Dominic. ‘Then get it over with and stop your prattling, man. The pain gnaws at my very soul.’
Dominic gave Murdoc a reassuring pat and said: ‘I must leave you a moment.’
After what seemed a lifetime to Murdoc, Dominic returned with two staves cut from a nearby tree. He placed the splints on the ground beside Murdoc and handed him the bridle from his pony. ‘Bite upon this,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, but I need to straighten your leg before I bind it.’
Murdoc bit deeply into the leather as Dominic without hesitation jerked the bones together as best he could. The shock caused Murdoc’s back to arch as his grinding shin sent his muscles in spasm. Dominic fancied he saw what Murdoc would look as an old man, as his face blanched and aged before him.
‘That’s the worst of it,’ said Dominic, his face a picture of concern as he ran his palm over Murdoc’s sweat-beaded forehead. ‘Now I’ll stop the bones moving.’
He placed the staves either side of the fractured leg and took a sodden buckskin jerkin from his pony’s pack. This he cut into thin strips which he tied together to make a strong ribbon-like rope. He bound the buckskin as tight as he could around the staves, and so secured Murdoc’s leg in a tight cocoon.
Dominic stood back, admiring the cast. ‘When the leather dries it will tighten further. The pain should ease a little now.’
‘Leave me a minute’ whispered Murdoc, drained by the ordeal, ‘I need a little time to get stronger.’
Dominic looked up at the turbulent skies. He shielded Murdoc from the rain by holding his sodden cloak above him. ‘As you wish,’ he said as the rain needled onto the cloak, ‘but we must get back to the camp and out of this weather if we are not to die like rats in a ditch.’
Murdoc looked up at the underbelly of Dominic’s pony and wondered how in the name of the Christ Saviour he was ever going to get on its back without passing out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After Murdoc and Dominic had left to chase Cissa and Egbert, the others had inherited the problem of the bear. The animal had fed well on Hereward, and was now stretching up the side of the pit with its bloody snout only feet from the rim. Withred and Simon ushered Martha, Tomas and Ceola into the hut and instructed them to stay there with the door secured.
Back at the pit, Simon peered cautiously over the edge. He could see that the bear had
eaten its fill and now wanted to be away. ‘We can’t leave the animal in there,’ he said. ‘I would rather we release it if possible, better that than chance it gets out itself and take us unawares.’
‘Now’s the time then,’ said Withred. ‘It can’t possibly be hungry after gorging on Hereward, so it shouldn’t see us as its next meal.’
Simon looked towards the hut. ‘Would it not be better that we kill it? There are spears in there.’
Withred shook his head. ‘That could get messy and dangerous. Its hide is damn thick, and it would take much of the morning to finish it, I reckon.’
‘Then we must free it and hope it leaves us. That seems to be the easiest choice.’
‘I think I know what Dominic intended,’ said Withred. ‘Over there’s the branch he left for the bear to get out of the pit. I’m afraid he left the problem with us.’
Simon stretched taking the kink out of his back. ‘Let’s get on with it, then. I’ll help you with it.’
Together they pushed the bough by its severed end to the edge of the pit.
Withred cast a worried glance downwards at the grunting bear. ‘Here goes,’ he said. ‘When I count to three, push hard until the branch drops over the edge.’ Without preamble, he started his count. ‘One…two…three!’
They heaved until the branch pivoted on the brink. A final shove saw it topple towards the bear. They ran to the hut and stood by the door.
Simon shouted. ‘Martha, Ceola, Tomas. Stay inside, we’re freeing the bear.’
Tomas’ head appeared at the window gap beside the door, his eyes big and fearful. Martha cradled Ceola, speaking to her softly and reassuringly.
They waited and nothing happened for a moment. Standing outside, Withred had his hand on the door of the hut, ready to push Simon inside and follow him should things go badly.
Soon though, the bear’s head appeared, then its body as it jumped effortlessly out of the pit. It stood, hunched, looking around the square, its bloody muzzle sniffing the air. It turned to Withred and Simon.
Withred, conscious it could be on them in three bounds, pushed open the hut door and shot a warning look at Simon. ‘I’ve no wish to have my flesh mixing with Hereward’s inside its belly,’ he whispered. ‘Be ready to move inside with the others.’
Simon gave the door a disparaging look. ‘If it charges us, that door will be no protection,’ he said.
The bear continued to scrutinise them—its nose twitching as it took their scent. Then, seeming to lose interest, it turned and walked across the clearing. After nosing around the debris on the edge of the encampment, it again swung its grizzled head towards Simon and Withred. For what seemed an age it held them in its gaze. Withred was about to push Simon inside the hut when the bear suddenly turned its back on them, then ambled towards the trees and passed from sight.
Withred looked at Simon and began to laugh as he saw how the old man was shaking. Simon, flooded with relief himself, laughed along with him as their tension eased.
Later that afternoon they covered Hereward’s remains with more branches and vegetation, then half-filled the pit with soil and leaf litter from the forest floor.
For two days, they stayed inside the hut as the heavy rains caused a torrent to flow across the clearing and into the swollen stream beyond.
Martha looked worried. ‘This will not help Dominic and Murdoc. I hope they return soon with good news.’
Simon sat in the open doorway watching the grey curtain of rain sweep across the square. ‘I don’t envy them, exposed in the forest having to track and chase. I’ve not seen such a storm for many years.’
