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

by Atkinson, F J

  Dominic looked up the track and silently cursed. ‘We’re better off without the useless bastard anyway. Come on you lot. Let’s get away from here, quickly.’

  After an hour riding up the trail, Dominic stopped. ‘The road splits here. We need to draw them away and onto the main track. If we hide the junction to the village’—he pointed to a narrower trail that led westwards—‘they should take the open route into the deeper forest. Let’s get on with it; we’ve just enough light left to get this done.’

  ‘But surely they’ll remember the way they came last time,’ said Augustus.

  Dominic dismissed this. ‘No, I think not. The forest can be confusing. Even I can become baffled if I’m on unfamiliar ground. No … their eyes should naturally follow the open pathway. And don’t forget, we killed their best two trackers.’

  ‘It’s just as well we did,’ said Murdoc. ‘See how that rushing fool Darga’s left his pony’s hoof prints churned into the ground. He may as well have left them a sign saying, “This way to the slaughter!’’’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ came in Augustus. ‘Our prints will overlay them along the false track before we leave. Come—William, John, Sam!—we need to find brushwood to hide the opening.’

  Some then set to work to gather dead branches, whilst others cut down shrubs. When they had gathered ample, Dominic skilfully placed the material across the fork in the track, so that old dead vegetation reared behind newly introduced shrubs. Leaf litter was liberally scattered to disguise the plantings.

  Augustus admired Dominic’s handiwork. ‘If we ever get out of this alive you can plant a nice garden for my wife,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s hope it fools them, then,’ said Dominic, ‘I’ll gladly create a garden for the entire village and work only for board and lodgings if this works.’

  They moved back two hundred paces while William and John brushed all signs of their activity from the track. After they had finished, they rode over the area and down the trail, as if they had ridden along it one time only.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Osric had watched and waited when Dominic and the others had ridden from the rise overlooking the pool. With only twenty-five men left, he was still confident his depleted force could take the first village, which Egbert had informed him was only a day’s ride away.

  Nightfall was almost upon them before they had the confidence to move further up the valley. Now they stood on the elevated ground previously occupied by Dominic. Godrys approached Osric. ‘Are we to ride through the night,’ he asked.

  Osric dismissed this. ‘No, that would be the wrong thing to do. We’ve already been ambushed twice in broad daylight, who knows what they have planned for us in the dark. No … we travel at daybreak.’

  Next day they reached the divide in the trail. Given the task of riding a hundred paces behind the main group, the youth Godrys travelled with a gnarled, world-weary warrior named Bryni. Their brief was to guard against any attack from behind. Alert for any movement within the shadow of the tree cover, both stood in their saddles as they looked over the top of the brush on either side of the trail.

  The main group, led now by Egbert and Wlensling, passed where Dominic had disguised and hidden the track to the village. Happy to follow what they perceived to be the one and only route, they continued into the deeper woods.

  It was Godrys who spotted the ruse. He rode at a gallop to reach the main body of riders. ‘Osric, stop!’ he shouted. ‘We’ve found another hidden track back up the trail. We saw it from the height of our saddles.’

  The men stopped and rode back to Bryni, who was dismantling the disguise. Egbert dismounted and walked beyond the entanglement to the open trail beyond. ‘I see what they’ve done here,’ he said as he turned to Wlensling for confirmation. ‘Is this not the route we travelled upon before?’

  ‘Yes, said Wlensling, ‘they attempted to mislead us and nearly succeeded.’

  ‘Little wonder we were fooled,’ said Egbert, ‘the woods all look the same to me.’

  Osric clapped Godrys on the shoulder. ‘Well done lad, you saved us a needless journey.’ He looked up the trail where Dominic’s party had gone. ‘Still we can’t chance another ambush.’ Lips pursed, he pondered a moment. He addressed Godrys. ‘This may have worked in our favour but we need to keep an eye on them. Take Bryni and two others. Find them and watch them. If they turn to follow us, as I’m sure they will, send a rider at speed back to me at once. Engage them only if it’s safe. I can’t afford to lose any more men.’

