Dominic abruptly brought his own mount to a halt. As he looked down, he saw a huge landslide of wet clay, carving a glutinous path of destruction slowly down the hillside. So great was its bulk, that it had plucked a number of shrubs from their precarious anchorages on the steep incline, and these slowly twisted and turned as they accompanied the great mound of clay down into the valley below.
Dominic assessed their chances. They would undoubtedly end up under the mud if they carried on. Surely, It would be better now to cut their losses and at least return in one piece back to Martha and the others. He shouted to Murdoc, ‘We can’t chance going on in this! To continue would be madness! We need to get back to the camp and hope the murderers lay buried under the mud!
Murdoc twisted in his saddle; his face smeared; the rain tracing clean rivulets through the clay upon his cheeks. He shouted above the din of the storm: ‘How do we turn the ponies? The path’s too narrow and they’re stuck in the sludge!’
‘Dismount and coax it backwards then,’ shouted Dominic. ‘But take it slowly. The track will slide again if we’re not careful!’
Following Dominic’s advice, Murdoc was able to move his pony slowly back along the track, shadowing Dominic as he did the same. Their progress was tortuous and labored but they eventually reached a spot where the ponies could stand two abreast. They turned to face their route back to camp, just as a wet sucking noise had them look behind again. They watched as the path fractured from the hillside, amidst a boiling of cold rain, and slid into the steaming depth of the deep gully.
‘I was here two summers ago on a fine day,’ said Dominic, looking at the place where the track had been. The clay was dry then, but cracks ran along it, where it met the slope. I expected the rain to have worsened it, but I thought we would have got past here without mishap.’
‘Like you, I hope the raiders lie under the mud in the valley below,’ said Murdoc, as he swung onto his pony. ‘If, as you say, our chase ends here.’
Dominic, already mounted, coerced his pony back through the sunken lane as the rain increased its deluge to a new intensity. ‘We’ve no choice but to return!’ he shouted back to Murdoc. ‘And if your God exists then pray to him now, for if these walls give way you’ll be meeting him soon!’
Murdoc’s God ensured the towering embankments held firm, and they emerged from their ominous shadow moments later unscathed and relieved. The water now reached their knees as they sat on the ponies.
‘I hope this nag can float,’ said Murdoc with apprehension as he reached a current that swirled across the path. ‘If this continues we’ll have to swim back to the others.’
His pony, keen to be on drier ground, attempted to jump the swirling water of the current before him, but lost its footing and slipped sideways into a shallow depression. Its bulk landed on Murdoc’s right leg. His shinbone sheared cleanly under the animal’s weight. Man and beast slid down a short slope coming to a halt by a fallen hazel shrub. Murdoc looked up to see Dominic staring at him, shocked and motionless.
At first he felt nothing as his mind raced. Had the chilling numbness of the rain had extended to his injury. The hope proved futile as the pain came all at once, as a searing, burning, hammer blow, beneath his knee.
The swirling green of the forest, darkened to pitch-black as the pain threatened his consciousness, but the wet, earthy smell of the forest around him served to restore his lucidity. The pony twisted in its efforts to regain its footing making things far worse. Murdoc’s eyes squeezed shut in pain—his clenched teeth standing out in white contrast to his smeared face. He briefly looked before him and saw Dominic’s blurred figure. ‘Get it off me!’ he screamed.
Dominic, his earlier torpor gone, dismounted and ran down the slimy slope. The stranded pony had forced Murdoc over so that he now lay face down in the mud—retching violently after swallowing a mouthful of the glutinous slop.
Dominic slipped onto his rear and slid the short distance to Murdoc on his backside, coming to a halt on the pony’s belly. Regaining his footing, he grabbed the beasts bridle and tugged hard, until the pony, its eyes rolling like huge, white marbles, lurched to its knees. It gained its footing, thus freeing Murdoc of its weight. Terrified, it ran down the track and out of sight.
Dominic grimaced as he looked at the injury, and was relieved to see that no jagged bone protruded through Murdoc’s skin. Murdoc groaned with the pain of the fracture, trying not to give vent to the screams of agony that welled within.
Dominic raised him to a sitting position as the rain drove into the clay. ‘Don’t worry my friend,’ he said breathlessly, ‘you’re with a man who once survived a broken arm alone in this forest. The first thing to do is to get you up onto the track again.’
This proved less than easy, but Murdoc managed to support himself on his good leg and place his arm around Dominic’s shoulders. Their first attempt at gaining the path above resulted in them slipping and sliding back down to their starting position. On this occasion, Murdoc didn’t attempt to conceal his agony, and his howls of pain resounded around them, sounding thin and reedy in the damp air of the forest.
Another failed attempt followed before they reached the path. Here, they lay gasping from the effort of the short but exhausting climb.
Dominic sat upon his haunches as his breath returned. ‘I’m getting too old for this … companions who break their legs should be left lying in the mud, so that old men like me can have ease of bone. I’ll have to treat the break in your leg here and now, if you’re not to spend the rest of your days begging for alms in the gutters of some forsaken town.’
Murdoc looked down at his injury and winced on seeing the protrusion pushing up under the skin. ‘Then get it over with and stop your prattling, man. The pain gnaws at my very soul.’
Dominic left, and returned shortly after with two, short, straight staves cut from a nearby tree. He placed the staves on the ground beside Murdoc and handed him the leather bridle from his pony. ‘Bite upon this,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, but I need to straighten your leg before I bind it.’
Murdoc bit deeply on the bridle, as Dominic, without hesitation, jerked the bones together as best he could. The shock caused Murdoc to arch his back off the ground as the grinding bones caused his muscles to spasm, and Dominic saw a vision of how his friend would look as an old man, as Murdoc’s agonized, gaunt face blanched and aged before him.
