‘Onwards and downwards then,’ said Colman as he heaved himself onto his pony.
When half way to the docks from the trading post, Eion spotted a disturbance in the ground.
He reported to Fróech. ‘Ponies left the track here, my lord … could be carrying the men we look for. It’s a well-used side track and there are a lot of prints but at least three ponies have left fresh prints.’
‘How fresh?’
‘Today or yesterday, without doubt.’
Fróech yearned for Latchna’s guidance, unaware that the scout lay dead alongside Kael fifty paces away. Fróech knew that Latchna would have been more precise—would have known to the time of day when the Britons had passed.
‘Looks like we part company here, then,’ Fróech said to Colman. ‘Father said you and five men are to follow any deviating trail we come upon.’
‘A familiar trail, too,’ said Colman. ‘Remember when we went to look for the escaped slaves?’ He nodded towards the narrow path that led into the trees. ‘Well that’s the way we went … leads to the monastery eventually.’
Fróech remembered now. Frowning, he asked Colman, ‘You think they may be looking for the slaves? But why? And why would they travel to the monastery?’
Colman shrugged. ‘Who knows? Perhaps they gained information from somebody on the way down to the docks. It’s still possible the fugitives could be at the monastery; haven’t we always suspected the monks of hiding them?’
‘But why would the Britons seek them?’ asked Fróech.
‘Makes sense really, doesn’t it? They’ll save their employer, Griff, a lot of gold if they can find them and return them to father. No doubt Griff would repay such an action generously.’
‘If that’s the case, then they should arrive here soon by my reckoning.’
Fróech now seriously considered going with Colman. He looked at Eion, still not fully confident in the man’s abilities. What if he was wrong? What if the Britons had gone to the docks and took sail already? If so, he could get back to the comforts of the ringfort by tomorrow night and put this thing behind him. Yes, he would go to the docks with the remaining four men and send Colman to follow the trail to the monastery.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mule’s mouth hung open as Flint ran down the hill to him. It looked like his brother, but how could that be. Here he was in a strange land across the sea, and Flint lived on the other side of the sea.
Elowen confirmed that it was indeed Flint when she ran towards him. ‘Flint,’ she screamed, ‘I knew you would come for us.’
Flint met her and took her into his arms, twirling her round and round as he hugged her.
‘I never would have stopped looking as long as I held breath in my body,’ wept Flint. ‘How could I have done that?’
He stopped twirling as Mule clamped him in his strong grip. Hugging Flint and Elowen at the same time, Mule laid his head against Flint’s shoulder. ‘Our da is dead,’ said Mule. ‘Now you must be our da.’
Flint hugged Mule back, flooded with love for him. ‘Lad … I’ll be whatever you want me to be.’ Now he looked towards the monastery as Maewyn’s absence again dawned upon him.
Elowen, who continued to beam up at him, put his mind at rest. ‘Come, we’ll go to Wyn,’ she said. ‘He’s working in the scriptorium with Donard.’
‘He’s learning his letters,’ added Mule, ‘and he’s real good at it.’
Flint laughed. ‘You lot are impossible. I’ve worried myself sick over you all, and when I get here,you two are having the time of your life, fishing; and Wyn’s becoming a scholar. Whatever am I going— ’
Ingles cry of alarm, had them turn to observe the young monk running down the hill towards them. Between them and Ingle strolled Dominic, who seemed unperturbed as Ingle closed upon him. Ingle held his habit hitched to his knees to aid his movement, his white legs pumping frantically below him.
Dominic held up his hands, palms outwards, as Ingle rushed up to him. ‘Whoa! young fellow, we are friends.’ He pointed to Flint just as Ingle skidded to a halt before him, his hands bunched into bony fists. ‘Does that man look like he’s trying to hurt them?’
Ingle peered downwards towards Flint, squinting and scrunching up his freckly nose as he took in the scene. Reluctantly, he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t appear so.’
‘That’s because he’s the boy’s brother and the girl’s cousin,’ said Dominic.
