Egbert snatched her hair, curtailing her slumber. He threw her to the floor. ‘Away! I tire of you and your sow’s breath.’ He kicked the woman in the midriff, causing her to retch then vomit. She crawled from his reach. He slumped back onto the stained bench and shouted to the drunken barkeeper. ‘More ale you sluggard! Don’t make me come over there and get it myself!’
The barkeeper pushed his chair from the wall with the back of his head and managed to throw himself onto the floor with a crash. The act promoted a cackle of laughter from a nearby inebriate. Egbert merely growled as the man struggled to his feet.
He unplugged a barrel, filled another flagon, then stumbled over to Egbert. Steadying himself, he placed the ale on the table before staggering back to his upturned chair.
The harlot had gained her feet and started to scream at Egbert, but thought better about following through with her tirade when Egbert made to move towards her. Instead, she turned, staggered across the room, then fell through the door of the alehouse.
Osric shoved her aside as he entered. He brusquely signalled to the barkeeper for ale as he strode over to Egbert. ‘I thought I would find you here, fat belly. As ever the pleasures of the flesh and feast consume you.’
Egbert sneered as he dragged his greasy hands across his beard. ‘That’s why I’m a good captain to you, Osric,’ he slurred. ‘My lust for pleasure drives me deeper and deeper into the wild lands. That’s why we’ve a reason for entering that awful wood next year.’
Osric took his ale from the barkeeper and dismissed him with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘I think the awful woods may be less of a threat than the untouched lands to the west. The British have a champion there it seems. This Arthur who rides like a Roman noble and is a thorn in our side. That’s why we’ve been taking the difficult route of the forest.’ He waved the consideration away, eager to move on. ‘But that’s another matter, not for discussion now. Since Withred went over to the Britons, you’ve become quite important to me, despite my misgivings over your sanity. You’re right, we leave with a troop next year and from what you’ve told me so far we need to get rid of this wolf-man—this wild outcast of the woods. What more can you tell me of him.’
‘Only that he is dangerous and cunning. He killed several of my men and I had the devil of a time convincing them he is not a hell-spawned demon.’
‘You’re sure he isn’t?’ asked Osric seriously. ‘After all you just used the words devil and demon.’
‘No,’ laughed Egbert. ‘He wears strange garb and looses his bow with devilish accuracy, but that’s all. He seems to have an air about him, though, that feeds those who surround him. Withred serves to prove me on this. Woden himself could not hold sway over him, but it’s clear the wolf-man did.’
‘Ah, we come back to Withred,’ said Osric as he removed his dagger and plunged it into the table. ‘Withred I’ll kill myself … slowly.’ They paused and took gulps from their ale as they stared at the oscillating knife before them. ‘As for the wolf-man and his ragged army,’ continued Osric, ‘they should provide nothing but entertainment for our seasoned warriors. Eh, Egbert? Like a day of sport … hunting for swine.’
Egbert laughed and slapped the table. ‘Yes leader, and once the swine is caught and slain, the rest of the feast begins! Sweetmeats then follow, and yes, you’re right; the pleasures of the feast do consume me and I intend to eat my fill!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Two months passed, during which time Murdoc convalesced at the camp. He had spent his time immobile on the bed but was never alone. Martha and Ceola often sat talking while Dominic and Tomas were out in the forest. Soon he was able to find his feet and use the crutch that Dominic had fashioned for him. As the days grew shorter and the nights cooler he was able to hobble to the ring of stones surrounding the outside campfire, and there he would sit on clement evenings with the rest of the company as they wiled away the time with stories and games.
Tomas had started to accompany Dominic on his hunting forays and had begun to hero worship the grizzled woodsman. For his part, Dominic enjoyed the companionship of the eager youth, feeling flattered over the wonderment and awe that Tomas exuded towards him.
Tomas had made his first kill on a morning excursion with Dominic. He had brought down a rabbit near a pocked banking which Dominic had discovered earlier in the year. Tomas had almost injured himself as he jumped around holding another arrow, such was his joy at his success, and that evening had insisted on gutting, cleaning and cooking the rabbit himself. With pride, he served the stew to the others. Dominic spluttered and spat out his first mouthful, but Tomas’ disappointed expression transformed to a grin as the gathering broke into gleeful laughter at Dominic’s prank.
