The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain)
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Ceola saw the bear watching them from a distance. She had been listening with amusement to Tomas as he recounted an amusing tale from his youth, when she held up her hand to silence him and said, ‘Look over there Tom, we’re being watched.’
Tomas immediately sprang to his feet. ‘Quick!’ he urged, ‘climb the tree.’ He lifted Ceola onto the rustic ladder and looked over to the bear, which had started to move towards them.
He had barely climbed out of reach himself when the bear arrived with a rush of unbridled power at the foot of the tree. Leaving the ladder in place and pushing Ceola ahead of him, he made sure they both completed the climb up to the lofty platform.
Ceola screamed as the bear leapt high and clutched the wide girth of the tree with its claws. It hugged the trunk with its limbs and began to shuffle up, its hide rippling as the powerful, underlying muscles flexed and contracted. She screamed again as its huge head appeared over the rim of the platform.
Then, Tomas remembered the bow and arrows left for them by Dominic. He grabbed the bow, shakily notched an arrow, and pulled back as far as his strength would allow. He let go and the arrow hit the bear in the shoulder. As it tried to swipe the arrow away with its other limb, the bear lost its grip and fell from the tree.
Ceola and Tomas looked down at the stunned, but still very dangerous brown bear. Tomas’ action had saved them for now, but the arrow was a mere pinprick to the animal. Again, it looked up at the terrified children.
Tomas still gripped the bow and notched another arrow as the bear rocked on its haunches as it again prepared to leap. Ceola scrambled to the edge of the platform as a shouting came from a distance in the forest. ‘It’s father and Dominic,’ she screamed. ‘They’ve come to fight the bear!’
Murdoc and Dominic had entered the clearing just as the bear had fallen from the tree. Fearing the worst, Murdoc ran towards it with his spear at his shoulder. ‘Hey! Hey!’ he shouted, as he slowed to a trot twenty paces from the bear. The animal now studied Murdoc, but flinched as an arrow ghosted past Murdoc and again entered its shoulder near to its existing wound.
Dominic now joined Murdoc, who was readying himself for a suicidal rush at the bear. He placed a restraining hand on his arm. He had already tried the noisy approach and realised it was the wrong way to go about scaring a bear. ‘Hold your ground and crouch low so as not to be a threat.’ he said. ‘And don’t look it in the eyes.’ He looked to the ground and silently slipped an arrow from his quiver and notched it into his bow. The bear stood still, continuing to observe them warily.
Deft and quick, Dominic again loosed an arrow, hitting the bear in its shaggy chest. This time it jumped back, then turned and quickly loped into the forest, not wishing to feel the pain of further arrows.
Dominic ran to the spot where it had left the clearing. Satisfied they would not be troubled for a while, he walked back to Dominic who was beckoning for Tomas and Ceola to join them on the ground.
The children climbed down to them and Murdoc picked up Ceola and hugged her in relief. ‘Thank God I heard you scream. It made sure we got here on time.’
Dominic ruffled Tomas’ hair. ‘Good lad,’ he said, ‘I see that you stuck an arrow into our shaggy friend. It’s not my first meeting with it, and I fear it won’t be my last.’
Tomas swelled with pride at Dominic’s endorsement, as Ceola said, ‘Yes Dom, he was very brave; he would have killed the bear if you hadn’t got here in time.’
Tomas blushed at the attention. ‘I don’t think so Ceola. It was all I could do to hit it, I was shaking so badly.’
Murdoc, suddenly hugged Tomas, ‘But hit it you did,’ he said, ‘and so saved yourself and Ceola.’ He turned to Dominic with his arm round the boy’s shoulder. ‘What chance have the savages now, eh Dom? They must dodge the arrows of shaking Tomas!’
The trill of Ceola’s laughter filled the woods with its innocent beauty and lifted the hearts of the others, bringing forth memories of simpler, happier times.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Egbert and his men made good progress along the ancient track. The abundant herds of deer grazed on any new shoots that tried to re-colonise the open ground, and had kept the passageway largely clear of obstructive vegetation. Stone sets broke occasionally through the surface of accumulated mulch, and upon this firm road, the pack ponies hauled their loads of provisions.
