Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain)

by Atkinson, F J

  Egbert swung onto his pony and looked at Cissa with disdain. ‘Then get on your feet, man. Make yourself big on your mount. They’ll soon leave to search for easier prey.’

  Cissa did not need telling twice. Nimbly, he sprung upon his pony. His legs splayed out as he roughly heeled the beast’s ribcage, forcing it to gallop towards the distant cliff face. Egbert followed, less concerned.

  Cissa reached the crag first and frantically searched for a way up to the higher ground above. Seeing no route, he reined his pony round to face the approaching Egbert. ‘We’re trapped … and look! The wolves have followed us … a lot of wolves!’ His head bobbed up and down as he counted. ‘I count fifteen … by Erce’s breasts! I count fifteen, Egbert!’

  Egbert turned and saw them; a scrawny but bold pack that had strung out as they cautiously neared them. He jerked savagely on his pony’s halter as it skittered beneath him. His eyes darted to the wolves, then, with scant conviction, he said: ‘They’ll not attack us, we’re too big and too much trouble for that.’

  ‘Then why do they still come?’ wittered Cissa. ‘Why are they so interested in us? They must have been watching us for hours.’

  ‘We’ve dealt with wolves before,’ said Egbert. ‘Even if they’re hungry enough to come close, a few kicks from the ponies will soon see them off.’

  Cissa mumbled his undying allegiance to Woden as the lead wolf again howled.

  Both ponies began to whinny and jump now, and a further howl caused Cissa’s mount to shy and rear. He fell from it upon rough scree. Seeing this, the wolves advanced, but Cissa scrambled his feet and made to regain his saddle.

  Egbert looked at the wolves, then at Cissa. The wolves needed a feast and neither he nor the ponies were going to provide them with one. He jerked his pony’s rein and moved alongside Cissa, who was making to mount his own pony. Egbert raised his knee high and with the flat of his foot kicked Cissa back to the ground. Seeing him as stricken prey, the wolves then fell upon him, engulfing him in a snarling free-for-all of biting and tearing.

  Egbert grabbed the rein of Cissa’s mount and rode a safe distance away from the carnage where, detached and indifferent, he watched the dismemberment of Cissa.

  After a while, he turned and rode until he came to a jutting promontory of rock which cut across the shingle beach and projected into the sea. Slowly, he rode around the base of the cliff looking for the path which would allow him an easy climb upwards away from the beach.

  The cliff face radiated dull orange in the strong moonlight. Despite his proximity to the wolves, this calming glow, along with the rhythmic slap of the waves against the rocks, made Egbert crave for sleep. Down the beach, he could still make out the predators as they fed on Cissa. He considered the possibilities. He could either attempt a risky moonlit climb up the cliff face, or camp where he was. He realised that staying beside the cliff could attract the attention of the wolves. Nevertheless, he decided to stay. The wolves would sleep for the night after stuffing their bellies on Cissa, he was sure of that.

  That night, he slept fitfully, but the dawn came without further incident. Part of Cissa’s ribcage and a few tattered clothes down the beach were the only clues that he had ever walked the earth as a living man. Of the wolves, there was no sign.

  The daylight afforded Egbert a good view of a possible route up the cliff face, and after a careful and tricky ascent he was able to reach the top of the buttress. Once on top he proceeded through knee-high grasses that grew in abundance. Soon the forest curved round in a green arc to meet the edge of the cliff and Egbert had no choice but to enter the woods yet again.

  No longer able to follow the track, he rode through a sea of brambles and nettles. These, he slashed at angrily with his ax, managing only to snag the weapon in the ensnaring undercover. Later that day he found a clear brook and drank from its fresh water.

  He pooled Cissa’s sparse provisions with his, realising he had only enough food to last him another day. Wearily, he resumed his journey through the tough scrub of the forest.

  It was late afternoon when he heard the honking of geese beyond a rise of trees before him. He hoped the geese were tame. This would mean a nearby village, and possibly Saxon folk who had begun to settle on the eastward shore of the country.

