The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain)

by Atkinson, F J

  She awoke, her eyes wide with shock, as a foul smelling hand clamped her mouth. Looking up, she saw only an outline, but knew immediately to whom the hand belonged.

  Edwin’s breaths came in excited gasps as he hoisted her to her feet and wrapped a sinewy arm around her waist. Gagged, Martha looked, wide-eyed, frantically down to Simon, but he didn’t stir. His sleep, as was usual after a day of constant toil, had been instant and deep. Edwin’s strength overwhelmed her, and her struggles came to no avail as he carried her away from the earshot of the clearing and into the bushes on the other side of the track.

  Throwing her to the ground, he dropped to his knees beside her, just as a dark, nimble figure approached him silently from behind.

  Dominic’s hand slid through Edwin’s sparse hair and pulled his head back to facilitate the slashing of his throat down to the bone. A shower of spurting blood spattered on the leafy ground as the Saxon fell to the ground, his body going briefly into spasm before he died.

  Dominic wiped his blade on the rough grass and cut the rope that still tied Martha’s ankles, his tone urgent as he pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m a friend. Follow me swiftly woman, before the others awake.’

  He guided Martha into the shadowy interior of the forest before she had time to think clearly. She looked back towards the clearing, a look of shock on her face as a dawning realisation engulfed her. ‘Stop … my friend is still back there!’ she said, aghast. ‘He promised he wouldn’t leave me. How can I leave him? Take me back!’

  Dominic gripped her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he whispered urgently, ‘and he’ll be safe for now because he’s still useful to them. It would serve your friend’s cause better if we get back to safety, and then plan for his escape.’

  Martha still looked unsure, and stood stubbornly shaking her head.

  ‘Listen!’ urged Dominic. ‘Think clearly. We’ve the chance of getting you to safety, and maybe you won’t be missed ‘til morning. I promise you I’ll return tomorrow and free your friend. Now please come quickly woman.’

  Martha paused a while longer, then relented in response to Dominic’s assurance. Relieved, Dominic smiled and took hold of her hand, then ran along a trail that was visible only to him into the inky forest.

  Murdoc sprang to his feet with his bow ready when he heard movement at the foot of the tree. His apprehension melted when he heard Dominic shout from below.

  ‘It’s me, and I’ve brought the woman.’

  Murdoc lowered the ladder, and minutes later, five figures, all very much awake, sat in a circle on the platform.

  Martha told them of the raid on her village. Her tale was harrowing as she recounted the butchery of her people, her failed escape, and briefly her treatment under Egbert.

  After she ended Murdoc took her hands into his as she began to weep.

  ‘Yes I know,’ he whispered as his own tears came. ‘Sometimes my own loss makes me want to jump from this platform, but we must keep alive for the people who need us, and for the people we can save.’

  Dominic had listened and been moved deeply by Martha’s story and Murdoc’s response. ‘Yes, we can still save many of our kin,’ he said, ‘and we start at sunrise with Simon’s rescue.’ He looked drawn as he spoke, and for the first time Murdoc thought he could detect fatigue in him. ‘It seems that more blood must be spilt before I can continue my life in the way I’ve chosen to live it. But time is sparse, and I fear the others will return soon, and I’ve a plan for when they do.’

  ‘They all deserve death,’ said Martha coldly. ‘But promise me I can have vengeance on the fat leader. I’ve a thousand reasons to hate him.’

  ‘Egbert is his name,’ said Tomas, ‘and he’s as bad as it gets.’

  Dominic reassured her. ‘We’ll deal with him when we must, and he will pay for his crimes, I can certainly promise you that. For now though, we must free your friend. At daybreak tomorrow, we’ll observe the camp before they set out to search. Once they are in the woods we should be able to deal with them separately. Then we can take Simon from the tall guard who usually stays behind at the camp. He seems to be the one who gives the orders now that this Egbert has gone.

  Martha mused. ‘Yes, he is a stern man, but he helped us and we owe him much.’ She paused as she considered Withred. ‘But maybe not his life. He rides with them, so he should die with them.’