It was late afternoon on the fourth day of their trek when finally they saw signs that the forest was thinning. The area through which they rode was overgrown hazel coppice. Festooned with strips of ragged, coloured cloth, the misshapen trees stood like eerie, ceremonial, sentinels amongst the low vegetation.
Wlensing rode beside Egbert. He was a well-built man with a close-cropped ginger beard. He wore a simple leather jerkin that had four lines of studs down the front, cut off at the shoulders. His bare arms displayed his only ostentation: a golden arm ring given to him by Osric for his courage in battle. His woollen breeches tucked into knee-length, fur trimmed boots, and a close fitting iron helmet completed his austere appearance.
Usually a man of few words, he growled tersely to Egbert. ‘It appears the land here has been shaped by human hands; see how they tie offerings onto the trees. It’s said they worship the Christ God, but maybe they still fear the spirits of their dead.’
‘They would do well to fear the spirit of this ax,’ said Egbert patting the weapon. ‘We near our quest grim one. My ax will feed soon, I think.’
Cissa rode to join them. He pointed at the track ahead. ‘See how the pathway is trampled and worn. It would be wise to go with caution from here on, for an army of angry Britons may await us. We number too few to repel an attack from a large force.’
It was normal for Cissa to council heedfulness. His prudence had often served to counterbalance Egbert’s recklessness, and this was the reason Osric had included him in the war band.
Egbert listened impassively to Cissa’s advice, and then sniggered to Wlensing. ‘It seems our friend is getting scared again, as is usual before a raid. Have you seen how he picks amongst the spoils when it’s all done with? He even waits ‘til the women have lost their fight.’
Wlensing frowned as he surveyed the woods around him. ‘There’ll be no pickings for him here. I just hope we can get this spying done quickly and then return to the comforts of the coast.’
They were optimistic that the coppiced woodland would lead them from the forest, but soon the trees thickened around them again, and it was mid-morning before the trees again thinned out and the village came into sight.
Abandoned, the huts stood derelict; the walls having lost their mud rendering in places, allowing the lattice frameworks to stand out like ribs on decaying corpses. A line of boulders that lay in the form of a cross some distance from the huts confirmed that they had nothing to fear from anything alive in the village.
The men, like the forest, were silent—their ponies shuffling and grunting, sending out billows of foggy breath into the cool, pre-noon air.
Wlensing looked around him, frowning. ‘I don’t like this place Egbert. It’s got a bad feel to it.’
Egbert, too, was unsettled as he looked at the foreboding scene, but realised he could not let the men see any weakness in him. ‘Gloomy it is for sure,’ he conceded, ‘but gloom doesn’t wield a spear, and it won’t put me in my grave. Come on, follow me, and let’s delve deeper.’ He dismounted and led his pony into the clearing, the others following cautiously.
It was soon apparent that the village had not met its ill fortune at the hands of enemies. The huts showed no signs of burning or deliberate damage, and owed their sorry state to the process of natural decay rather than the result of human destruction.
Cissa knelt and thoughtfully examined the stone cross. ‘It would be a considerate foe indeed,’ he reasoned, ‘who so thoughtfully buried his enemies. I think we stand at the scene of a pestilence or a hunger here.’
‘Then let’s replenish our water from that well and hope no rottin
g carcass befouls it,’ said Wlensing, looking around uneasily. ‘Then we can get back in search of the living—this place freezes my very bones.’
Egbert pointed beyond the village boundary towards what appeared to be overgrown fields. ‘I guess that’s our direction. That would be the way they took their produce to trade.’ He heaved his bulk onto his pony. ‘That’s if any other wretches are left alive in this putrid land.’
Their track, indented by ruts baked hard by the sun, told of the passage of long-vanished ox drawn carts to and from the village. After a while, Wlensling dismounted and knelt by one of the furrows. ‘It seems this track was used for many years if the depths of these ruts are anything to go by,’ he mused. ‘Maybe they lead to a bigger settlement, or even a market.’