  He pushed through the tree line and found himself on what looked like a well-used dirt road. A line of geese waddled upon it. He melted back into the cover, unsure of the situation and not wishing to show himself for the moment. Eventually the line of geese passed, and their handler—a stout man wearing a dun tunic and woollen leggings—walked by wielding a long narrow stick with which he deftly tapped his birds.

  Egbert, seeing the man was unarmed and no threat, waited until he had passed before stepping out onto the rough road behind him. ‘The geese look ready for the feast, herdsman; I hope they bring you a good price for you at market.’

  The drover started and turned around. His tongue was Germanic. ‘You would do well to show yourself before you talk, stranger. My heart nearly stopped just then.’

  Egbert was relieved to hear his native tongue. ‘At least we understand each other. You’ve warriors like me to thank for your tenure in this land; men like me are clearing the land of the inferior stock. I intended to travel to Camulodunum but lost my way along with my men in the forest after a hard campaign.’

  ‘Then you’ve done well to find your way out, for it’s said the forest has no end and that many strange beasts dwell within. My brother for example, he—’

  ‘You’re right about strange beasts but the forest does not go on forever,’ said Egbert, impatient at the leisurely talk of the drover. ‘Camulodunum man, I need to get there—how far?’

  ‘It’s two days on foot, one day mounted. If you follow this track until it meets a wider way and then turn away from the forest you cannot go wrong. The road will take you to the town.’

  Egbert rode with the man to his village where he spent the night. The next day he followed the man’s instructions to the letter and arrived in Camulodunum just before dusk.

  The Romans had fortified the town, but very few stone buildings now remained. Wooden boarding now made up the walls of the current dwellings, while thatch was the material used for roofing. Fallen roofs, ruinous towers and the dilapidated gatehouse hinted at the town’s past splendour. Everywhere, old brick structures pushed brokenly from the ground. Overlaying all of this was the indelible, pragmatic stamp of Saxony. Noisy, clanging workshops and corals of ponies were spread across the broken topography of the place. At regular intervals, languid curls of smoke issued from the thatched roofs of numerous alehouses, brothels and lodging houses. The town, though very old, now had a frontier feel about it, and many different garbs were evident in the streets. Warriors, fresh from plunder and pillage, strutted round in gaudy ostentation, in contrast to Saxon farmers and traders dressed in rough woven clothing. The good housekeeping and sanitation that was typical of Roman occupation had broken down completely, and now dogs and pigs scavenged throughout the filthy streets. In places where the ground was clear of buildings, landless families had established impromptu smallholdings.

  The central market area was a hive of activity with many people from the surrounding villages bartering products from the back of ox carts. Egbert walked amongst the throng, searching for Osric, but first he found Wlensling. ‘Hey Wlensling,’ he greeted, ‘when did you get back? It seems years since we parted in the forest.’

  Wlensling squinted at Egbert in the gloom, at first unable to recognise him. ‘Egbert? Yes, by Erce, it is you. What have you been doing, man? You look overdue the grave, and I swear you are only half the man I remember, although still twice my size.’

  ‘Try spending weeks on short commons in that filthy copse and you would be in the grave grim one. At least my girth gave me reserves to draw upon when food was scarce. How did your journey go after we parted?’

  ‘It was tough going through the forest, but the few villages we found were already sett
led by our own folk and we all got back with little adventure. I‘ve told Osric of the untouched land we found beyond the first swathe of forest, and he intends to lead us himself to take more land and slaves next year when the weather improves. No doubt you’ll spend the winter in the alehouse.’ Wlensling eyes took in the throng that crowded past. ‘Where are Cissa and Hereward? Not whoring already, surely not?’

  ‘Hereward’s in a bear’s belly and Cissa’s in a wolf’s,’ said Egbert indifferently.

  Wlensling drained of colour. ‘What dead? Both of them? What of Withred and the others?’

  ‘Withred is a stinking traitor; he sides with the wolf-man and Britons. I presume the others — Deorwine, Leofric and the rest of them — are all dead. They were nowhere to be seen when we arrived at the clearing, and from what you’ve just said they’re not here.’ He patted his ax. ‘This fellow will have a busy time of it when we ride next year.’

