When scouting for Rome he had become well-known throughout Britannia, from the wall of Hadrian to the southern Cantiaci coast. He knew almost every town in Roman Britain at that time and every one of them held a woman for him. Sometimes they were kind-hearted whores whom Dominic would treat well, often leaving them with as much coin as they could earn in a month. In some towns, he took up with serving wenches and women of higher status. Drawn to him by his reputation or attracted by his magnetism, these women would watch the approach of any scouting parties with anticipation, hoping the solid little woodsman rode amongst them.
410AD came and Rome left the isle of Britannia to fight foes closer to home, leaving Dominic without a role. He returned to his village then, still a young man of twenty-two. Skilled in tracking and warfare now, Dominic was unable to settle down and often entered the ancient woods, west of Camulodunum, to set his traps. For fifteen years he endured a pastoral life, living with his widowed mother and brother, Lew. However, during Dominic’s service for Rome all the younger women in the village had married, putting a premature end to Dominic’s carnal experiences.
One day, his brother, Lew, a man who wrestled with his own inner demons, had walked away. Dominic tracked him into the woods but lost his trail after it entered a gravel-clogged river. Fearing the worst, he returned to his distraught mother, feeling he had failed her. For months afterwards, he would search the woods as far as was safe but he never found Lew nor his trail, and finally accepted he must have perished in the old forest. His mother died and Dominic continued to struggle to see any purpose or future for him behind the drudgery of the plough. So at the age of thirty-seven he had walked away and entered the forest, never to return.
‘Dom, I didn’t expect to see you; you’re a sight for my sorry, sore eyes.’ Nila went to Dominic as he slid from his horse.
He embraced Nila. ‘I’m on my travels again, I’m afraid. I need supplies before I set out for Corinium. I’ve been sent to keep an eye on things up there.’ He stood back a step and looked at Nila. And I needed to see you—I so much needed to see you, he thought.
Loosely gathered in a ponytail, her dark plaits hung to one side and fell over her shoulder. She wore a simple, azure dress, tied at the waist by a plaited belt. The dress reached her ankles, and a hooded shawl of wool embraced her shoulders, keeping out the worst of the probing wind.
Beaming, she took his hands and stood back from him. ‘Make sure you come to me before you leave for Aquae Sulis, it would be nice to see you off.’
After some moments, Dominic reluctantly loosened his grasp. He self-consciously fingered the scar tissue on his face and made to turn to his hut. ‘That I’ll certainly do,’ he said. ‘As soon as I’ve got my things, I’ll see you then.’
Later, Dominic was stuffing supplies into his pony’s pannier when he sensed Nila behind him. He turned to her. In her hand, she held a small bundle tied with a strip of hemp. She gave a dismissive little shrug as Dominic glanced appreciatively at the bundle. ‘Just some bread and cheese for your journey, it was no trouble to put it together. The bread came from Brythonfort bakery this morning ... should cheer you on your way.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dominic taking the package. Afraid to meet Nila’s gaze, such was the intensity of his emotion, he looked to the ground. ‘You’re very kind, you’re …’
As his voice trailed away, Nila prompted him. ‘I’m what, Dom?’ She gave a self-conscious little laugh. ‘A witch? A burden? A pest?’ She prodded him playfully. ‘Come on ... What am I Dom?’
Dominic raised his head and met her eyes. Resolute but sad, he stumbled over his words. ‘You’re lovely, Nila … in every way, inside and out, you’re truly lovely ... that’s what you are ... since you ask.’ Then it poured from him. ‘So lovely that even though the world threatens to fall apart, I cannot get you out of my head—day or night.’ Taken aback, Nila was stunned to silence. Embarrassed and angry, Dominic threw up his hands in self-recrimination. ‘There ... I’ve said it. But what have I said; you still grieve and I babble nonsense at you. It was selfish of me. I am so sorry. I will go now and—‘
Nila placed her hand on his lips then hugged him, her warm breath against his ear. She had begun to weep. ‘Don’t you dare apologize to me. You spoke from your heart and your words were true. When you get back we can talk about this.’ She rubbed her sleeve across her eyes. ‘Keep safe Dom. I need you to keep safe.’