The group continued through the early afternoon, following the tracks, but saw no living man or woman. It was late afternoon before they, at last, heard the sound of human voices.
Two boys were at play in a tree near a small pond. The old Alder had begun to lean, and one of its branches grew at right angles to its trunk and bridged the water. It was on this branch that the boys were lying on their bellies, looking down into the green water as they idled away their day. They looked up when noticing the reflection of a mounted man. The man spoke to them in a tongue they could not understand.
Further attempts at communication received only blank stares from the boys, until Cissa, who had learned a few words of the British tongue from Withred, rode to Egbert’s side and asked in British, ‘Village?’
The larger of the boys nodded when hearing the word. Cissa adopted a shrugging questioning posture, and again asked, ‘Village?’
The boys shimmied off the tree and walked cautiously towards the riders. Egbert dismounted and pointed to one of the tracks that led away from them. ‘Village?’ he asked, copying Cissa.
The larger boy nodded his head and pointed to another track that led from the pond and contoured around a small grassy hill before disappearing from sight. Egbert patted the boy on the head, and smiled at him before mounting his pony.
Nodding knowingly at Cissa, he took the track indicated. Egbert crested the grassy hill first and turned to the following riders with a triumphant smile on his face. The other riders joined him, as the reason for their leaders joy unfolded before them. The scene below was one of an undulating patchwork of long, rectangular fields, situated in a huge clearing of the forest. Golden cereal crops rippled in the breeze, like water on a swelling sea, presenting a far from wild landscape.
Laughing in triumph, Egbert turned to Wlensing ‘Now we can return, you gruff bastard; look at that, it must put a smile even on your face.’
Wlensing did allow himself a rare smile. ‘Yes, it’s a fine sight, that’s for sure. Time to get back, I think. Osric will be delighted when he hears of this.’
He made to turn his pony, but Egbert grabbed his arm and looked at him squarely. ‘Where are you going Wlensing? We’re forgetting our manners.’ He nodded, back towards the contoured track they had just ascended. ‘We’ve not thanked the lads for their information—they deserve a reward.’ He withdrew his ax and wheeled his pony around. At a trot, he headed for the boys
CHAPTER TWELVE
After putting the bear to flight, Dominic had gone to the woods to find food and returned with a deer. This, he roasted on a makeshift spit, and after eating their fill, the fugitives sat in the warmth of the fire, comforted by its ochre glow in the dimming evening.
Murdoc looked worried as he spoke quietly to Dominic. ‘We’re too near to them. They’ll surely hunt game and wander close.’
‘Yes, we’re in danger even here,’ agreed Dominic, ‘and we need to keep on our toes, though I still think this is still the safest place to stay for now, as long as the young uns stay up the tree.’ He peered into the gloom, scrutinizing the distant shrubbery for signs of disturbance. ‘The bear still worries me though; maybe one of us needs to stay here to protect the children.’ He pondered the options a while. ‘It’s better if you stay with them, and I’ll go and keep my eye on the camp.’ He took an arrow from the hide quiver that lay at his feet, looking along its shaft and squinting as he examined its trueness. ‘Don’t forget they can’t be allowed to return with any news of other souls to slaughter. We must delay the invasion, even if others of their kind do come later. These, at least, must pay for what they’ve done. I’ll go in the morning and see what mischief I can cause.’
‘Maybe you can also get the woman and old man out,’ said Murdoc. ‘It grieves me to see them subjected to such torment.’
Dominic replaced the arrow in the quiver. ‘My thoughts too,’ he said, ‘but as long as they are of use to them we need not be too hasty.’
The next day Dominic watched as the Saxons left the encampment in small groups, leaving just one man to guard the area. His concern grew when two of them passed close by and headed in the direction of the tree platform. They had discussed this probability and Murdoc had pledged to remain aloft with the children until dusk to avoid detection.
Dominic considered following them, but happy that Murdoc would stick to their plan, he decided instead to sit and watch developments in the camp. He considered killing the man guarding the camp, but was uncertain when the others would return, and didn’t wish to lose his advantage over them should a chaotic melee ensue. He decided to watch for that day to establish the pattern of camp routine.
