by Chris Tookey
The younger boy didn’t much like being laughed at, but the remark gave him a chance to touch on the other topic that had been bothering him.
“Do you know anything about bugbears?”
“Yeah. Big, ugly brutes. Horns on their heads. Hair all over them. Permanently bad-tempered. Worse than my dad!” said Hogfrid, releasing another arrow at the target. “Oh, look, you put me off!”
“Shall I get your arrow out of the fence?”
Wyrd went across to the palisade and eased the arrow out, taking care not to damage the head, so it could be used again. He continued to talk to the older boy.
“Herdis says there was one in the village the other day.”
“Oh yeah?”
“He gave her that My Little Goblin she plays with.”
“Really? What a pillock!” Hogfrid let loose another arrow and it hit the dummy in the forehead.
“He carved a sign outside the gate. In the shape of a horn. Do you know what that means?”
“I dunno. Maybe he was feeling horny,” said Hogfrid. “Horny? Geddit?”
“I’m serious, Hogfrid. Aren’t bugbears dangerous?”
“Not so much on their own,” said Hogfrid. “Apparently they’re big but cowardly. They’re dangerous when they band together. In raiding parties. They move around the country, so they say, living off the land.”
“I’ve never read anything about them,” said the boy.
“That’s because everything you read is by the Romans and Greeks. Bugbears are British creatures, and they’ve always kept well out of their way. Like most of the old ones.”
“Old ones? You mean people over twenty?”
“No,” said Hogfrid, “I mean the Old Ones. Elves, dwarves, goblins, orcs, trolls, lizard-men… Them kinds of old ones. Them who were here long before the Romans, long before the Celts, long before any of us humans.”
“I thought they were just in stories.”
“Is that what your mum and dad tell you?” asked Hogfrid, sardonically.
“They never tell me anything like that,” said Wyrd. “They always say I’m too young. And that they’ll tell me lots more when I’m older. But I’m old enough to look after the sheep.”
“Sheep are easy,” said Hogfrid. “Not like pigs. I’ve been down with the pigs all day, and now my dad’s asked me to go on watch tonight.”
“Up in the gatehouse?”
“Yeah. Dead boring it is. Nothing ever happens.”
“Can I come and visit you?”
“If you like. Keep your poor old cousin company. Bring your slingshot. We might kill a rabbit. Well, I might. You’re such a cripple. Chances are, you’d only break its ankle.”
***
Wyrd tried to make conversation during the evening meal, but his father was uncommunicative and tired from tilling the fields. His mother was quiet, too. Occasionally, the boy thought she was about to tell him something; but whenever she did, her husband looked searchingly at her and she fell silent. The hut was so silent, you could have heard a snail perspire.
“Is it all right if I keep watch with Hogfrid?” asked Wyrd.
“I don’t want you there all night,” said his father. “You’ve got to be up at dawn to tend the sheep. And the chickens need feeding.”
“Clothilda’s taught Herdis to do that,” said Sieglinda.
“Good,” said her husband. “High time that girl made herself useful.”
“She is only six.”
“When I was six—”
“I know, I know,” said his wife. “In Norway you were expected to hew wood, carry water from the fjord, mend the fences—”
“Well, by Mani, I was,” her husband interrupted, grumpily.
“I came from there too,” his wife pointed out, smiling.
“But your father was a rich man. Until—”
Gunnar’s voice trailed away. He looked across at their son.
“It’s all right,” said Sieglinda. “It’s good that he knows our story.”
“You’ve told me it before,” said Wyrd. “Loads of times. The Huns came.”
“They said their King Attila would protect us,” said his mother. “But we knew from the villages he had already destroyed that he and his kind would kill us if we stayed. So we fled down the fjords on long boats.”
“Which is where your mother met me,” said Gunnar. “On our way to Britannia, the Promised Land.”
“Except that the Promised Land was already full of Saxons and Celts,” continued Sieglinda.
“And Romans ready to enslave us,” muttered Gunnar. “Especially if you kept to their long, straight roads. But we travelled west, across the land, and here we are – in deepest Dumnonia.”
“Have I always been a cripple?” asked the boy.
“You shouldn’t call yourself that,” said his mother.
“It’s what I am,” said the boy.
“One of your legs is a little bit longer than the other,” said his mother.
“So, I’m slow at running. And I’m clumsy.”
“Maybe you’ll grow out of it,” said his father. “Who knows?”
“And why do I look so different from you?” asked Wyrd.
“How do you mean?” asked his mother.
“Well, my hair is dark and yours is fair,” said the boy.
“It sometimes happens that way,” said his father. “Don’t pay it any mind.”
“And are Herdis and Hogfrid really my cousins?” asked Wyrd.
“Their mother and father were on the boat with us,” said his mother quietly. “They became like a brother and sister to us.”
“But they’re not blood relations, are they?”
“Blood?” Gunnar laughed mirthlessly. “Don’t talk to me about blood.”
“We lost our blood families on the other side of the water,” said Sieglinda. “Now we have made our own.”
“You don’t just lose families,” said Wyrd. “Besides, you’ve never really told me what happened to them.”
