Geraint (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 5)

by Jacky Gray

  ‘What makes you sure it’s not a filly?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I just sensed it. Surely a filly wouldn’t have the strength for this kind of journey.’

  Returning to mount their horses, Rattrick explained how the size, shape and distance between the hoof prints related to the gait of the animal and, as Geraint had spotted, the left horse was not putting one of his hooves down as heavily as the rest, leaving a shallower imprint.

  Rattrick spurred the horses into a gallop to cover the two miles to the next location more quickly. As they rounded the final bend, Geraint’s worst fears were realised. The carter’s wagon was stopped in the road between a small copse on the right and three oak trees and a crooked willow on the left. Five horses surrounded it, and five longbows were pointed at the driver who had both hands in the air.

  28 Saviour

  It was too late to hide their approach, and they’d lost any element of surprise, but this didn’t bother Rattrick. He carried on galloping, if anything, speeding up his pace. At the noise, three of the arrows were turned to point their way.

  ‘Halt. Come no further if you value your life.’ The man who barked out the command twitched his horse forward slightly, but not so far he was in any danger from the unknown threat.

  Holding up his hand, palm open, to the man, Rattrick pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a stop. ‘Hail, friend. I come in peace with a message for Guaril and Gunari, otherwise known as Hengest and Horsa.’

  ‘I am Horsa. State your name and your message.’

  ‘My name is Rattrick, a Renegate of Wessex. You may style yourself Horsa, but you’re not the man I seek. He’s taller than you and has a scar on his left cheek.’

  The man closest to the young carter gestured to one of the others to take his place and came forward. ‘You’re well informed, Rattrick of Wessex. I am Gunari. What is your message?’

  ‘The marshals of Dover, Canterburgh and Maidstone are joining forces to hunt you out of Kent. You should pull your people out of Maidstone and head north straight away. This area will be flooded with militia by nightfall.’

  ‘Well informed, indeed. Yet you come from London to tell us this, how can that be?’

  ‘Our informant said you wouldn’t set up camp in the town itself, so we scoured many miles around. I’d given up hope of finding you, and we were returning the quickest way.’

  Geraint studied the troupe, noting distinguishing features like the missing second finger on the left hand of the man nearest to him and the high, squeaky voice of the tallest man. He did this discretely, his eyes apparently fixed on the jacket of the man in front of him. Unusual, it had patches of greens and browns and a pointed hood which only lacked a bell to be a minstrel’s tabard. Despite these observations, he was fully aware of the interchange between his father and the leader.

  Gunari’s voice took on a suspicious tone. ‘Why would a stranger go to all that trouble to warn people like us? Something doesn’t ring true. Who is the lad? Your pretty boy?’

  Some of the men leered and wolf-whistled at Geraint who knew better than to show any reaction to the man’s derogatory comment, continuing his scrutiny.

  Rattrick’s voice cooled several degrees. ‘My son. We've been in the area to trade and to visit the White Horse Stone of our ancestors.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, boy. What did you think of the great stone? Is he not something to behold?’

  Geraint snapped his attention back to his inquisitor and held his gaze steadily as he spoke the truth. ‘I’m sorry to say we’ve not seen him yet, sir. We planned to go on the way back.’

  Losing interest, Gunari turned to his lieutenant, the man who’d spoken initially. ‘What do you think Guicta? Is it possible they speak the truth? Is the Renegate bond so strong they would waste a day to save our skins?’

  ‘I know of Rattrick; he made a tidy pot of gold in the markets at Canterburgh last week and the traders show him much respect.’

  The leader nodded wisely and urged his horse closer to the carriage, banging on the door with his foot, but all the shutters remained firmly down. ‘Well in that case you won’t mind handing over some of it to recompense us for the rich pickings I’m sure there are inside this wagon.’

  ‘That’s not possible. I heard there were fierce bandits in the area and had it all escorted by the militia to London.’