  The four riders left and rode down the track. They rode at a good pace for an hour, following Dominic’s hoof prints, until Bryni halted and raised his arm for the others to stop. The land before them climbed and opened out, treeless. Two hundred paces away, a flat horizon slashed across their field of vision. Stood on the crest, six figures looked at them, before retreating behind the rise and out of sight.

  ‘Careful,’ said Godrys. ‘We know what they’re capable of. We fight only if we have the advantage. The longer we delay them now the more time Osric will have to take the first village.’ Godrys was aware that a success here would boost his standing in the group. He too could be a Gedriht like Egbert and Wlensling, and gain more gold and women. Surely, it would not hurt to ride over the rise and see what the Britons were up to.

  Dominic and the others had climbed into a furrow eroded by a rushing stream. A clay wall, twice the height of a man, towered behind them, protecting their backs. A colony of martins, nesting in the neat round holes of the banking, flew and wittered around their heads. It was a spot picked out specifically by Dominic when he had sat planning strategy with Withred during the long winter. It was also the limit of his previous wanderings. The woods beyond were unknown to him.

  ‘Four outriders, I counted,’ said Samuel. ‘The rest should follow soon.’

  ‘They’ve seen us, so ready your bows and aim at the rise, said Dominic. ‘If they show themselves, do not hesitate.’

  They had not long to wait. The Saxons believed the Britons had fled through open country, so stood on the edge of the crest, their outline clear for Dominic and the others to see.

  They took six arrows from short range. Three immediately fell wounded into the gully where Augustus and his brothers finished them with their axes.

  Godrys had survived. An arrow had entered his left side—a flesh wound only—and had caused him to stumble backwards. He was quickly on his pony and turned to gallop back towards Osric’s men.

  In the furrow, the men readied their bows for the next wave of anticipated attack. Murdoc climbed the slope and peered cautiously over, intent to give early warning.

  Three hours passed as they waited for the main body to arrive. Dominic, his patience strained, eventually climbed the clay banking and stood on the top edge beside Murdoc as they looked down the trail.

  ‘Damn my rotting eyes!’ Dominic bellowed. ‘Prepare to ride. They’re not coming, they must have found the track to the village. How could I have let this happen?’

  They mounted and rode at speed back down the track.

  After Darga had deserted, he galloped wildly away until his pony reached the point of collapse. When darkness fell, he spent the night just beyond the fork in the track.

  The next day, he had not gone far when his pony stumbled into a rutted hollow in the dried mud. It went down, throwing Darga. His head struck the ground and blackness had come to him.

  When his consciousness returned, he realised he was on foot, his pony having broken a foreleg. He stumbled to his feet and began to run, frequently looking behind as he did so. Unable to continue at pace, he slowed to a walk. He paused for breath, listening for any approach. He could hear nothing but his own pounding heart. Gasping, he stumbled into a beech wood. Here, the undergrowth was thin—the cover sparse. His breath returned and he moved quickly towards a swathe of thicker forest cover, three hundred paces distant.

  He whimpered as he heard the riders approach. Lurching wildly towa
rds the distant tree line, his attempt to outrun them was futile. He had covered just half the distance before they were upon him.

  Wlensling was the first to meet him, riding his pony into the youth’s back to send him sprawling to the ground. The others quickly surrounded him as Egbert and Osric dismounted.

  Egbert withdrew his knife and pulled Darga’s head back. Making ready to cut his throat, he growled: ‘Ambush us would you? Dig pits to ensnare us, eh? My only regret is that I don’t have enough time to kill you slowly, you British turd.’

  ‘Stay your hand!’ Osric stopped him. ‘We need to find out what this man knows. Guthren, you speak some of their tongue.’ A thickset man sporting a straggly moustache joined them. ‘Get from him what you can.’

  Guthren crouched to face the kneeling Darga. ‘Where do you ride to Briton?’ he asked.

  ‘Back to my village, I had nothing to do—’

  Guthren slapped him. ‘We saw you, so don’t lie.’

  ‘They made me do it,’ snivelled Darga, ‘I’ll tell you anything you need to know. I’ll lead you to my village.’

