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

by Atkinson, F J

  Two days later, Raedwald (intent on gaining revenge against Withred in any way he could) set out to Angeln. With him rode a sickly individual named Eadwig; the only youth in the village gullible enough to believe Raedwald’s hastily assembled story of an abandoned gold mine on the banks of the White Sea—one which had been worked clean, but would still provide them with enough scraps of gold to get them to Britannia.

  But after four days of rough travel—two of them through the unforgiving marshes and forests of Angeln—a trail-weary Raedwald had finally become exhausted and ready to give up his quest for vengeance.

  ‘Miserable bogs and trees, that’s all we’ve seen for the last two days; no wonder the Romans left this place alone,’ grumbled Raedwald as he stood pulling at his pony’s reins. Once again, the beast had become stuck in the mud.

  Eadwig, whose own pony was knee-deep in the glop, mirrored Raedwald as he dealt with his own problem. ‘I thought you said this would be an easy trip,’ he said. ‘All we’ve done up to now is walk with the ponies. What I’d give to actually ride upon mine.’

  ‘Over there,’ said Raedwald. ‘There’s a track. The ground looks more solid over there; we must get to it; and shut your bellyaching or I’ll cut your tongue out.’

  Eadwig fell silent then, knowing the folly of annoying Raedwald when his eyes took on their hollow look.

  Another bout of pulling and cursing saw them on the track. One hour later, a curl of smoke in the distance evidenced the location of a settlement. Raedwald knew it must be the village of Withred’s aunt. The Angle’s description of the huge deeply-etched oaks that lined the route to the village had been precise, right down to the lightening-struck tree which was scarred with a deep rebate from canopy to root.

  Raedwald knew it was time to tell Eadwig the real reason for the trip. The lad was weak and slow so would be easily won over. ‘We need to be careful ahead,’ he said. ‘I’ve been told a witch resides in the village.’

  Eadwig’s eyes grew wide with alarm. ‘Then why do we ride towards it?’ he asked.

  ‘Because like all witches she has a cache of gold. Gold that will get us to Britannia.’

  ‘And what of the gold mine? I thought we were to get our gold from the mine by the shore.’

  ‘Would you rather spend another five days striking through this wretched mud, then? Because that will happen if we head for the gold mine.’

  ‘Better that than fight with a witch. I hear they can turn you into toads.’

  Raedwald looked at Eadwig as if were completely mad. ‘Turn you into toads. Whoever told you that. No ... I have a plan. Listen to me, it’s quite easy really…’

  Mildrithe was sad after attending to Lufe. The man was old, had lived fifty-seven long years, but now his life was ending. A chill resided in his chest, setting it to an all-too-familiar rattle, but at least Mildrithe knew his end would be gentle—the chest malady always took them gently. Nerthus herself knew there were many worse ways to die. She thought then of Withred and wondered if he still lived. Often, she thought of her nephew; considered his new-found committal to the British cause. But this did not worry her, for she knew him to have a good soul. If he had abandoned the war bands, he would have done it for noble reasons, of that she was sure.

  A stranger, distraught, on the edge of the village startled her. Strangers were rare in Angeln and this one looked as if he had been through a battle. Of medium height with a wispy, ginger beard, a youth of nineteen held out his hand in supplication. Yet Mildrithe noticed a disturbing cast to the youth’s eyes which made her uneasy. She looked around for support, but the men were in the fields and the women at their chores. She was alone.

  ‘My friend is hurt; he fell under his pony back down the trail,’ said Raedwald with feigned desperation. ‘I was told a woman lives nearby; a woman who can heal. I seek this woman, though I fear it may be too late now to help my friend.’

  Mildrithe’s unease immediately dispersed as she heard Raedwald’s plea. A man was hurt and she would help him because that was her role in life. ‘Did he break any bones?’ she asked Raedwald as she hurried back to her hut. ‘I will need to set them securely if that is the case.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Raedwald as he followed Mildrithe. ‘He is holding his belly as if something strikes him there.’

  Mildrithe pushed a bunch of dried herbs and a jar of salve into the voluminous pocket of her dress and brushed past Raedwald who was standing in the doorway. ‘Come, take me to him. I’ll see what I can do.’