Astounded yet overjoyed by her response, and unsure of whether to hug her closer or let her go, Dominic merely stood back and took her hands again. He laughed, unable to contain his delight, as he beheld her. ‘Oh, I’ll keep safe, Nila. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll keep really safe now.’
Nila went to him then, and they embraced again, this time with less inhibition. When Dominic could finally let her go he walked elated to his horse.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Half a day after making landfall on Angeln, Withred was still the colour of driven snow. He turned and dry retched as Augustus chewed a hunk of bread, open-mouthed, before him. Titon, aware that something was going on between the two men, began to bound and yap around them.
‘What?’ laughed Augustus as he clapped Withred upon his back. ‘Do you so begrudge me my pleasures that the sight of me enjoying myself makes you want to puke?’
Withred, whose fragility at sea had often been the source of much joking at Brythonfort, waved Augustus away. Hands on knees and coughing, he refused to look at Augustus who had crouched before him. ‘No ... no, I mean it Gus, it’s not funny anymore. Get away from me; bugger off, you’re going to make me throw up again.’
Augustus fell back on his backside and chortled his booming laugh, sending showers of crumbs flying. ‘Ha ... ha, ha ... the best warrior I’ve ever seen reduced to a shrunken little boy. Just wait till I tell Dominic.’ His tone became singsong and childlike as he mimicked Withred. ‘No don’t do it Gus, you’re going to make me throw up. Ha, ha ... ha, ha, ha—‘
Augustus stopped abruptly as the ‘Yaowl’ sounded. Titon ceased his bounding and turned to the woods, ears raised, a low growl rumbling from him. Withred wiped the bile from his lower lip, flicked it to the ground, and looked at Augustus. ‘Wolves,’ he said unnecessarily. Augustus extended his arm and Withred obligingly pulled him to his feet.
‘Should’ve left you there on the ground you fat bastard,’ said Withred, smiling ruefully as he turned and looked towards a wall of trees thirty paces away. ‘That came from the woods and guess where we’re going?’
‘Go on … surprise me ... through the woods, perhaps. How far through them?’
‘All the way, some forty miles or so; straight across the headland ‘til we reach the eastern shore.’
Augustus nodded in the direction of the forest. ‘What’s it like in there?’
‘Mostly uninhabited ... timber and bogs mainly.’
‘Is there no other way to get to your Aunt’s village?’
‘None I’m afraid. The paths should be good though. They’re well used. A lot of those heading for Britannia enter the forest from the settlements on the eastern coast. I travelled through them myself before I left for the island.’
Augustus looked back down the road. Since leaving the port of Husum, it had been rutted but passable. Approaching the woods, he saw how the road narrowed to a seldom-used track. He slung his arm over Withred’s shoulder and walked him down the road towards their grazing horses. ‘Come on you Angle shit,’ he said. ‘Calm your belly and mount up, we’ve a wilderness to cross.’ Titon who by now had become inseparable from Augustus trotted behind them as they entered the woods.
Two swift hours passed and they progressed along the thin woodland trail with little impediment. Already dark and gloomy, the day delivered scant light within the confines of the forest and when dusk came they set up camp beside a torpid stream in a clearing of bullrushes and shallow lakes.
After feeding their fire Augustus held up a finger. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘can you hear?’
‘Hear what?’
‘Nothing … absolutely nothing since we entered the forest. Surely you’ve noticed it.’
Withred frowned as he snapped bullrush seed-heads apart and threw them onto the fire. ‘Yes and I’m not happy about it. No noise means no game; and no game means something’s scared them.’
Just visible in the gloaming, the horses stood fetlock deep in a shallow pool. Titon lapped at the water at their feet. Augustus darted a worried look towards them. ‘By something, I take it you mean wolves?’
‘Or bears,’ said Withred, his chiseled features lit up devilish by the fire. ‘There’s no shortage of big brown bears in these woods.’
Augustus stole an anxious look beyond the halo of fire light. ‘Comforting bastard aren’t you,’ he said.
Withred smiled thinly. ‘Best not to think of beasts and demons when you’re in the woods, Gus. Get down on your bed pack and sleep, man. That’s the only way to pass the nights here.’
Four hours later, their discordant snores grated through the still air of the clearing. Titon slept beside Augustus, twitching and whimpering in his dream. The fire had died to a mere flicker before the first of the horses gave out a whinny. In accompaniment, the second horse began to snort and stamp around.