  ‘How many armed men await us there?’

  ‘Few—and most of them are useless. The better fighters you have already met.’

  ‘Apart from the cowardly bastard who fled at the first fight,’ sneered Guthren. ‘Tell me—is Withred at the village?’

  ‘Yes—yes,’ said Darga, eager to please and hopeful he could be of use to the Saxons. Maybe he would ride with them on future raids. Surely, the fighting would be easier against undefended folk. It would get him out of his miserable life in the fields. ‘It’s he and Dominic who trained the village for combat,’ he added.

  ‘This Dominic, is he the one who wears the wolf head?’

  ‘Yes it’s he.’

  Guthren told Osric and the others.

  ‘Dominic is his name then,’ said Egbert. ‘Dominic the wolf-man. His wolf head and his man’s head will part his body before this day is over.’

  ‘It seems we’ve little to fear in the village, then, apart from Withred,’ said Osric. ‘Still, we need to be careful. Ask him—’

  Wlensling interrupted. ‘Godrys approaches at speed!’

  Godrys, exhausted, arrived. He wearily dismounted and told of events down the trail.

  ‘Three more men dead, damn that man!’ said Wlensling. ‘We number just thirty-three now if my count is correct. That’s too many losses at this stage.’

  ‘Yet we still have enough men to get this task done with and return with slaves,’ said Osric. ‘We can cut their number by one now. Kill this coward, Guthren. He is no use to us. We know our way from here without him.’

  Darga, aware from Osric’s tone and gesture, implored Guthren who had raised his ax. ‘No don’t slay me! I can lead Withred and the others away from their defences in the village and make it easy for you to kill them.’

  Hesitant, Guthren told Osric of Darga’s offer. Osric pondered but shook his head.

  ‘No!’ screamed Darga. ‘I’ll kill them myself, I’ll—’ Guthren’s ax fell, shattering Darga’s skull. Egbert stepped in shoving Guthren aside, grunting as he added five more ax blows to Darga’s head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  An air of tension had infused the village after Dominic’s party had left. Withred and Brinley took charge of the few men that remained. As Withred cast a grim eye over his nervous but resolute men, he knew they were all that stood before the wave of destruction that could soon be upon them.

  Posted as a look out on the far boundary of the village, Tomas had instructions to blow one long blast on the ox horn he carried, should he spot the raiding party.

  The warning blast would signal the women and small children to hide in a boarded pit located under a storage hut on the edge of the village. Simon, armed with an ax, would then lead them to the hideaway.

  That left the able bodied men to combat the Saxons on the village boundary. Withred had discussed strategy with them repeatedly, until satisfied they could at least put up a creditable fight. He had drilled them to move rapidly into position upon hearing the horn. He anticipated the raiders would be fewer after their contact with Dominic’s group. At least this would give them a fighting chance.

  Tomas took up his position on an elevated banking overlooking the eastern track, as he had done every day since Dominic’s party had left. He had kept to the task diligently from dawn until dusk. A good distance below him were the two main defensive positions set up by Withred. Sometimes he alleviated the monotony of watch duty by practicing his archery skills on the straw deer brought from Dominic’s camp—the figure now being even more bedraggled than before. The afternoon was quiet and overcast as he took aim at the dummy. He smiled as his arrow hit the kill zone just below its shoulder.

  A clapping came from behind. He turned to see a smiling Simon. ‘Well done lad, maybe it’s the wolf hat that steadies your head and improves your aim.’

  Tomas smiled and self-consciously adjusted his hat. ‘It’s through practice Simon, and more practice, just as Dominic told me to do.’ He eyed the bundle that Simon carried.

  Simon laughed and sat down on the grassy mound. ‘Hungry as usual I see. There’s bread and cheese and nice red apples for us here.’

  ‘I didn’t think I could be so hungry sitting around all day,’ said Tomas as he joined Simon on the mound. ‘Martha said I’ve grown nearly as tall as—’

  A familiar rumbling caused Simon to drop the hunk of bread he had unwrapped. Tomas quickly found his feet and stared up the track. He needed to be sure before he sounded the horn.