“I – I don’t…” his mother blushed and hesitated. She looked across to her husband for assistance.
“The boy’s got to know sooner or later,” muttered his father.
“We heard later that everyone died,” said his mother.
“You mean there was a plague?”
“No. Well, yes,” said his mother slowly. “A plague of Huns. They wanted our land and they drove us into the sea. A few dozen of us escaped but hundreds died.”
“Including my grandparents?”
“Including them.”
“So, why am I your only son? Didn’t you want more children?”
“Let’s just say we’d given up all hope of children until you… came along,” said his mother, ruffling his hair.
“What do you mean ‘came along’?”
“That’s enough,” said his father, abruptly.
At that moment, Rottbad poked his head through the door.
“Gunnar,” he said, “may I have a word with your son?”
“Why?” asked Gunnar. “What’s he done wrong?”
Rottbad raised his hand.
“Oh nothing, nothing. I just wondered if he’d seen something.”
“What kind of a something?” asked Gunnar.
“I don’t want to worry you over nothing, but little Herdis says she saw something this afternoon. A big lizard, running on its hind legs.”
“Do you know anything about this?” Gunnar asked Wyrd.
“I didn’t see it myself,” shrugged the boy. “It might have been a squirrel.”
“Herdis says it was green and brown.”
“It might have been,” admitted Wyrd. “But it ran off before I was able to see.”
“It’s your job to look out for these things,” Gunnar rebuked
him. “It sounds to me like a lizard-man. You can never trust a lizard-man. He might have been after our sheep. Or worse.”
“Sorry,” said Wyrd. “I was more worried about the mark outside our gate.”
“Mark?” asked his father sharply. “What mark?”
“Come outside,” said Wyrd. “I’ll show you.”
They unlatched the main gate and, after a moment to check that there were no bears or wolves lurking outside, opened it wide.
“Look!” said the boy, parting the grasses so that Gunnar and Rottbad could see. “Herdis says the bugbear did it.”
“Do you think it might have anything to do with the lizard-man?” asked Rottbad.
“By Odin! It might,” said Gunnar, looking around nervously. “I think we’d best be going back inside.”
They closed the village gate. Wyrd noticed that Gunnar made sure it was latched securely.
“Rottbad,” said Gunnar, “I think you and I had better keep watch tonight.”
“But we’ve hardly had a rest since the beginning of harvest!” protested Rottbad. “Let’s at least have a few hours of sleep.”
Hogfrid leant over the edge of the watchtower.
“I’m not tired,” he said. “I could keep watch.”
“Well…” said Gunnar, doubtfully.
“Hogfrid can do first watch,” said Rottbad. “He’s old enough.”
“All right!” said Gunnar. “But we must warn everyone in the village. We should sleep with our weapons standing by.”
“What do you mean, weapons?” asked Rottbad, with a grin.
“I’ve got my pitchfork, and you’ve got your axe.”
Rottbad nodded doubtfully.
“And I’ve got my bow,” said Hogfrid.
“And my slingshot,” added Wyrd.
“Besides,” said Hogfrid, “if there’s any trouble I’ll ring the bell, and that clanging would frighten anything off.”
He pulled on the bell-rope, and the bell clanged loud and clear.
They all laughed. Somehow, the sound gave them all confidence. Within seconds, the area near the gate was full of villagers in various stages of undress and panic.
“Are we being attacked?” asked Rottbad’s heavily pregnant wife, rushing out of their hut.
“Don’t worry, pumpkin!” laughed Rottbad.
Ulf the village elder raised his hand for silence.
“Why this melancholy clangour?” he intoned.
“I was just testing the bell!” said Rottbad. “A lizard-man has been seen spying, and we all know what that means!”
“I don’t,” said Mildreth, who was looking particularly fetching in a scanty white night-smock.
There was a hubbub of voices as the inhabitants discussed what having a lizard-man in the area meant.
“Does it mean there’ll be rain?”
“No, it means it’s getting colder.”
“Warmer, surely.”
“It’s a sign that the gods will punish us.”
“Isn’t it a sign of good luck?”
“Hush!” ordered Ulf the Elder. “Sieglinda, you are the most learned among us. Vouchsafe your interpretation of this unaccustomed occurrence!”
“Lizard-men,” said Sieglinda, “are generally used as spies by raiding parties of creatures less suited to stealth – such as, for example, bugbears.”
“Bugbears!”
“Did she say slugbears?”
“I though she said reindeer.”
“We don’t have reindeer here. The woman’s off her head.”
“Probably thinks she’s still in Scandinavia, wading through the fjords!”
“Silence!” ordered Ulf. “We must all be vigilant.”
“Our families will stand guard tonight,” said Rottbad. “That’s mine and Gunnar’s. I’m taking second watch.”
“Do you want me to bring you a little something?” asked Mildreth, with a sly smile. “You only have to ask.”
“That will not be necessary, thank you, Mildreth,” snapped Rottbad’s wife, Clothilda. “I may be with child, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, I’m sure!” said Mildreth, primly.