  As Mildrithe bustled past him, Raedwald noticed the necklace that hung from her neck. Heavy and pendulous, it seemed to be made of quality stones and had a gilding of yellow metal. Gold most probably. Even more fervent now, Raedwald took the lead and walked from the hut. ‘Follow me, frau,’ he said. ‘My friend is but a short way down the trail.’

  Mildrithe’s short legs were hard pushed to keep up with Raedwald as he hastened away from the village towards the thicker woodland which adjoined the track half a mile away. He looked back to Mildrithe, giving her a half-smile as he furtively checked over her shoulder to ensure no one from the village had seen them leave. After five hundred paces, he stopped and pointed into the trees beside the track. ‘His pony bolted into the woods,’ said Raedwald as he parted a thicket of hazel and strode into the muted interior of the forest.

  Mildrithe followed him and tentatively picked her way through the undergrowth. ‘I thought you said it threw him onto the actual track,’ she said as her unease returned.

  ‘No, he’s there, just ahead.’ Raedwald pointed towards a shape on the ground nearby.

  Eager to help, Mildrithe scurried towards Eadwig but found him dead—his head crushed and brain-smitten. A rock, bloodied and adorned with Eadwig’s hair, lay nearby.

  Mildrithe could not take it in. The youth said the man had hurt his belly, but it looked as if he had fallen from his horse and struck his head. Of the horse, there was no sign.

  As she knelt beside Eadwig and saw his injuries, an awful truth dawned on Mildrithe. This is no accident, this is wilful murder. She turned, but too late.

  Raedwald hurled the rock. Mildrithe fell, her scalp cloven and gaping. ‘That’s for my father, you witch,’ Raedwald said.

  Through a grey miasma, Mildrithe struggled to assemble one single coherent thought as she looked up at Raedwald. ‘’What have you done … why is this…’ She touched her head, her eyes rolling and distant. ‘What … what have you—’

  ‘I’ve hit you!’ screamed Raedwald. ‘Because you’re the sister of the mare who foaled Withred!’

  Mildrithe, confused and with consciousness fading, mumbled her incoherence.

  Raedwald dropped to his knee to hang above her. Now at the height of his anger, he grabbed her face. ‘My name is Raedwald, son of Egbert, and I have travelled four days to avenge him. Your nephew lured my father into the forest and that’s what I’ve just done to you. I come to claim blood for blood—if not Withred’s, then yours will do for now.’ He shook her as she drifted away from him. ‘No—no—don’t you dare go to sleep on me; not until you’ve felt my cock inside you.’

  Mildrithe’s eyes fluttered, her voice barely a whisper. ‘Withred, my Withred … what have you done…’

  The youth pushed her face to one side and lifted her dress.

  When he had finished, Raedwald removed the necklace from Mildrithe’s throat and rolled onto his back. Propped on his elbows, he cast a quick glance at Eadwig who lay dead nearby. Never would have gone through with it, he thought. I don’t know why I even asked you to come with me.

  As Mildrithe emitted a weak moan, Raedwald realised his last task remained undone. That the stunned sow had been largely unaware of her degradation truly saddened him. He had wanted her to feel and taste all of the savage thrusts he had delivered into her every orifice; wanted her to hear every curse he had spat into her face. But at least he could finish her now.

  He gained his feet, picked up the murder rock and held it above
his head. Mildrithe squirmed below him, her clothes bunched under her chin. He slammed the rock downwards.

  The necklace felt heavy in Raedwald’ hand as he later pulled if over the herbwoman’s maimed head. Its acquisition alone had made his trip worthwhile. Just one of its stones would buy him a sea passage. Now he could go to Britannia; now he could kill Britons.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Three thousand men camped on the huge open space within Guertepir’s ringfort. Dominic, Tomas and Ingle had shadowed the army before going their separate ways. Dominic and Ingle continued to Brythonfort, leaving Tomas behind to watch for any signs of troop movement.

  Specially built to hold the seven hundred head of cattle stolen from the western peninsula, a huge corral now sprawled before the bastion. It had attracted a number of curious local people, such was its vastness, and it was amongst this crowd that Tomas was able to blend as he spent his days waiting and watching.