  Throwing back his head, he laughed. ‘I have heard of you. Guaril was grumbling about that story. But I cannot let it be known I turned away from a treasure trove.’ Turning back to the carriage, he shouted. ‘Open up or it will be the worse for your women if we have to break our way in.’ He kicked the door again, then tried the handle, but it was firmly locked. ‘Right boys, put an arrow in the carter’s leg and get the irons, we’ll smash the windows.’

  ‘Is this worth your troubles?’ Rattrick held up a gold chain which shone in the sunlight and the Renegate’s eyes glittered greedily. The value was well judged, less than they would have expected from a rich family, but a reasonable haul for so little effort.

  ‘A pretty trinket, but why would you part with it? Do these people mean something to you?’

  ‘Not at all. By all means, go ahead, but these new wagons are not easy to break into, I know to my cost. Every minute you spend here is a minute closer for the militia, and their horses will be fast and fresh from Maidstone.’ He folded the chain as if to return it to his pocket, his expression unconcerned.

  ‘It is a good offer chief, we cannot risk the time.’

  Narrowing his eyes, Horsa looked from the chain to the man, the boy and the carriage, his decision made. With a final thump on the door, he held his hand out for the prize. ‘I have the measure of you, Rattrick. You aim to extract a toll from these pilgrims. Well, good luck to you.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll reward us handsomely for assuring safe passage to their destination.’ Rattrick matched the leader’s smile.

  The man pocketed the chain and hollered a wild whoop as the five men galloped away.

  The blind on the door twitched open a crack, then rolled up as Darryn counted the horses. Geraint returned Siany’s shy wave.

  ‘It’s all right, sir, they’re gone.’ Rattrick reassured the magi man as they dismounted. ‘I suggest we ride with you the rest of the way.’

  Darryn nodded his agreement, and they went to where the carter was shuddering, white with shock. ‘They were going to shoot me.’

  ‘I know, lad. But they’re gone now. Are you able to drive? If not, my son can drive while you recover.’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right.’

  ‘You need water, do you have some?’

  Nodding, he took a long drink from his flask as Siany squealed and threw herself out of the coach toward Geraint. Somehow he managed to catch her, swirling her round until her feet were safely on the ground.

  She babbled, her voice a mixture of relief and surprise. ‘What are you doing down here? I’m so glad you are. I was terrified when those bad men came.’

  ‘It’s a good job they didn’t see you or Oleta. I don’t think they would have left so readily.’

  Her mother descended the steps and Darryn rushed to her side as she wobbled.

  Siany needed to tell her story to release the fear energy. ‘Father shut the blinds down quickly and locked the doors, but I could hear them racing around and yelling like when they left.’

  ‘It must have been frightening, not seeing what was happening.’

  ‘We could hear some of it and, when you first came, I thought you were more Renegates.’

  ‘We are. Very bad men.’

  ‘But you’re not the same as them, you’re … well you know what you are. You didn’t tell me why you’re here.’

  ‘You haven’t given me a chance to speak. We’ve been on a trading trip to Canterburgh, but we were going to stop here for a few days to visit the White Horse Stone.’

  ‘Oh that sounds fascinating. I’m sure Father will let me go with you.’ She turned to where Darryn had been
listening to Rattrick’s tale of the misdeeds of their attackers.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know how to thank you. You must allow me to reimburse you for the gold chain. It looked expensive.’

  ‘You saw that? But the blinds were down.’

  ‘I saw most of it through one of the concealed spy holes. We owe you far more than the price of the chain. If they’d managed to get inside, I dread to think what they would have done to Oleta and,’ he paused as the object of his fears listened nearby with a horrified expression. He hugged his wife and daughter to him with evident relief. ‘Right, I think we should get going. Tonight, we’ll make sure these brave men are treated to the best meal the inn can provide to say thank you for their courage.’

  Geraint had never been more proud of his father than during that meal. Gone were the coarse manners and bawdy talk he exchanged with friends round the camp fire. He was charming and courteous, not quite as knowledgeable as Darryn, but more than able to hold his own and offer opinions on a wide range of topics. Unlike Carterson, who seemed to have a bottomless thirst after his ordeal, finishing the first few beakers of ale almost as soon as they were refilled.