  Simon was beside him and made to leave. ‘I need to get back,’ he said. ‘If this is who we fear then I’ll need to get the women and children into the hiding place.’

  Praying it was Dominic and the others, Tomas strained to hear any familiar shouts. The growing intensity of many hoof beats diminished his optimism.

  ‘No … not Egbert. Please, not him.’ Tomas’ face drained of colour. Below him, his former tormentor rode alongside Osric with spear aloft and topped with Darga’s maimed head. Trembling now, Tomas managed to lift the horn and give off one long blast.

  On hearing the blare, Egbert looked up to the rise and caught a glimpse of a figure he knew well. He saw that some of the riders had also seen Tomas and had hesitated on hearing the sound. ‘No, don’t stop,’ he shouted. ‘Ride on to the village; we’ll have sport with the runt bastard later.’

  As the horn sounded, Simon passed Withred’s group. Urgent and grim, they ran past him towards their defensive position.

  Upon reaching the village, Simon had scant time to muster and shepherd the women and children to the hideaway. Here, he tried his best to calm them but the sudden urgency had unsettled some of the younger children. As they started to cry, he lifted the boards that covered the pit. Martha gave Simon an anxious glance as she handed Ceola to him before climbing down into the hole.

  Simon hugged Ceola. ‘Remember when you hid with Dominic and your da under the tree root in the forest?’ Ceola nodded—her eyes big and trusting. ‘Well it will be just the same; no one will find us and it will soon be over.’

  ‘When will da and Dominic come?’ Ceola asked.

  ‘They’ll be here before you know it, my love, they are on their way.’

  He kissed the child and lowered her down to Martha. Then he lowered the other smaller children into the arms of mothers and grandmothers who, grim faced and weeping, accepted them. Anna, Brinley’s wife, was the last into the pit with Simon. Both replaced the boards above them.

  ‘Shhh!’ breathed Anna, in response to much whimpering and crying from the children as the darkness surrounded them. ‘Just imagine you are under a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night.’

  A rolling and scraping from above, evinced that Griswalda had positioned some barrels of flour on top of the boards.

  Just before it entered the village, the path passed between two ancient elms. Placed across this gap were three wooden oxcarts, tippe
d on their sides as a blockade. Thick holly bushes grew on either side of the carts. Although the barrier was avoidable via a difficult route through the surrounding bramble and holly, Withred had anticipated that the obstruction would nevertheless draw the raiders towards an engagement.

  As soon as the horn sounded, Withred and the men—who were in a constant state of readiness near to the ox carts—had quickly mustered twenty paces ahead of the cart barrier, to a point where scores of arrows had been stuck in the ground in readiness. Here the men stood with bows ready and drawn—Withred and Brinley standing at their core. In total, twenty-two men stood between the raiders and the village.

  ‘Together when I say!’ shouted Withred, as the sound of onrushing, but still unsighted, riders made the ground shake. He was aware that the inexperienced men would have more success aiming at close targets, so had chosen their stance a hundred paces from a bend where the riders would emerge. In checking the Saxons’ stride, the bend would give the bowmen time to take sight, then loose their arrows when a mere fifty paces separated them. Withred had drilled the men relentlessly for this day.

  As he waited, he cast a quick glance along the line of men. As a man of many battles, he was not surprised to see that some of the men were trembling violently; some even urinating where they stood, as the thunder of the onrush intensified. In a haze of hooves and dust, the Saxons emerged from the bend and yowled towards them.

  Withred roared above the clamour. ‘Stay your attack till I say! Wait, wait, wait … NOW!’

  Six arrows hit home, sending three men to the ground and leaving the others as riding-wounded. These were the younger men—the Geoguth—who had been eager to ride at the front of the group and prove their valour to Osric.

  ‘Hit the ground!’ shouted Osric, as he yanked his pony to a halt. ‘Find cover and attack on foot at my order!’

  As they dismounted and scrambled for cover, Withred spotted Egbert throwing himself behind a nearby bush. Rapidly, he loosed an arrow at him. ‘Slippery bastard!’ he cursed, as his arrow clattered off the stony track behind him.