‘He’s … Flint?’ Ingle knew the name well from the many stories the children had told of him.
‘The very man,’ nodded Dominic. ‘All the way from Britannia with me and another fellow. We crossed the sea to find them.’
Ingle relaxed his fists. ‘Come … I’ll take you to the bishop,’ he said. ‘He’ll be amazed to hear this.’
Flint’s reunion with Maewyn held all the emotion and surprise of his earlier meeting with Mule and Elowen. Maewyn had wept upon seeing Flint as a massive surge of relief and joy engulfed him. The burden of being the one to ensure the safety of Mule and Elowen had gone. Now he had his brother with him—the man they all idolised. No one could hurt them now. Now they were safe.
Later, the four of them walked arms over shoulders into the refectory where Bishop Tassach awaited them. Beside him sat Rodric and Donard. A little way down the table sat Ingle and Dominic.
Tassach smiled as the happy group entered. Spreading his hands, he invited them to sit down. He tipped his head towards Dominic. ‘Our friend Dominic counsels a speedy departure so this meeting must be brief.’ His brow knitted as his expression took on a graver cast. ‘Speedy it must be, because according to Dominic, Fincath or his sons will have given chase by now.’ He looked towards the door as the sound of grunting ponies filtered into the room. ‘Such is the urgency to get to the docks by nightfall that your mounts are ready and await outside.’
Flint looked with concern at the four monks in the room, realising now they had risked their lives (still risked their lives) by taking in the children. ‘But won’t our visit cause you problems with Fincath?’ he asked with this in mind.
Rodric, who had previously spoken at length with Dominic about the matter, shook his head dismissively.
‘No doubt we will have a visit from the mac Garrchu people before long but we have our story ready for when they arrive. We’ll say you came looking for the children but to no avail. Then we’ll tell them you left to search the bogland. That should keep them off your tails until you get to your boat.’
Dominic stood, restless and eager to leave. ‘Yes, and we really must get going. Withred and Druce await us—hopefully with a ready boat and a helpful tide. It’s vital we set sail tonight.’ He looked out of the narrow slit window of the refectory. ‘We still have half a day of good light if we leave now.’
Flint and the children stood to say their goodbyes to the monks.
Tassach and Donard talked briefly with Dominic, as Rodric embraced Mule and Elowen.
Maewyn spoke to Ingle. ‘You made me laugh all day and every day and I thank you for that. Above all, you helped me realise that not all the men in this world are evil. For many days after we were taken, we met only awful people and I was beginning to think the world had gone bad forever.’
‘Never think that,’ said Ingle. ‘Remember that the Lord above will repay both good and evil when the day of reckoning comes.’
Maewyn laughed. ‘Well, if he needs a court jester then you’ve got it made.’ Unable to hold back any longer, he hugged Ingle. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said as his eyes moistened. ‘I listened to everything you told me about the Lord and everything else, and although sometimes I turned it into a joke I really did listen.’ They hugged for a while longer before Ingle left to say his goodbyes to Elowen and Mule.
Donard approached Maewyn and looked at him fondly. ‘I enjoyed my time in the scriptorium with you,’ he said. ‘Never have I had a more apt pupil than you. Another ten weeks and you would have been reading the Latin script without hesitation.’
Donard took a step back and raised one enigmatic eyebrow at Maewyn. ‘Maybe we could make a monk of you yet,’ he mused. Then his serious look melted away, ‘But it’s no good preaching at you; you will come to your own conclusion—that we all know.’
‘You know me well, then,’ smiled Maewyn.
‘And we may still meet,’ enthused Donard. ‘Remember, we sail to the north of your country—to Deva—four months from now. Perhaps we could meet you there; I’m sure you’d like to see Ingle again.’
Maewyn looked surprised. ‘Ingle sails with you?’
Donard looked furtively over to Ingle who was now saying goodbye to Dominic. ‘Yes, but don’t tell him,’ he whispered. ‘The bishop has decided his tendency towards irreverence could do with a bit of hard travel to blunt its edge.’