  Wlensling looked stunned and incredulous. ‘I’ll take you to Osric,’ he said. ‘He needs to hear this.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Martha, aware that something was wrong, ran barefoot across the wet square to greet Dominic and Murdoc. Only one pony had returned and Murdoc was lying on his belly over it.

  ‘Quickly get him out of the rain and prepare the bed,’ urged Dominic.

  Martha approached the pony and briefly caressed Murdoc’s head before flashing a look of concern at Dominic and running back to the hut.

  Withred joined Dominic and together they helped Murdoc into the hut. Once inside, they changed him into dry clothing and sat him on the bed.

  Ceola joined Murdoc and hugged him. Murdoc hugged her back. ‘Don’t fret, little one,’ he reassured. ‘Dominic will mend my leg. And, anyway, seeing you has already made me feel better.’

  Dominic was soaking and exhausted. Martha chivvied him to change into dry clothing, but he resisted, insisting he could lose no time seeing to Murdoc’s leg. He left the hut.

  Soon he returned with eight neatly trimmed sticks. ‘I’ll see how the leg’s begun to set,’ he explained to the others. ‘Then I’ll set it rigid again, this time with more care and better tackle.’

  He removed the old splint which had begun to move and deteriorate. Then he unwrapped the soggy buckskin that had bound the leg. He murmured his approval. The leg was pale and bruised but looked healthy enough. The others watched quietly as he applied the new splint. Having more time, he was able to immobilise the leg with all eight of the staves. He encircled the shin tightly in the buckskin.

  ‘The leg seems to have held its own,’ he said, as he tidied up the leftover bits and pieces. ‘I feared that rot may have set in’—he looked tellingly at Murdoc—‘and that would have been the end of you, my man.’

  The warmth and comfort of the bed soon sent Murdoc into a deep, snoring sleep. After changing into dry clothes, Dominic told the others of their chase.

  When he had completed his tale, Withred spoke. ‘It seems we live in the hope that Egbert and Cissa perished under the mud slides but the rest of the men must have taken another path to Camulodunum. They’ll report to Osric, so we can be sure that a raiding party will ride through here early next year.’ He looked at the others, his brow knitted into deep furrows. ‘What do you suggest we do?’

  ‘Nothing until Murdoc is fit to move,’ said Dominic.

  ‘I know what you’re saying but I think it would be better if some of us leave soon to warn other folk,’ said Withred. ‘People will need time to prepare.’

  ‘I’m staying with Murdoc,’ said Martha.

  ‘I’m not leaving da,’ said Ceola.

  ‘I’ll go wherever Dominic goes,’ said Tomas.

  Dominic walked to the open door and looked out at the curtain of heavy rain. He frowned as he considered the possibilities. They could not stay at the camp, he realised that. Should they run or fight? Or both?

  He turned to the others. ‘The best we can do is find the nearest village and help them prepare; though how we can withstand seasoned warriors is anybody’s guess. To lie down and die or continue hiding for the rest of our lives is our other choice.’

  ‘Then we have no choice other than find other folk,’ said Withred.

  ‘I think you for one should go,’ said Dominic. ‘You know how the Saxons … Angles … call them what you will … you know how they fight.’

  ‘They fight ugly,’ said Withred with brutal simplicity.

  ‘Then the sooner you contact our people, the sooner they can be prepared in the right way,’ said Dominic.

  Simon spoke now. ‘I suppose I’d better go with you before the weather gets any worse for an old man to travel. My guile will make sure we don’t get into any unnecessary scrapes, and besides, we worked well together with the bear, why break up such a formidable partnership?’

  Withred smiled at the recollection. ‘I would be glad to have you, Simon. Together we are truly terrifying.’ The group laughed as the rain began to abate.

  ‘That’s it settled, then,’ said Dominic. ‘You’ll leave markers for us to follow. I’ll keep an eye on Murdoc’s wound and make sure he’s fit for the journey before we leave. I’ll also make sure the others are safe and fed. With luck, we should meet up well before the raiders set out on their next campaign. It’s important you travel quickly, and that means travelling light, so the rest of us will bring the bulk of provisions and weapons along when we set out later.’