  The youth tried to engage Siany in conversation several times, but she gave no more than one or two word answers to his questions. Geraint watched with some satisfaction as she always found some way of including him in the conversation, asking his opinion or changing the subject completely, at which point the thwarted youth would usually take a long drink of ale. Oleta took pity on the lad and he welcomed her warmth, focussing his attention on her as the two men got into a long debate about the impact of the hostile Renegates in Kent and what might happen if they moved on to Wessex.

  ‘Your father’s a real hero. He’s not what I imagined at all from what you said.’

  ‘No, this is yet another side of him I’ve never seen before. But you’re right, he is a hero. Unlike your carter. He’s not what I imagined at all from what you said.’

  ‘That’s not very fair; they were going to shoot him.’

  ‘True. But I like to think I’d have done more than merely sit if Renegates were threatening you.’

  ‘But he’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a carter’s son.’

  It took a moment for her words to sink in; she’d just implied he was her boyfriend. Geraint emptied his beaker trying to conceal the blush which heated his cheeks.

  Caterson’s bladder chose that moment to protest at his excesses, and he stood up unsteadily, knocking over his chair.

  ‘Oh dear, I think today’s excitement has been too much for the poor lad.’ Rattrick stood to help Darryn, and between them they helped the wretched youth to the bathroom as the serving wench appeared to clear away the plates. They came back without him, and Geraint happily polished off the spare fruit crumble as well as his own strawberry pie and cream.

  As they settled in for the night in the luxurious room Darryn had insisted on hiring for them, Geraint voiced a concern which had begun to plague him as the excitement of the day had worn off. ‘What happens when they realise there’s no big joining together of the marshals? Won’t they want some revenge for spoiling their operation in Maidstone?’

  ‘They won’t find out. Every year the militia from those towns get together and compete in a tactical challenge.’

  ‘And this year it takes place in Maidstone.’

  ‘Starting the day after tomorrow. So their spies will see lots of troops moving to the area.’

  ‘But won’t they know about the challenge? If it happens every year …’

  ‘It’s not made public. They are training against exactly this kind of attack, so it’s all very hush-hush.’

  ‘Is that why your friend was going to London with the soldiers?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly say.’

  29 Do You Yield?

  The next day quickly became one of the best in Geraint’s life, right up to the last hour. May bowed out with days as warm and fragrant as any he could remember. The novelty of waking up in a room with its own bathroom was quickly surpassed by the huge plate loaded with bacon, sausages, golden eggs and plump, tasty funghi, all washed down with the biggest mug of tea he’d ever seen. It went from strength to strength, starting with his first trip to the famous stone of his ancestors.

  The surrounding area had a quiet dignity, and the views across the valley were impressive, but the stone itself was a little disappointing. He’d expected something much bigger, but he could look over it and Siany nearly reached the top. She stilled into uncharacteristic silence as she, too, absorbed the charged atmosphere. Following him across the clearing, she mimicked his actions, but when she touched the stone, she collapsed. He caught her and carried her out into the sunlight where she sat down.

  ‘What happened? Are you all right?’ Oleta was full of concern.

  ‘I’m fine. I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.’

  ‘Probably a delayed reaction to all the excitement yesterday. You should go back and stay at the inn, we can do this tomorrow.’

  ‘No, Father. I just need a few minutes to sit quietly.’

  Rattrick nudged his arm. ‘Don’t fuss, Darryn. Let her be.’

  Geraint was surprised Siany’s father should be so easily swayed by his. He was encouraged when the adults went off to look at the smaller stone, appreciating the chance to be alone with her.

  ‘What happened when you touched the stone?’

  ‘It was horrible. I could see lots of people fighting.’

  ‘You had a vision of the battles? With Hengist and Horsa and Vortigern?’

  ‘No. In Wessex. Oxford and Aveburgh. The townspeople were fighting the Renegates. People were getting hurt, and …’ she stopped and covered her face with her hands.

  ‘What? What did you see?’