  A rider, a man known to Tomas as Nairn, approached him as he leaned on the fence of the corral.

  ‘Are all thirty riders in position?’ asked Tomas.

  ‘Yes, Arthur instructed it as soon as Dominic gave him the news,’ said Nairn. ‘One rider on a fast horse every six miles between here and Brythonfort.’

  ‘Good; that means any news can get back to Arthur in a day.’

  Nairn looked at him ... saw the tired cast to his eyes. ‘Looks like you got the dung end of the stick here.’

  ‘It had to be me,’ said Tomas. ‘Dominic is known to Guertepir; he would have stood out like a boil on his cock.’

  Nairn pulled Tomas away from the corral’s fence. A group of drovers had ridden from the castle gate ‘Careful, they’re moving cows out of the compound.’

  ‘As soon as the ships come to port they take fifty cows away,’ said Tomas. ‘It’s been going on for two days now. Guertepir is getting them over to Hibernia as quick as he can.’

  ‘The sooner they’re gone the better for him, no doubt. That way he gets his gold quickly.’ Nairn watched the drovers rounding up a group of cattle. His unease grew as he looked towards the gates of the stronghold. ‘Well, I’ll leave you alone, it’s better that way ... won’t turn as many heads.’ He nodded towards a spinney two hundred paces distant. ‘I’ll camp there beside the trees. Day or night, I’m ready to go as soon as you have any news.’ He bade his goodbye and Tomas turned back to observe the ringfort.

  Guertepir sat beside Almaith in the hall. Thirty of his men took up the rest of Guertepir’s side of the long table. On the opposite side, Cunedda sat with his own bodyguard of thirty men.

  ‘It won’t be as easy as you think,’ said Cunedda. ‘Arthur is a powerful man and a fierce enemy when crossed.’

  Guertepir sighed and cast a quick glance towards Almaith. ‘I want Aquae Sulis for my wife; I told you that at Deva. You knew the deal before you came down here; do not go cold on me now.’

  ‘I’m not going cold on you, I’m merely stating that things are about to get lively. We have four thousand men between us when the rest of my men arrive, I would rather it be six thousand.’

  ‘Four thousand will do it,’ said Guertepir. ‘How many men do you think Arthur can muster for Erecura’s sake? I hear his stronghold has fewer than two hundred knights.’

  ‘Knights yes, but you are forgetting the levy.’

  Guertepir sighed impatiently. ‘What levy. What are you talking about, man?’

  ‘The common men who walk the fields. He can call upon them to fight if his kingdom is threatened. Do not forget, I am British, I know how these things work.’

  ‘Common men ... yes ... maybe.’ Guertepir waved his fingers at Cunedda in dismissal. ‘How many? Maybe a thousand poorly trained and ill-equipped peasants. We will fart them away, believe me.’

  ‘They may be peasants but Arthur will have them adequately trained. He regularly sends his knights to the villages to show them how to defend themselves. It’s in his interest; it takes the pressure off him if they have a measure of independence.’

  ‘Even so, we will still heavily outnumber them,’ said Guertepir, ‘that’s why we need to strike fast.’

  ‘Obtaining Aquae Sulis is one thing but defending it is another,’ said Cunedda. ‘Do not forget there are other Celtic lords who may ride to Arthur’s aid.’

  ‘But I hear his Dumnonii brethren further west have no time for him,’ said Guertepir. ‘Some dispute over a woman, I believe. You Britons are too sensitive over women; you should learn to share them like the Desi. So, you see,’ said Guertipir getting back to the point, ‘Arthur stands alone. Just his knights and peasants against four thousand of us. Why are we even discussing this?’

  ‘And what if they put their differences aside,’ said Cunedda? ‘What then? It will not be just Brythonfort we have to deal with but the fortress of Travena. A great lord resides there, and how many men he has at his disposal I can only guess. Then there’s the Cornovii, further west still. I hear they’re primitive but fierce. What if they decide to join Arthur?’

  ‘And why would they join with Arthur,’ asked Guertepir, his exasperated look of, what other obstacles is this man going to throw at my feet! directed towards his captain, Diarmait.