After a while, Martha nodded knowingly to Murdoc. ‘Murdoc would like to show you something,’ she said proudly.
The others looked on as Murdoc pushed himself up onto his good leg. Martha joined him and helped him to stand. Supporting himself against her shoulder, Murdoc took the weight off his injured limb. Martha passed him a stick and he hobbled a few steps across the clearing.
Dominic and Tomas, who had no idea that Murdoc’s convalescence was so advanced, were quickly on their feet shouting their encouragement.
Dominic stood back and beamed at Murdoc. ‘Well done! I’m amazed at your improvement, but take it slowly from now on. Just a little each day as the leg grows stronger.’
Murdoc leant on the stick and grasped Dominic’s arm with his free hand. ‘If it were not for you I would have died in agony. I owe you my life as well as my leg.’
‘Nay, I did nothing but strap the leg,’ dismissed Dominic. ‘You’ll repay me when I see you walking without the stick.’
‘After the stew I just ate maybe I’ll be running out of the hut tonight with no time to take the stick,’ said Murdoc, winking at Dominic.
Laughter again filled the square, as Tomas blushed and had his hair ruffled by Dominic.
As the evening drew on and darkness fell, the chill night began to surround them. They moved closer to the fire. Murdoc poked the embers, increasing its warming effect. ‘I’ll soon be fit to ride,’ he said. ‘I think the day draws near when we’ll be able to follow Withred and Simon.’
Ceola, who had been dozing in her father’s lap, stirred at this and looked at him. Her face was troubled. ‘Can’t we stay?’ she asked. ‘We are happy here and the forest hides us from the bad men.’
Murdoc hugged her and stroked her hair. ‘I would love to stay here as well. I could lie on the bed and get fatter and fatter while the rest of you do all the work until I was so fat you could all use me for a mattress.’ Ceola giggled and Murdoc tickled her until her laughter rang around the campfire, causing the others to smile. When silence returned, Murdoc continued. ‘But the bad men will come back, and it will be better for us all if we leave before they do.’
Dominic held his palms against the fire, rubbed them together, then stood up. ‘Yes, we need to get out of here soon,’ he agreed. ‘But for now my plans extend no further than a warm bed. The plan for our journey can wait till tomorrow.’
Next morning Dominic joined Murdoc by the stone fire-ring. ‘Good news,’ he said, ‘I think I can remove the binding from your leg today.’
Murdoc raised a surprised eyebrow ‘You think the leg will be ready?’
‘It can take your weight with the stick so it should’ve healed enough for it to be released from the splint. The bone’s probably healed. It’ll speed your recovery if the muscles are put to work again.’
Murdoc stretched the leg out before him. ‘Do it then,’ he said. ‘If you’re happy to release the splint, then that’s good enough for me.’
As Dominic knelt before him and supported the leg, a hand touched Murdoc’s shoulder. He looked up at Martha. ‘Dominic told me last night that he might remove the binding,’ she said.
He put his hand upon Martha’s, his face pale but resolute as he looked at her. Then he nodded to Dominic. ‘Remove it, Dom
… please.’
Murdoc felt the rigid frame loosen as Dominic unwound the leather binding. Not sure what to expect when the splint came off, he gritted his teeth in anticipation. He breathed deeply when no pain ensued.
With the outer buckskin removed and the sticks discarded, only an inner binding swathed the limb. In dread of what he would uncover, Murdoc took over and unwrapped the binding. He unwrapped the swathe and laid bare a leg that was merely thin and pale. Only a slight bump betrayed the position of the fracture.
Dominic stooped to examine it. He smiled up at Martha and Murdoc. ‘It seems that my talents have no bounds. The leg is thin and wasted, but it seems healthy enough.’
Martha kissed Dominic on the cheek. ‘Indeed you are a talented, good man,’ she said.