  Tomas stirred uncomfortably. ‘I think you talk of Withred. I never saw him kill any other than armed men. He also saved me from many beatings from Egbert.’

  Dominic, who was now testing the tension on his bow, stopped and looked at Tomas. ‘I detect no hate in your voice lad, when you speak of this man, but tomorrow will be a lot simpler if we kill as the opportunities present themselves. We’ve no time to be merciful with any of them Tom, it will only hinder us.’

  Tomas nodded. ‘I know,’ he murmured, ‘you must do what you will.’

  The next morning, one hour before dawn, Dominic and Murdoc descended the tree and ran into the forest, aided by the milky glow of moonlight. Their route, as ever, was through thick undergrowth. Dominic rarely used the same passage twice, leaving Murdoc to wonder how his companion had the faintest idea of where he was going. Occasionally he would stoop to examine the floor, then look around and continue through the brush. After an hour, just as the first light of day seeped into the forest, he stopped and signalled Murdoc to crouch beside him by a hazel shrub.

  ‘We are next to their camp,’ he said. ‘I brought us over rough ground to be sure we wouldn’t run into them. We need to observe and predict their movements if we’re to get this done without injury.’ He parted the bush to give him a partial view of the camp. ‘It looks like they’ve found the body I left them.’

  As Murdoc and Dominic watched, a breathless and agitated Deorwine, a cousin of the fallen Aelred, aroused Withred from his sleep. ‘Get out here Withred! Edwin’s been murdered and the woman’s gone!’

  Withred was up instantly and went outside to join the other men around Edwin’s body. He looked at the bled corpse and shook his head in frustration. ‘The idiot,’ he growled. ‘I told him to leave the woman alone, but how did she escape?’

  ‘Maybe the old one helped her,’ said Deorwine, looking towards Simon who had just awoken. ‘We should torture the truth out of him.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement from the rest of the men and they moved towards Simon.

  Withred strode before them and reached him first. He turned to the men and signalled them to keep their distance. Taking Simon’s wrists, he examined his hands, and then turned back to the men. ‘This man can have had no part in the slaying of Edwin; whoever killed him would be covered in his blood.’ He pointed back towards the dead raider. ‘Look his blood is everywhere … and, anyway, the old man’s ankles are still bound.’

  The men looked down at Simon, who sat propped up on one elbow looking mystified.

  ‘What do you know of this, old man?’ asked Withred. ‘The woman was never far from your side, you must have heard the struggle.’

  Simon shook his head and held up his hands to emphasise his bemusement. ‘I know nothing of this. I slept soundly last night after yesterday’s chores and awoke only when I heard your commotion. As God is my witness I know nothing.’

  Withred looked towards the trees, chewing on his lip as he considered what to do next. Part of him was glad that the woman was gone, but he now feared for Simon, who would undoubtedly suffer from Egbert’s wrath when he returned. He realised he would need great guile to prevent Egbert’s wanton cruelty towards the old man.

  ‘I should have posted guards,’ he muttered. He looked at the men. ‘Egbert will be back soon, and he’ll flail you all, now his woman’s gone. We must get her back. We must also be careful—the killer has to be a man of cunning and talent to finish Edwin without a struggle. Maybe it was the wolf-man; he’s already shown how dangerous he is. Go now in pairs now, and find her, but be careful. There�
�s a man in these woods who has already killed four of us.’

  Deorwine left the clearing with a young Saxon named Leofric who usually rode alongside him on the trail. Being the older man, Deorwine assumed responsibility of the search and was careful to instruct Leofric where to seek. Meanwhile, he sat immobile on his pony and scanned the undergrowth for any movement.

  Minutes passed with neither sound nor movement and Deorwine slowly became restless, his thoughts straying to the earlier deaths of his companions—Cerdic, Aelred and Eadmund—at the hands of the wolf-man.

  ‘Any luck Leofric?’ His shout was flat and nervous against the wall of thick greenery. Hearing no reply, he goaded his pony through the same bush that Leofric had pushed through. Seeing no one, he rode further into the woods, following Leofric’s trail. He stopped and called again. ‘Leofric, get back here now!’