Maewyn’s smile was skeptical. ‘That, it will never do.’
Three hours later, Dominic, Flint and the children, approached the track leading to the docks. Dominic rode ahead, aware the chase would be well under way by now It would come from the direction of the main track; of that he had no doubt.
Flint knew something was afoot when Dominic returned from up trail filled with a sense of urgency. ‘Get off the track now, six riders head towards us.’
Flint, who carried Elowen on his pony, was quickly into the cover of the broom outcrop beside the track. Mule and Maewyn, sharing the same pony, followed. Dominic was the last to enter. He dismounted and turned to repair the parted shrubbery as best he could.
‘They’re still a fair distance up the track,’ Dominic said as he led his pony into the broom. ‘We have a little time now to get deeper into the cover.’
The ponies pushed further into the scrub until an unyielding entanglement of shrubbery completely halted their progress fifty paces in.
‘Stay here and be silent,’ whispered Dominic to the children. ‘Flint, come with me.’
They crept to the edge of the track. Kneeling in the cover of the broom, they watched as Colman and his five riders made their way towards them. Ready to fight, should things go wrong, Flint’s sword swayed in his grasp. Dominic nocked an arrow into his bowstring. ‘Move back with me, out of sight but within earshot,’ he instructed Flint.
Despite his hurried attempt at repair, Dominic knew they had left a visible trail. A good scout would not fail to see it … he would see it, even in the dark. With heart bounding, he drew his bow to its full tension and prepared to engage the Hibernians.
Colman peered at Eion as he reached him. ‘Why do you stop?’
‘Some activity on the trail, my lord. It looks like they might have halted here.’
‘Well they’ve not passed us, so it must’ve been on the way to the monastery. Maybe they stopped here to rest.’
Unaware that Dominic and Flint stood only ten paces from him, Eion studied the undergrowth. He scrutinised the broom, looking for disturbance, but none was apparent to his eye. He looked at the ground beneath his feet. There had been passage—both up and down the track.
Frowning, he pondered a while, then turned to Colman who waited, impatient, behind him. ‘We keep to the track, my lord. Their marks are strongest straight ahead towards the monastery.’
Flint and Dominic slowly and silently exhaled their relief as the group moved on. After waiting a while, they ventured to the side of the track.
Dominic looked up the trail. ‘Kael killed their best scout when he saw the other fellow off.’ He looked down to the disturbance in the ground. ‘How could he not see that? I was ready to fight them; we have been fortunate, Flint.’
‘Then, let’s hope our luck lasts until we’re safely on board the boat,’ replied the other.
Ingle saw Colman’s entourage coming and reported to Tassach at once. Moments passed before Colman dismounted and walked over to the waiting Tassach. ‘Where are they?’ he demanded.
‘Been and gone,’ replied Tassach. ‘Gone to the marshes to look for the children.’
‘Why would they come here first?’ asked Colman, unconvinced. ‘And how did they know to go to the bogs?’
‘They were told by a traveler they met. He told them of the rumour that slaves had escaped and fled to the marshes. The route to the marshes passes us here at the monastery and that is why they stopped a while.’
Colman eyed Tassach. ‘Always you have a good story for us when we come to you; and maybe that’s just what this is—a good story.’
As he held Tassach in his stare, Rodric, who could see his bishop beginning to wilt, stepped in. ‘It’s not a story, my lord, it is the truth. They stopped here only a little while, then left for the wetlands; they were seeking the children; their purpose to return them to your father, thus saving their own master his losses.’
It confirmed what he, Colman, had worked out for himself earlier, and the concurrence of Rodric’s explanation now suggested he might have been right all along. He looked towards the trail that led away from the monastery.
‘How long since they left?’
‘Half a morning,’ answered Rodric. ‘Their trail is still fresh to see. They held hope they could find the children.’
‘They will not find them, they are already dead,’ said Colman impatiently.