  She shook her head as if by denying the image it would go away. Gazing at her, he sighed as he tried to decide what to do. He didn’t realise she was crying until he heard a sob. Gently removing her hands, he lifted her chin and the misery on her face tore at him like thorns on a bramble. ‘If you tell me, it will help.’

  ‘But, it was …’ She breathed in deeply and her voice calmed. ‘I saw you and Rattrick fighting. And my father; he was hurt and you were running away.’

  ‘You saw all of that in an instant? Are you sure it’s what you saw? Your father fighting against us?’

  ‘Yes. No. But ...’

  ‘Come here.’ Giving her no chance to protest, he pulled her to her feet and toward the stone, placing her hand on its smooth surface. When she tried to pull away, he covered it with his own. The stone magnified their connection until she saw the same images he had.

  ‘But you’re fighting together, against …’

  ‘Don’t say it. I had these visions. Of your wagon being attacked by the Renegates. It was just one possible future. But when we came to look for you, it changed. Do not think of this again or you may force it to happen.’

  ‘But Janna always says what will be, will be. Surely we cannot change that.’

  ‘Savannah says that too. But it doesn’t have to be the only way. We can change it with the power of thought.’

  She looked doubtful, and he told her about the contests at Herfest last year. How one boy knew he was going to win and another boy won because of his mother’s positive thoughts. By the time the others returned, she was talking and laughing normally so Darryn did not cancel their proposed trip to the beach.

  As they were about to leave, a group of women appeared, carrying garlands and ribbons. One of them said they were decorating the clearing in preparation for a large gathering to celebrate the Esbat.

  ‘Oh dear, is it full moon tonight? I’d forgotten in all the excitement.’ Oleta was disappointed.

  ‘We can’t have you missing the honey moon; it’s the finest of the year. You must join us tonight; the more the merrier.’

  ‘Yes, you’re very welcome. We will gather here just after sunset and welcome the moonrise.’

  ‘But I
have no gift to bring.’

  ‘Do not worry; there will be plenty. You will be our guests. Just bring yourselves and your good intentions; that will be enough.’

  But Oleta fretted as they walked down the hill back to the carriage and the others had great fun shouting out unhelpful suggestions about what she could contribute. Darryn drove the carriage. Although they’d hired it with the driver for the week, they left him at the inn, very much the worse for wear after the previous day’s excesses. Oleta sat with her husband to make sure he didn’t drive too fast, so Geraint travelled in the carriage with Rattrick and Siany. He’d never travelled in such luxury and was fascinated by the contents of the cupboards under the seats. As well as extra cushions and blankets for cooler weather, they contained enough food to keep a family going for days.

  ‘Look at this stuff: Bread, ham, cheese, pickle, fresh fruit and cakes; everything you could want for a meal. Bottles of water, wine and even ale. Do they expect you to eat on the road?’

  ‘It’s just for emergencies. In case the road was blocked with snow or flooded and you were stranded at the roadside.’ The emergency provisions were not news to Siany.

  ‘In the middle of summer?’ Geraint’s frown showed his doubt.

  ‘One of the horses could throw a shoe or one of the wheels could come off. Lots of things could go wrong.’ Rattrick chipped in.

  ‘Or a horse could go lame. What about the hoof prints we noticed yesterday?’

  ‘I checked this morning, just a trapped stone in the shoe. I dug it out and he’s right as rain now. Can you put the seat back and use it to sit on? I’d like to get comfortable, and I can’t until you settle down.’

  His father wanted to put his feet up and nod off, so they pulled out the small table and played card games for the rest of the short journey.

  Geraint’s enjoyment of the beach increased ten times by having someone to share it with. On the way down, they’d stopped briefly while his father walked down to the water and paddled for a few minutes. Then he found a tavern to sit with an ale until Geraint finished. Siany’s idea of the beach was so different. She changed in the carriage and came out wearing an old tabard and thin breeches with the legs cut off. On her advice, he’d brought his oldest tabard and breeches and after changing, he followed her down to the water’s edge.