  Still there was no answer, so Deorwine continued to follow Leofric’s trail. He rounded a mound of bracken and breathed in sharply as Leofric’s lifeless body confronted him, lying prone under his grazing pony. An empty, coagulating eye-socket bore testimony to an arrow strike from ground level. The arrow was gone.

  ‘Fuck,’ whispered Deorwine. He dismounted and examined his lifeless companion, then looked edgily around.

  He was about to remount his pony when the spear hit him squarely in his back. Its force knocked him to his knees as his voice escaped him in a desperate croak. He fell forward onto his face.

  ‘Filth,’ growled Murdoc as he removed the spear, then pierced Deorwine again.

  Dominic placed a restraining hand on Murdoc’s arm as he raised the spear a third time. ‘Save your strength Mur, he’s dead, and before the sun sets we’ve to finish the others. We need to remain alert to every sound around us.’ He kicked Deorwine’s body over so that his dead face lolled to one side.

  He spat on the corpse then pointed to a low shrub nearby. ‘We need to drag him and his companion out of site, the animals will feed upon him now.’ After doing this, Dominic looked quickly around, reading the signs. ‘Now to find the others—their trails should be easy to follow, they lumber like bears through the woods.’ He pointed to a bush that appeared undisturbed to Murdoc. ‘See…two have passed through there.’

  They followed a trail, visible only to Dominic, and continued for some time as it meandered through the forest. Ever mindful that four of the enemy were still abroad, they took care not to blunder into open, exposed, clearings.

  After a while, Dominic stopped. ‘Can you hear them?’ he breathed, ‘they’re just ahead, and on foot. They must have tethered their ponies for now.’ He whispered further instructions to Murdoc, before proceeding quietly forward.

  Careful and tense, Murdoc followed him towards the distant sound of a hurried debate. As they approached, Dominic turned to him, put a finger to his lips and pointed to a six-foot wall of deep bracken. They slipped into the cover and waited.

  Dominic had an arrow notched as two men approached them, and he could almost touch the russet jerkin of one of them as he walked past. They continued for a few strides and Dominic nodded to Murdoc before walking out from cover.

  The men were moving away from them, still unaware of their presence, when Dominic spoke. ‘Turn around so I may pierce your soft flesh my friends.’

  The men turned, stunned into inactivity, as Dominic loosed his first arrow from close range. It entered the throat of the nearest man with such force that only the feathers stopped it going through completely—the feathers left to protrude from his neck like a mocking adornment.

  The other man immediately took flight and began to run down the trail. Murdoc launched his spear, but it passed the man’s shoulder. Cursing, he took up the chase, now brandishing the ax he had removed from the dead man’s grasp; but the Saxon was fleet of foot and managed to increase his lead over Murdoc and Dominic.

  ‘He can’t be allowed to alert the others!’ shouted Dominic. ‘If they find out about us things will be much harder!’

  His bowstring sang as he released another arrow at the fleeing man, but it missed and whispered harmlessly into the undergrowth. The man passed out of sight over the brow of a small banking, and as Dominic and Murdoc reached its crest, they saw he had stopped.

  Having met two of his remaining companions, he was breathlessly relating events to them. They turned and ran at the Britons with their war axes held aloft.

  Dominic had barely enough time to loose one more arrow. This time it hit the mark, and one man fell, pierced deeply through the chest. Drawing his sword, he prepared to fight the others.

  Murdoc was strong and athletic, but a village life as a stockman had not prepared him for hand-to-hand combat with a seasoned warrior. Luckily, the man who met him, brandishing an ax, was not battle hardened, having fought only unarmed peasants since arriving on the island. Used to easy slaughter, he lunged clumsily at Murdoc, who easily evaded him. He turned, snarling, and again attacked Murdoc, this time with an overhead swipe aimed at his head. Murdoc was again able to avoid the blow; the Saxon becoming wrong footed as his ax continued its arc to bury itself into the forest floor. Murdoc seized upon this as best he could and swung his ax in a hasty sideswipe that hit the other man in his side.