Lifted at the sight of Murdoc without the splint, Tomas and Ceola—who had quietly watched the laying bare of the limb—sat down beside him.
Two further weeks passed fair for November, enabling Murdoc to convalesce as he walked a little further each day. With the aid of the stick, he was soon able to walk across the clearing. One quiet, grey afternoon he met Dominic and Tomas as they returned from the forest. As ever the pair had scouted the surrounding area, combining sentry duty with hunting. A string of squirrels was slung over Tomas’ shoulder, bearing testament to a successful foray.
Dominic, impressed with Murdoc’s progress, clapped him on the back. ‘Soon you’ll be able to throw away the stick and help us in the forest my friend.’
‘I can travel by pony at least,’ said Murdoc. ‘Maybe it’s time to leave before the weather worsens.’
With a heavy heart, Dominic looked around at the camp. ‘This place has been my home for a while now. I suppose I’ve been putting off this moment … but you speak sense. If you feel fit enough to ride, then there’s no reason to stay any longer than we need too. I think Egbert will return here to seek revenge if he still lives, and I’d love to greet him; but that’s a pleasure that must wait for another time.’ He turned to Tomas. ‘Feed and water the ponies, lad. Tomorrow we start our journey.’
Removed from the cave and packed on the steeds, all necessary provisions were ready the next morning. Anything that could be of use to Egbert, Dominic concealed in the forest. All had their own Saxon pony as well as a spare. Ceola would ride with Murdoc. The extra mounts were loaded with the weapons cache left by the raiders. Tomas led the ponies from the clearing, but this time with a light heart and no fear of brutality from Egbert.
Dominic was the last to leave. He mounted his pony just as the others drifted into the woods. As he took a last look at his camp, he thought of the years he had spent alone in the forest. His solitary life had come to an abrupt halt. Things had changed significantly for him, he knew that now, yet somehow he welcomed the company of the sad fugitives who had come to share their life with him.
Three days later, they reached the abandoned village. Dominic immediately became edgy and eager to leave. Like those who had been there before, he felt the aura of the place. Martha, who rode beside him, sensed his unease.
Her look of concern invited a response. ‘It reminds me of the village I told you about,’ Dominic said, looking ahead as he rode. ‘The only difference is there are no bodies here—none above the ground anyway.’ He sighed. ‘So it’s a place of death all the same.’ He looked despairingly at Martha, his tone bitter. ‘What a world we live in,’ he said as he heeled his pony into a canter.
After riding through the village they found Simon’s waymarker. It was easy then to follow the many footprints that led to Brinley’s settlement.
The old woman dropped her bundle of brushwood and ran with a scream into one of the dwellings as Dominic’s group rode into the village. As soon as they neared the huts, the men of the village, brandishing crude weapons, ran into the open. Dominic nocked an arrow as Tomas readied his own bow.
Dominic pulled his bowstring back to his nose. He sighted his arrow at each man individually. ‘The first who steps forward with a weapon will die!’ he warned. ‘So back off good fellows, we are here to help you!’
They glared at Dominic. Then a youth with an arrogant air spoke. ‘Who are you that come dressed as a beast of the woods?’ You’re not welcome here—ride out!’
‘When will you think before you act, Darga?’ The voice came from behind the crowd. Its owner was a stocky middle-aged man with grey, short-cropped hair. He pushed to the front of the crowd. ‘Can you not see that these are the people we’ve been waiting for?’ Brinley turned and beckoned two men to join him.
Withred and Simon walked forward. Martha, holding Ceola, ran to Simon. ‘I said we would meet again,’ she said. ‘How good it is to see you.’
The group relaxed now, and Darga lowered his scythe.
Withred walked over to Dominic who took his offered hand. ‘I told you I could be trusted,’ he said. He looked at the spare ponies bristling with weapons. ‘Now we need to show our friends here the finer points of brute force.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After a mild start, the winter arrived in a fury as arctic air flowed down the east coast of the island. Heavy snow fell, smothering all life out of the country. In between the heavy falls, swirling bands of spindrift, whipped up by the wind, spiralled across white blanketed fields and through deserted town and village squares.