The woman walked to the edge of the clearing, but returned to the cooking fire when the guard who sat outside the low building called her back. She had come close enough to reveal her features in detail to Dominic, and he guessed her age to be no more than twenty years. Her blonde hair was matted and dirty, defeating the efforts of the bronze clips to hold it in place, so that it hung long and untidily around her face. Despite the woman’s unkempt appearance, he could see that underneath the grime she was beautiful, and that her troubled and careworn face must be a remarkable sight when radiant and smiling. Her slender figure continued, even now, to move with grace and dignity.
Nothing much happened for the rest of the day, apart from the old man and young woman continuing to prepare and salt meat, which they took to the underground chamber. The guard spoke occasionally to the pair, and Dominic noticed that his tone was mild and relaxed.
In the late afternoon, the other men began to return from the forest, most of them empty handed. Dominic was careful to keep still and not give his position away. Just one of the men had made a kill and the group ate boar that evening, cooked over the open fire.
It was after this meal, just before dusk, that a heated discussion broke out between two of the men. One of them was the man who had guarded the captives that day. After a while, he walked into the hut leaving the other men around the campfire.
As darkness fell, the men settled down to sleep, leaving the man and woman alone some distance away from the main group. There were no guards posted and Dominic decided the time was now right to free the two captives.
He crept stealthily to the edge of the clearing, stopping dead when a silhouette moved across the front of the fire. Not breathing, he watched as the figure approached the sleeping woman and pulled her to her feet.
Awake now; she struggled as the man dragged her across the open ground towards Dominic. He knew immediately that the man intended to rape her, and a dark rage began to surge through him, as hideous images of the sexually mutilated women of the devastated village seared into his mind.
Dragged by her hair, the woman stumbled as she passed by his crouching shadow, close enough for him to feel the draught of her passage. He silently followed with his hunting knife ready, as the man threw the woman to the ground.
Martha had experienced overwhelming joy when Egbert had departed the camp. Simon also was thankful, and took great solace from the knowledge that Martha would not be forced to lie with Egbert again—at least for the time being. That night the other men left them alone, and Martha, for once, had been able to sleep deeply.
By late afternoon, the men had started to return, mostly empty-handed, after their inept archery attempts had proved fruitless. Only one man returned with a boar, and Simon cooked this on a spit. This provided them with a change from the smoked fish they had lived on since finding the camp.
Edwin, a man that Martha recognised as one of her pursuers from the village, had frequently leered suggestively at her as she paused during her camp duties. He had approached Withred at dusk as the tall warrior saw to the campfire.
‘It seems a pity to sleep alone when Egbert’s mare is available.’ He nodded in the direction of Martha and Simon, who sat apart from the group of six men.
Withred gave Edwin a dismissive half glance. ‘No one touches the woman, get back to your bed roll man.’
‘Who would tell Egbert?’ persisted Edwin. ‘Certainly not the woman, she doesn’t even speak our tongue.’
‘Just leave her alone,’ said Withred quietly. ‘The woman sleeps alone until Egbert returns.’ Not that I’ll allow even Egbert to defile her again, thought Withred.
Edwin walked across the square muttering. ‘I don’t know why you protect Egbert’s interests, I thought you hated him.’
Most of the men settled down by the fire that night, covered with coarse woollen blankets. Withred slept apart from them in the comfort of the hut.
Martha felt apprehensive after witnessing the disagreement between Withred and Edwin. She was aware of the nature of the exchange, so wrapped herself tightly in her blanket beside Simon and watched nervously for any movement from the group of men by the fire. That Withred had now gone out of sight to sleep, troubled her further. Having spent the day with him as their guard, she had realised that he wished them no harm. He spoke their tongue well and always communicated in a mild and relaxed manner. As long as he remained in the camp, he would protect them from the wanton cruelty that was second nature to many of the men. Nothing happened, and Martha soon began to drift into an uneasy sleep, her ankles chaffing from the rope hobble that she had to endure to prevent her escape.