  Due to the rushed nature of the parry, the non-lethal end of the ax landed, but with a force that cracked ribs and knocked the man to his knees. Grimacing and holding his side, the Saxon looked up, to behold his last mortal sight—the grey blur of cold iron as Murdoc’s ax fell to split his face from eye ridge chin.

  Murdoc turned rapidly, adrenalin surging through his body in waves, his ax raised and ready for further attack. He saw that Dominic fought against a worthy adversary: a huge Saxon wearing a chainmail vest. Both men circled each other, gasping for breath after several inconclusive engagements. As Murdoc approached them, the Saxon stumbled over a bramble tendril. Although fleeting, the trip gave Dominic the momentary opportunity to lunge unopposed at his opponent. After a brief resistance as it met the combatant’s chainmail hauberk, his sword continued into the man’s vitals. Dominic complimented the breach with a lateral dagger thrust to his neck, killing him instantly.

  He looked towards Murdoc, hands on knees and gasping for breath. ‘The next time we fight…promise me you’ll take on the giant,’ he panted.

  Murdoc smiled dourly, breathless himself. ‘I think not Dom . . . maybe the big game should be left to the tested hunter . . . a child could better me now, let alone a giant . . . sweet virgin Mary, how this fighting game tires a man.’

  ‘We’ve not done yet,’ said Dominic straightening up. ‘This Withred—the fiercest and truest warrior of them all, according to Tomas—remains at the camp with Simon.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Withred had waited anxiously all day for the men to return, his concern growing as late afternoon gave way to early evening.

  Simon had spent his time tidying the camp and stacking firewood. He had cooked a rabbit over the open fire, which Withred had shared with him. Indeed, his captor had frequently told Simon to rest, and had generally gone out of his way to make sure the old Briton had not overstretched himself.

  After the meal, Withred sat on one of the stones that encircled the fire, sucking on a rabbit bone and looking into the forest for signs of movement. He looked briefly towards Simon, then back at the forest where he observed a sight that prompted him to shoot to his feet. Standing looking back at him was the blood-smeared wolf-man, accompanied by a tall, determined looking Briton.

  He rolled to one side just as Dominic’s arrow struck the stone where he had been sitting. Thinking quickly, he ran to Simon, and grabbed him as a shield. He lifted his blade to Simon’s neck. ‘I speak your language,’ he shouted, ‘so talk to me, and keep away or the old man dies.’

  Dominic sighted another arrow at Withred, but was unwilling to chance hitting Simon. As Withred backed away, Murdoc placed his hand on Dominic’s arm and both men stopped their progress.

  ‘Let him go,’ shouted Murdoc, ‘It�
��s no use, your friends are dead.’

  Withred knew he was in a quandary. If he let go of Simon, the wolf man would kill him, but he could not hold his present position for much longer. He attempted a compromise. ‘I’ll let him go if you swear to your Christ to spare my life. Ask the old one who he owes his life to. I saved him and the woman much torment at the hands of the others.’

  Dominic and Murdoc looked at Simon who nodded in affirmation.

  ‘Kill him,’ said Murdoc, ‘he doesn’t deserve our marcy. He must pay for invading our land. I, for one, will not swear to Christ to spare him.’

  Dominic turned his attention back to Withred. ‘I don’t believe in the Christ, and my friend will not swear to him. Anyway, I already know what you’ve done for them—the woman told us much. However, if I let you live I’m faced with two choices: to release you, whereby you’ll return with news of our position to your companions; or take you captive, whereby I’ll ever be looking over my shoulder in fear of your treachery. It will be easier to send you to your heathen hell I think. You tell me. What would you do if faced with such a choice?’

  ‘I’ve no wish to ride with the raiding parties anymore, and I can be useful if you allow me to accompany you, not as a captive, but as an ally.’ said Withred. ‘You’ll have to face them soon, and my knowledge and skill in combat will aid your cause. Of that, you’ve my word. So in answer to your question; I would increase my numbers if I were you, and accept a fierce warrior into your party.’