Withred was quickly upon his feet. Hushed and urgent, he awakened Augustus. ‘Gus! Up man and feed the fire; something’s disturbed the mounts!’
‘Huh?’ Augustus took a moment to clear his head then rolled to his side and reached for kindling. Titon, roused now, stood stock-still and alert beside him.
Withred reached the first horse and stroked its neck, his voice low and reassuring. ‘Steady ... steady boy,’ he comforted. Nervy, the beast gave a low, vibrant whinny and stamped into the soft earth.
When the growling started, Withred strained to see into the darkness beyond the camp. A series of dark shapes confirmed what he had feared. Augustus stoked the fire again, its orange light reflecting in the eyes of the wolves. Twenty or so, guessed Withred. He chanced a quick glance to Augustus, now alert and holding on to Titon. ‘Gus, light two brands and bring them here—big ones, we need plenty of flame. First tie up the dog. He’s no use to us here; he’ll only set the wolves into frenzy.’
Moments later Augustus stood at Withred’s elbow. He handed him a brand. Withred took the flame without taking his eyes from the wolves. Behind them Titon whimpered in fear.
‘They’ve not moved,’ said Withred, still staring ahead. ‘They’re just watching us for now.’ A breeze caught the torches, causing them to snap and ripple. Withred nudged Augustus. ‘Move forward slowly with me,’ he breathed.
As they advanced the orange eyes began to vanish. Withred stopped and grabbed Augustus’ sleeve. ‘They’re drifting back into the thicker forest; hold your ground for now.’
Augustus rubbed his hand over his stomach where the scar tissue from a past injury pushed against the fabric of his tunic. ‘They say all dogs come from wolves,’ he said distantly. ‘And just one dog nearly finished me off.’ He nodded towards Titon. ‘His sister it was. Gods help us if they decide to rush us.’
Withred drew his seax from his belt. ‘We must be ready for them if they do. But I think they’ve lost interest for now—that or we scared them.’
Augustus retrieved his ax from his sleeping place. He scratched at Titon’s skull and checked the integrity of the knot securing him. ‘I’ll keep the fire fed. There’s no more sleep in me tonight so if you can sleep then get on with it, because I’ve just had a reminder of the worst day of my life.’
The night dragged on, tense but without further disturbance, and they continued eastwards as soon as the first insipid light of dawn filtered through the trees. The day was arduous but uneventful, and two hours before dusk Withred appraised their progress. ‘We need to plough on and stick to the trail. Half a day’s travel tomorrow should get us to the eastern shore, and soon after that we’ll come to my village. Then I can see my aunt again.’
‘How many years since you last met?’ asked Augustus, aware of Withred’s deep love for the woman.
‘Eight,’ he replied. A recollection made him smile. ‘Gave me a bundle of food for my journey she did. Had to hide it quickly in case the other men noticed the package and called me a mollycoddle.’
Augustus gave a little chuckle. ‘Sounds more like a mother than an aunt.’
‘That’s exactly what she is to me.’ Withred leaned back in his saddle and eased his horse down a steep riverbank and into a shallow river. With Augustus beside him, he headed eastwards—the shingle bottom of the river affording them an easier passage than the tangled woodland path. ‘My parents were both killed when I was a young boy,’ continued Withred. ‘Without Mildrithe, Nerthus herself knows what would have become of me. Many love her, you know. Most of the villages along the coast go to her for help. She tends to the sick ... the dying ... the troubled. She even …’ His voice trailed away as he looked ahead up the river. Titon had been splashing along occasionally pausing and looking back to Augustus. Now he stopped and dropped his stumpy tail downwards.
The behaviour was not lost on Augustus. ‘Something’s spooked him,’ he said. The dog turned and scurried back. Augustus dismounted, stooped to him, then ruffled its neck and ears. ‘What are you telling us, eh? eh?’
‘Could be a bear ahead ... anything.’ Withred had dismounted and joined Augustus, ankle deep in the water. His feet were barely wet before his horse let out a frightened whinny and reared upwards. He grabbed for its rein as the wolves attacked.
Augustus bear-hugged the neck of his own horse, steadying it. Withred’s horse had bolted. He was about to give chase when Augustus’ shout stopped him. ‘NO! Leave it! We must stick together! Let them have it!’ The main body of the pack had followed the free horse, leaving eight wolves for them to deal with.