‘Well in that case they will be near the sea by now. We told them of a shortcut that leads from the marshes to the docks should their search prove fruitless.’
‘Then that’s the way we will go.’ Colman beckoned tetchily to the monk who held his pony.
To follow the trail to its conclusion and meet up with Fróech at the docks was now Colman’s intention. Without ceremony, he mounted and rode away.
Blowing softly in relief, Rodric turned to Tassach who mirrored his response. Just as well, we sent three monks to lay a trail again, he thought. Now they have something to follow.
Three hours after leaving Dominic and Flint, Withred had arrived at the docks by midday. Druce, who was eager to get back to his life in Britannia, was more than glad to see him. Together, they readied Druce’s boat, Pelagus, for the return journey. By late afternoon, the boat was provisioned and ready to sail.
Withred looked up the hill that led from the docks. ‘This is going to be tight,’ he frowned. ‘Dominic and Flint should be here soon, if everything went smoothly for them.’
‘The tide couldn’t be better so I hope they do arrive soon,’ said Druce.
The top of the boat’s sail was just visible beside the wharf. The low tide had the boat bobbing fifteen feet below them, accessible by a hemp ladder. A further fifteen feet of deep water lay beneath the boat.
Guairá, the harbourmaster, looked down at the boat. ‘Tricky beggar to get into, that’ll be,’ he said. ‘Hope your friends, when they arrive, don’t have anything bulky to load.’
Withred considered the situation as it stood. He knew the time had come to tell Guairá and Druce the reason for visiting Hibernia. If things had gone well, Dominic and Flint would be well on their way to the dock by now. When they arrived, he could not risk a spontaneous bad reaction from the two men before him. It would be better if he dealt with any problems now, rather than have complications later. Druce would be no problem, he was quietly confident about that, but Guairá was an enigma. Where his loyalty lay was anybody’s guess. The man seemed affable enough, but for all he knew he could be Fincath’s cousin. If Guairá reacted badly then he would have to take care of him.
‘The load is not bulky, Guairá,’ said Withred. ‘In fact it will load itself, or should I say they will load themselves.’
Guairá’s head shot back in surprise. ‘You’re telling me you are taking people back to Britannia?’
Withred nodded and looked at Druce, whose face rivaled Guairá’s in astonishment. Then he told them the tale of the children’s capture and the re
ason they had set off to find them; told them that Flint was a brother to the boys and a cousin to the girl. When he finished, he looked from Druce to Guairá. Transfixed, both had listened to the tale without interruption.
Druce was the first to speak. ‘I have children and I would have done the same. In fact I would sail around the known world to find them.’
Withred sighed, relieved he would not have to deal with his sailor. That would be a problem in itself. He looked at Guairá, trying to read the man, but he remained inscrutable. Withred subtly dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword.
Guairá saw the movement, but only smiled sadly. ‘There’s no need for that, man. Unlike Druce here, I have no children; my wife is barren, you see.’ He swept his arm around the docks. ‘This here is my child, and here I live with my woman.’
He noticed that Withred still gripped his sword. ‘You fear I will tell Fincath, but I will not, and I will tell you why.’ He pointed up the track, towards the woods that were visible at the top of the hill. ‘Your friends come from the monastery beyond the woods, and they come with the children. Have you any idea what Fincath will do to the monks if he suspects they were involved in this?’
Withred nodded and was about to answer but Guairá continued. ‘I told you I have no children, but I do have a nephew whom I love more than life. Ingle is his name, and he is a novice at the monastery. If Fincath suspects the monks surrendered the children to your friends, my nephew will die. Need I say more? So stay your hand, Withred; you have no need to worry about me.’
Withred, who still looked up towards the woods, was about to respond when Fróech and four men crested the hill some four hundred paces distant.
Guairá followed Withred’s gaze and was on to it at once. ‘They’ve not seen you yet, so get to the warehouse and don’t move,’ he said to Withred. ‘Let me and Druce deal with this as best we can.’
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 45