  ‘Because an army of four thousand men would be camped on their threshold. Maybe they just might feel threatened themselves.’ Cunedda now sighed and brought the ledges of his hands down to the table in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Look, I want to work with you and I appreciate your offer to allow my men to patrol your seaboard and repel the Uí Liatháin from landing and upsetting my people in Deva. In return, I will give you my support on this matter—that has always been the deal, but we need to get this right. Believe me, we need more men. I have spent the last decade above the wall taking back land stolen from me, only to see it lost the next year because I didn’t have the men to hold it.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Guertepir’s tone now demanded that Cunedda convince him. ‘Let’s just say I agree with you on this—that we need two thousand extra men. Tell me this, then. Where the hell are we to get them from?’

  Cunedda exchanged a glance with Lieth, his advisor and bodyguard, who sat beside him. Lieth, who knew where this was going, nodded his endorsement to Cunedda. ‘The Saxon you found wandering in your forest stealing game,’ said Cunedda. ’I speak his tongue of a fashion and spoke to him two days ago in his cell. Do you still hold him?’

  Guertepir was about to answer when Almaith squeezed his hand. He gave her a quick glance then turned to Cunedda. ‘Oh, him ... yes. I would have fed him to my pigs but my wife asked for him to be spared for a few more days. Why do you ask about him?’

  ‘He was in Camulodunum twenty days ago and told me he could get men to ride with him if we forged an alliance with them.’

  Guertepir looked at Cunedda as if he had just guffed the foulest of smells into the room. ‘Saxons? You’re actually suggesting we encourage a large body of Saxons to get together?’ He shook his head in apparent bewilderment, as if the suggestion was just too much to take in. His look to Diarmait, can you actually believe what this cock brain has just said, was not lost on Cunedda.

  Before Guertepir could vent his incredulity, Cunedda pressed on with his argument. ‘Look, I know you’ve had issues with the Saxons in the past but times are different now. A lot of the settlement has already happened in the southeast and they have shown they are capable of compromise. Yes, some Britons have lost their land, been murdered even, but at least the Saxons have granted them some concessions if the word of the travellers I have spoken to is to be believed.’

  ‘Then don’t believe them, said Guertepir, who looked as if he was still recovering from a kick in the groin. ‘Absolutely out of the question. I’ve killed their fathers and grandfathers as a favour to Rome when keeping the western lands clear of their stinking spawn. They’re not to be trusted, I tell you. How can you even consider this? They’ve killed Britons in droves, man. And you’re a Briton for pity’s sake.’

  ‘This is war,
Guertepir, and allegiances have to be forged in war. Don’t forget that we Britons are tribal still. Even more since the Romans left. I see myself as Votadini not British. No doubt, Arthur sees himself as Dumnonii. Loyalties change depending on the circumstances. You yourself once rode with Arthur, now you’re planning to usurp him.’

  ‘Right, right,’ said Guertepir now playing Devil’s advocate. ‘Let’s just say we have four thousand Saxons turn up here to help us and we take Aquae Sulis, what then? We thank them for their help and they just ride away do they? Because if you believe that, I think I may have misjudged your lucidity when I offered you this deal.’

  ‘Yes they do just ride away,’ said Cunedda. ‘They ride into the southwest. It’s the southwest they want. They want Brythonfort and Travena. Above all, they want access to the southern shore. Aquae Sulis would be a small concession to them for all that. They would rule the southwest and we would have replaced rebels with allies. They would do our job for us. They would keep the land clear of insurgents.’

  ‘Would, would, would!’ shouted Guertepir as he brought both fists down upon the table. ‘It’s all conjecture, man. The perfect outcome. But life isn’t perfect is it, Cunedda? Life is a barrel of shit that constantly topples over, and believe me we would be left with one big barrel of shit.’ Guertepir sighed as his temper waned, then looked to Diarmait who sat beside him. ‘What do you think, Diar? You’ve been quiet throughout all of this and you’ve killed more Saxons than any man I know. Please tell me you think this is insane.’

  Diarmait glanced briefly at Guertepir then looked at Cunedda. ‘Two thousand men you say? We need an extra two thousand men to make this work?’

  ‘From my experience above the wall, yes. Six thousand men in total should do it.’