Withred stood behind Simon, his hands on the old man’s shoulders as he observed the deluge. ‘If you’ve to be caught in such filthy weather then try to arrange you have Dominic with you. He must have survived many years and many storms in this forest.’ He turned and smiled at Martha who was standing at the window opening with Ceola in her arms. ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured, ‘they will return safely.’
‘It’s the first day since we left our own village that it’s rained,’ said Martha. ‘I hope the ground can take the deluge.’
At the mention of the village, Withred averted his gaze back to the clearing.
His discomfort was not lost on Martha. She said quietly, ‘It was fortunate that we escaped. Fortunate that Simon had the courage to risk his life. Who knows who would have gone into the hut for sport that day?’
Withred looked at Martha, his eyes troubled and intense. ‘I would not have gone in, you must believe that.’
‘Why not?’ said Martha, suddenly angry—her tone causing Simon to turn and look towards them. ‘Why not Withred? Are you not a savage like them? Were you not loyal to this Osric you speak about—one of his trusted ones?’
Withred lowered his head, unable to meet Martha’s blistering gaze. His voice was hollow, scarcely above a whisper. ‘Yes I was loyal to him once, but no more.’
Martha, her fury rising, took Withred by the shoulders and shook him. He reluctantly looked at her. ‘Answer my question. Are you not a savage like them, and would you not have gone into the hut? Would you not have—’
‘No, he would not have gone into the hut.’ Tomas’ intervention was unexpected. All fell silent and turned to him. ‘He would not have gone into the hut; I know because I was also on the raids—you forget that. I saw what happened and he never went into the huts.’
Martha let go of Withred and turned her head away as her tears came. ‘Why did you ride with them then? How could you do that?’
‘Many things lead us to what we become,’ said Withred, his tone intense. ‘We’ve spoken of this before and I’ll try to answer your questions, even though the answers must be hard to accept. I kept Egbert off you as much as I could. As for my loyalty to Osric … it’s true, I was one of those who swore to die for him—a Gedriht—but I’ve renounced the oath. I’ve no wish to take part in the bloodletting of defenceless folk.’ A moment passed before Withred spoke again. ‘Martha,’ he said. ‘Look at me.’
She did as he asked.
‘I saw you escape from the hut, and I let it happen. You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth, I swear.’
Martha put her hand to her mouth—her eyes shut tight as she wept. She turned to Withred, placing her other hand on his arm, unable to speak. Withred’s expression was intense and earnest. ‘Whatever my sins, I’ll make amends Martha. For the rest of my life, I assure you, I’ll make amends.’
Simon got slowly to his feet and put his arms around Martha. ‘Fate has lead us down a strange path, that’s for sure’ he said, ‘and it could be argued we have no choice over what we become in life.’ He smiled as he looked around him. ‘Who would have thought that this odd group of people would be standing together in a Roman hut in the middle of a wild forest on a filthy day like this? What matters now is that we’re all alive and prepared to fight for each other.’
A disturbance came from outside. Tomas went to the window opening and peered out. ‘It’s Dominic and Murdoc!’ he shouted. ‘They’re back!’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After escaping the camp, Egbert and Cissa had travelled as fast as the terrain would allow. Living on their nerves, they frequently glanced behind, expecting to see pursuers on their tail. Cissa had removed the arrow from Egbert’s thigh, the projectile having merely glanced through a layer of fat. After this, they had attempted to leave the track and enter into the thick undergrowth, hoping to lose any chase, but after a period of tortured progress, fighting through the ensnaring shrubbery, they had returned to the easier passage of the track.
When nightfall came, they were glad to rest, but slept hardly at all. At first light, fearful that others might come upon them, they were on their way, eager to steal extra miles on the Britons.
As the rain began to fall, their progress faltered, yet they spurred their mounts as fast as they dared. In their haste, they missed the side trail used on their outward journey, and so continued alo
ng a track that was unknown to them. The pass around the steep valley side was already beginning to erode and they looked to the sky for Woden’s help as they saw that respectable bites of the path had fallen into the depths of the valley. Woden was benevolent to them at that moment, and they emerged from the shadow of the pass without mishap.
Then the path had descended steeply into the forest, and they made slow progress on its greasy surface for the rest of the day. Two more days of hard riding passed without encounter, before they eased their progress and dared to hope they had beaten the pursuit.
A further three days brought them to the edge of the forest where it met the sea. Here, the water mirrored the dull grey of the sky—the scene monochromic in contrast to the verdant palette of the woodlands. They purposed now to head northwards as this would lead them to Camulodunum and Osric.
As they picked their way along the rocky shoreline, the barnacle encrusted boulders made their passage slow and difficult. Evening fell, and they dismounted and sat looking out to sea, watching and listening as the languid waves rattled the shingles of the foreshore.
Cissa, nervous, his head jerking around like a chicken, took in the scene. ‘We need to rest but we’re too exposed here.’ He looked up the shore towards low cliffs a distance from the water line. ‘Maybe we could find a cave in the cliffs and make a fire.’
Egbert grunted to his feet and grabbed his pony’s halter. ‘Gods, you’re a pestering bastard. I think you’re determined to make me as thin as you.’
A wolf howled, stopping him and causing his blood to freeze. Cissa shuffled to cower under his pony’s belly. Egbert’s first thought was of Dominic. Using his pony as a shield before him, he stood with his back to the sea.
Cissa for his part peered from under his mount towards the direction of the howl. A grey blur along the beach confirmed his worst fears. Close to panic, he muttered: ‘We must get our backs to the cliff. Wolves have been following us—real wolves—not the wolf-man we saw in the forest.’
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 12