Two went for the mastiff. The dog took the fight to them. A savage amalgam of snarling and snapping ensued as Titon twisted and slithered between flurries of bites.
Withred managed to remove his seax just as a wolf jumped at him. Its sternum met the blade. Pierced through the heart, it fell dead. Immediately, another grabbed his arm. He staggered backwards as it attempted to pull him to ground.
Augustus let go of his steed and dragged his ax from its saddle. ‘Keep on your feet. For Christ’s sake keep on your feet!’ he shouted. His horse, untouched for now, ran to the riverbank seeking escape. Augustus hefted his ax as he met his first wolf. Cold iron bit into its snout and the animal fell at his feet. He lurched forward as another attacked him from behind. Turning quickly and swinging his ax as he spun, he caught the wolf mid-leap. It dropped, its shoulder riven, its bones exposed.
Augustus turned to Withred who fought to keep his footing. Having grabbed his arm, one wolf strained to pull him to the ground, whilst another (an albino) leapt at his face. A third wolf rushed in and bit at the same arm. Their combined weight took Withred to his knees. The albino snapped at him just as Augustus arrived. Again his ax bit, shattering the beast’s midriff. The third wolf let go of Withred and with teeth bared and lips drawn went for Augustus. It fell to another of his ax swipes. He kicked at the remaining wolf which fled towards the main pack. Augustus pulled a disheveled Withred to his feet.
A yelp had them turn to Titon. The dog tore at the throat of a wolf pinned beneath it. Another had sunk its teeth into Titon’s back. Untroubled by this, the mastiff continued to gnash at the animal below it. Augustus stepped towards the melee and buried his ax into the upper wolf’s soft underbelly, leaving Titon free to tear out the throat of the animal beneath it.
A distance away, the main pack had started to devour Withred’s horse. Augustus grabbed Titon’s collar as it turned towards them. ‘No you don’t you mad bastard, were getting out of here.’ Panting, Titon looked up at him. Its right ear had gone, ripped off by one of the wolves. The dog was oblivious to the wound.
Withred, spent and wheezing, joined Augustus. ‘We’ve got to climb up ... climb
up from the river …’ He paused for breath as he stooped, holding up his arm. ‘Over there’—hardly able to lift his head, he turned to the river bank, where a slick of disturbed mud ran up its wall—‘the horse went that way. It has half our supplies on it.’
Augustus gathered Titon’s twisted leash and secured him. Weary himself, he cast an anxious glance down the river towards the scene of snarling and feeding. ‘Let’s get out of here, then, while the wolves are busy with that poor beast. You all right, Withred?’
‘I’ll live,’ said Withred, somewhat recovered, as he scuffed through the water. ‘Come—you’re right—we need to get away.’
One hour later, they found the horse. The animal grazed from the sparse winter grasses beneath a beech outcrop as if it had just spent a peaceful day in the meadow. Knowing the importance of finding the horse and its supplies, Augustus and Withred had followed its obvious trail through the diverse flora of the Angeln headland. For the first time since their encounter with the wolves they were then able to take stock of their wounds.
Apart from shallow scratches, Augustus was surprisingly untouched by the encounter. Withred pulled his jerkin over his head and appraised his damaged arm. Augustus took hold of the limb and peered at the wound.
He attempted to make light of the injury. ‘Just a couple of fang holes ... you’ll live.’ Withred gingerly prodded at the punctures as Augustus went to the horse. He returned with a bunch of sage. ‘I got this from Rozen at Brythonfort. I was saving the stuff to cheer up your cooking but now it’ll have to do as a dressing for the bite.’ He twisted the herb in his hands, bruising the foliage and releasing its oils. Withred winced as his companion squeezed his arm promoting a blood flow, mopped the blood with the sage, then pushed more of it into the holes. Finally, Augustus wrapped the remainder of the sage around Withred’s arm. ‘Rozen reckons this stuff stops wounds going bad.’ He tore a strip of linen from Withred’s shirt, giving him a little glance as he tied the fabric tightly around the poultice. ‘There ... the job’s done; the oils should help you heal. Can’t have your pleasure arm dropping off, can we now?’
Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 67