No one walked in the vast forest. Herds of deer fed as best they could by hoofing away the frozen snow and grazing on the inert vegetation below it. Thick slices of snow covered the north-facing sides of the trees, their branches seemingly sculpted from ice as more snow fell. Although cold and forbidding, the conditions within the forest were less severe than in the cleared lands. Here, brutal, swirling winds searched through the loosely woven clothing of those souls unlucky enough to roam outdoors.
But few would venture out into the numbing cold, unless the retrieval of fuel necessitated such an act. Piled high next to most dwellings, bundles of firewood, stockpiled in anticipation of a long winter, lay in readiness. Slaughtered livestock provided salted and dried meat. Only breeding stock was sustained, and this fed with dried hay which had been set aside for the purpose. Grains and pulses formed the bulk of the peasant diet, supplementing their sparse meat provisions.
Choked with smoke, the cottages burned fires day and night—the smoke finding its way out through weather-distressed thatched roofs, as cold winds sent icy draughts through thin, broken walls. Many were to die that winter (mainly the young and old) as the season refused to release its bitter grip upon the land.
The bear was struggling to survive the winter. It had found a shallow cave deep in the forest, but the relentless cold and a gnawing inner illness caused by old, festering arrow wounds had weakened it.
Eventually it awoke from its hibernation and lurched into the forest in search of food, its splayed pads crunching through frozen snow as it sniffed the air for prey. Two days were to pass before it sniffed out a herd of deer, but they easily outran the predator.
In desperation, it searched out a favourite stream where weeks earlier it had hunted for salmon. But now the stream was thick with ice. Attempting to break through the frozen surface, the bear stood upright then crashed downwards with tremendous force. The action served only to create superficial, frosty cracks on the white plate.
A further week passed without the weakening bear finding food, its former thickset physique having become even more spare and bedraggled. Finally, on an evening when the arctic wind hurled thick snow between the trees of the forest, the bear finally surrendered to its exhaustion and lay down in a low-lying, snow-sculpted, hazel grove. At last, its final sleep came to it.
In Camulodunum, the conditions were equally forbidding. Fires burned inside huts as folk fought to survive. Consequently, the location of the town was evident from many miles, betrayed by a lingering pall that lingered in the snow-saturated sky above the town. The cold claimed many victims—the weak and vulnerable making up the bulk of the cadavers. These were stacked in fro
zen heaps on the outskirts of town.
Egbert had spent most of his time in the alehouse, drunken or sleeping, and occasionally whoring. His condition by now had deteriorated; dark rings encircling eyes set in a grey face—a face almost entirely obscured by a filthy mat of stiff beard. It was in this condition that Osric found him.
The Saxon chief had left one of his many women asleep on the cot in his quarters, and ventured through the blizzard to retrieve firewood from the stockpile in the main square. Noticing the usual dull orange glow coming from the alehouse, he decided to sup ale and check on Egbert.
Surrounded by a swirling of snow, he entered the gloomy room. He spotted Egbert, slumped facedown and snoring with an empty upturned flagon beside him. A grunting from behind a nearby curtain told him the barkeeper was busy with one of his whores, so Osric helped himself to bread, cheese and two jugs of ale. One of jugs he poured over Egbert’s head, causing the comatose debauchee to splutter to a semi-conscious awareness.
‘Bastard!’ Egbert fumbled for his knife in vain. He blinked his blurred vision from his eyes until Osric’s form became apparent to him. ‘What … what … are you doing here? Why do you disturb me?’
Osric took a swig of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Believe it or not sow-gut, but you’re to be fit for a campaign next year, and at this moment I seriously doubt you’ll even be alive for it.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ slurred Egbert, ‘my winter pleasure has always been the alehouse, and it has never…it has NEVER! stopped me from killing Britons in the springtime.’
Osric sliced a hunk off the loaf and eyed Egbert disdainfully. ‘You still managed to lose many of your men, not to mention the slave boy and the woman. Maybe I should leave you here, eh? Maybe you’re more trouble than I can endure. Maybe you take too many risks.’
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 14