A murmur ran round the other villagers. They all knew very well what Clothilda meant and had a good idea of what Mildreth got up to in the barn with their menfolk. As the crowd dispersed, little Herdis ran out, rubbing her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” she cried.
“Go back to bed, Herdis!” said her mother. “This is nothing to do with you!”
“I wasn’t asleep,” said Herdis. “Not completely, anyway. What’s happening?”
“It’s probably nothing,” said Wyrd.
“Exactly,” said Gunnar. “We’re just making sure we’re safe overnight.”
“You think we might be robbed?” asked Herdis.
“I shouldn’t think we have enough to make robbing us worth anyone’s while,” said Gunnar, reassuringly. “It’s just a precaution. Hogfrid has agreed to keep watch for the first part of the night, and then your father will relieve him, around midnight.
“Can I stay up with Hogfrid?” asked Wyrd.
“All right, but only for the first hour or two,” said his mother. “I’ll fetch a candle and some milk. I want you back in here before the candle burns down.”
3
A Bit of an Adventure
In which our hero faces impossible odds
“Well, I think it’s great,” said Hogfrid, patrolling the watchtower with his bow at the ready. “This place could do with a bit of excitement. A bit of adventure.”
“I’m not sure I want adventure,” said the younger boy, solemnly. “I like just being here with my dog, and the sheep. Even if they do smell. And taste awful.”
“Ssh!” whispered Hogfrid.
“What?”
“I think I heard something! Quiet!”
The boys froze in the dark. Light footsteps could be heard, furtively approaching. They ascended the wooden ladder. How had the lizard-man got in? Hogfrid grabbed the candle and swung it round, to reveal a yawning mouth full of hideous, yellow, twisted teeth.
“What are you doing here?” asked Hogfrid.
“I couldn’t sleep,” said Herdis, closing her mouth after an enormous yawn. “You two were talking so loud.”
“You’re meant to be asleep.”
“I know, big brother,” said Herdis. “But look – I’m wide awake! If you really want me to go to sleep, you should keep your voices down.”
“Ssh!” said Wyrd.
“What’s the matter?” asked Herdis.
“I think I heard something,” whispered her cousin.
“Course you did,” said Herdis. “You heard me.”
“No,” whispered the boy. “I think it’s coming from outside.”
The three fell silent.
“I can’t hear anything,” said Herdis.
“Ssh!” whispered the two boys.
“I know what you’re up to,” said Herdis, primly. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“Will you be quiet?” hissed Hogfrid. “I’m the one who’s meant to be on watch.”
The next time, all three of them heard it. A snuffling and some scrabbling, outside the main gate.
“A rat?” whispered Herdis.
“No, too heavy,” whispered Hogfrid. “It’s just below us, looking at something.”
“Is it trying to get in?” asked Herdis.
“It doesn’t sound like it. I think it’s looking at something.”
“That mark!” said Herdis. “The one the bugbear made. At the foot of the gate.”
Hogfrid motioned her to be silent.
“Could be just a wolf,” he whispered. “Or a bear. Listen – there�
��s more than one of them.”
“Why are we whispering?” whispered Herdis. “Shouldn’t we be making some noise?”
“We could ring the bell to frighten them off,” whispered Wyrd, indicating the large, cracked bell that hung temptingly over their heads.
“Not yet,” said Hogfrid.
“Aren’t you only supposed to ring the bell if we’re attacked?” asked Herdis.
“We don’t know if anything’s wrong yet,” said Hogfrid. “It could just be wild boar snuffling about.”
“Maybe we should stand up and shout at them,” whispered the younger boy. “That might frighten them off!”
“Honestly,” whispered Herdis. “You boys are so useless. I bet you I could scare them off!”
She stood on tiptoes and peered over the palisade.
“Yoo hoo! Mr Bear or Boar or whatever your name is, go away!”
There was no reply. Only a sharp swish.
“What was that?” asked Wyrd.
“It didn’t sound like a bear,” said Hogfrid.
“Gug,” said Herdis, turning towards them. An arrow had impaled her through her neck, and blood dribbled from her mouth.
As she collapsed dead beside them, Hogfrid cried out “Herdis!” He stood and reached out for the bell. Before he could ring it, three more arrows had impaled him through the throat. He fell backwards, off the watchtower and into the village square.
“Help!” called Wyrd, suddenly finding his voice but shamingly aware that it was thin and inadequate. “Wake up! We’re being attacked!”
He leapt for the bell-rope and managed to pull it once before throwing himself to the floor of the watchtower.
Above him, silhouetted against the moon, he caught sight of a lizard-man, clambering over the palisade not six feet away, carrying a spear. Lothar the lizard-man caught sight of the boy and leapt towards him, with a spear raised to end the boy’s short life. His weaponless victim thought quickly. He grabbed the bell-rope, waited for the lizard to make its leap and pulled it hard. The bell hit the lizard on its head and knocked him off the gatehouse and into the square.
The lizard-man looked up and snarled but, instead of going to finish the boy off, he scuttled across to the main gate and opened it.
Herdis’s mother, Clothilda, came out of her hut. She screamed and screamed again at the sight of her son’s corpse.