  That night the rain finally ceased. Half filled with water, the pit in which Hereward had perished, finally collapsed and finished the job of his interment.

  Next morning, Withred and Simon prepared to leave. Dominic explained how to leave markers for them to follow. ‘Most of your footprints will have vanished when we set out,’ he told Simon, ‘so it’s vital you leave signs for me if you leave the trail, or any time you change to other paths.’

  With their packs secured and two stout ponies awaiting their departure, Dominic carried out his final adjustments to their loads. Martha helped Simon to bind his supplies to his mount. Upset, she turned and hugged him. ‘We went through much together and you are now my father. I’ll never forget how you saved my life … and made me laugh, even through the worst of it.’

  He took her hands. ‘I’m honoured you see me as your da. I told you that God would take care of us and he did. We’ll meet soon. This parting’s only for a little while, keep that in mind.’

  Dominic approached Withred who was fiddling with the straps on his mount. He clapped the Angle on his back. ‘We’ve put much trust in you, man … don’t betray it, a lot depends on you.’

  ‘I could have let you down when Egbert came to the camp,’ Withred reminded him. His sincere expression then melted into a smile as he looked at Dominic. ‘So don’t take too long joining us. I’ll look out for your bald head, or should I say that ridiculous hat.’

  Dominic clasped Withred’s hand. ‘You’ll see my hat soon, don’t you doubt it, but now you must leave while the best of the day is still before you.’

  Tomas and Ceola came outside and the group said their final goodbyes. Leading their ponies, Withred and Simon walked slowly from the clearing.

  The deluge had made the trail difficult underfoot, but the pair made steady progress for the next few days, encountering no one. Careful navigation ensured they passed the area of mudslides without mishap; the sludge having firmed after the rain had stopped. Eventually they passed through the area of overgrown coppice which had first given Egbert and his men a clue that human activity was nearby. Two further days of steady progress passed before they came to the abandoned village.

  They rode silently through the ghostly place, past the boulder-formed cross, until they reached a forsaken field at the village boundary. Hazel and birch had colonised the field—the new growth swaying at the height of two men across its expanse. Simon dismounted and walked a distance into the scrub. He thoughtfully rubbed at the silver bark of a birch tree. The place reminded him of his own village. Of all the people he h
ad lost forever. The raiders must have ridden through the place and left it alone because there was no one here to kill. Disease had beaten them to it, he was sure of that. He turned towards Withred, looking past him back to the village. ‘There was much disease and plague when I was a boy. It seems this place, too, has fallen foul of it.’

  Withred was sardonic. ‘One less village for men to destroy, I suppose.’

  They continued past the pond where the two boys had played, and took the track that eventually wound to the hill summit. Here, they took in the same breath-taking panorama of human colonisation witnessed by Egbert’s group weeks before.

  As a westerly wind tugged at his dark hair, Withred smiled in wonderment. Awed, he turned to Simon. ‘It’s little wonder that invaders seek out this blessed land—its beauty is beyond my words to describe it.’

  ‘Then we must talk to the people who live here,’ said Simon as he gently heeled his pony down the track in the direction of the village. ‘Maybe we can help prevent it being laid to waste.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The alehouse contained a varied selection of rough tables and benches, some of which were set within dusty alcoves. In these niches, lewd acts were visible through tattered ill-drawn curtains. A ray of sunlight found its way through a slatted window, sending a dust-speckled shaft into the dim room. A fire in the middle of the room burned low in an iron grate, filling the place with acrid smoke. Topped by wooden, plugged barrels, a stout oak table stood against a rotten, plaster wall, where, as drunk as his customers, the barkeeper leant back in his chair.

  Egbert sat in a shadowy corner glowering into his flagon. A pewter plate strewn with stripped chicken bones lay before him. A drunken harlot, fast asleep and snoring, leaned against him, her rouged-smeared lower lip drooping slackly from a mouth that displayed a selection of broken and discoloured teeth.