‘That’s the worst of it,’ said Dominic, his face a picture of concern as he ran his palm over Murdoc’s forehead. ‘Now I’ll stop the bones moving.’
He placed the two staves on either side of the fractured leg and took a sodden, buckskin jerkin from the pack he carried on his pony. This he cut into long, thin strips, which he tied together to make a strong ribbon-like rope. He bound this as tightly as he could around the staves, thus securing Murdoc’s leg in a tight cocoon. ‘When the leather dries it will tighten further,’ he said. ‘The pain should ease a little now’
‘Leave me a minute’ whispered Murdoc, drained by the ordeal, ‘I need a little time to get stronger.’
Dominic looked up at the turbulent skies, and shielded them as much as he could by holding his sodden cloak above them. ‘As you wish,’ he said as the rain needled onto the cloak, ‘but we must get back to the camp and out of this weather if we are not to die like rats in a ditch.’
Murdoc looked up at the underbelly of Dominic’s pony and wondered how in the name of the Christ Saviour he was ever going to get on its back without passing out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After Murdoc and Dominic had left to chase Cissa and Egbert, the others had inherited the problem of the bear. The animal had fed well on Hereward, and was now stretching up the side of the pit with its snout only feet from the rim. Withred and Simon had ushered Martha, Tomas and Ceola into the hut and instructed them to stay there with the door secured.
Back at the pit, Simon peered cautiously over the edge and could see that the bear had eaten its fill and now wanted to be away
. ‘We can’t leave the animal in the pit,’ he said. ‘I would rather we release it if possible, better that than chance it gets out itself and take us unawares.’
‘Now’s the time then,’ said Withred. ‘It shouldn’t be hungry now, so it might not see us as its next meal.’
Simon looked towards the hut. ‘Would it not be better that we kill it? There are spears in there.’
Withred shook his head. ‘That could get messy and dangerous. Its hide is damn thick, and it would take much of the morning to kill it I reckon.’
‘Then we must free it and hope it leaves us. That seems to be the easiest choice.’
‘I think I know what Dominic intended,’ said Withred. ‘Over there’s the branch he left for the bear to get out of the pit. I’m afraid he left the problem with us.’
Simon stretched taking the kink out of his back. ‘Let’s get on with it then, I’ll help you with the branch.’
Together they pushed the heavy branch by its severed end to the edge of the pit until it overhung the drop.
‘When I count to three, push hard so that it drops over the edge, and then run for cover,’ said Withred. ‘One…two…three!’
They pushed until the bough pivoted then dropped over. They ran to the hut and stood by the door.
Simon knocked on the door. ‘Martha, Ceola, Tomas,’ he urged, ‘stay inside, we are freeing the bear.’
Tomas’s head appeared at the window gap beside the door, his eyes big and fearful, while Martha cradled Ceola in her arms, speaking to her softly and reassuringly.
They waited and nothing happened for a while. Standing outside, Withred had his hand on the door of the hut, ready to push Simon inside and follow him, should things go badly.
Soon though, the bear’s head appeared and then its body as it jumped effortlessly out of the pit. It stood hunched, looking around the square—its bloody muzzle sniffing the air. It turned to observe Withred and Simon.
Withred, conscious that it could be on them in three bounds, pushed open the hut door slightly and shot a warning look at Simon. ‘I’ve no wish to have my flesh mixing with Hereward’s inside its belly,’ he whispered. ‘Be ready to move inside with the others.’
The bear continued to look at them—its nose twitching as it took in their scent. Then, seeming to lose interest, it turned and swaggered across the clearing. After nosing around the debris on the edge of the encampment, it again focused its gaze on Simon and Withred. Then it turned and swaggered slowly into the forest.
Withred looked at Simon and began to laugh as he saw how the old man was shaking. Simon, now flooded with relief, laughed along with him as their tension eased.
Later that afternoon they covered Hereward’s remains with more branches and vegetation, then filled the pit in with soil and leaf litter from the forest floor.
They spent the next two days inside, as the heavy rains caused a torrent to flow across the clearing and into the swollen stream beyond.
Martha looked worried. ‘This will not help Dominic and Murdoc,’ she said. ‘I hope they return soon with good news.’
Simon sat in the open doorway watching the grey curtain of rain sweep across the square. ‘I don’t envy them exposed in the forest having to track and chase. I’ve not seen such a storm for many years.’
Withred stood behind Simon, his hands on the old man’s shoulders as he observed the deluge. ‘If you’ve to be caught in such filthy weather then try to arrange you’ve Dominic with you. He must have survived many years and many storms in this forest.’ He turned and smiled at Martha who was standing at the window opening with Ceola in her arms. ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured, ‘they will return safely.’
‘It’s the first day since we left our own village that it’s rained,’ said Martha. ‘I hope the ground can take the deluge.’
At the mention of the village, Withred averted his gaze back to the clearing.
His discomfort was not lost on Martha who said quietly, ‘It was fortunate that we escaped. Fortunate that Simon had the courage to risk his life. Who knows who would have gone into the hut for sport that day?’
Withred looked at Martha, his eyes troubled and intense. ‘I would not have gone in, you must believe that.’
‘Why not?’ said Martha, suddenly angry—her tone now causing Simon to turn and look. ‘Why not Withred? Are you not a savage like them? Were you not loyal to this Osric you speak about—one of his trusted ones?’
Withred lowered his head, unable to meet Martha’s blistering gaze. His voice was hollow, scarcely above a whisper. ‘Yes I was loyal to him once, but no more.’
Martha, her fury rising, took Withred by the shoulders and shook him. He reluctantly looked at her. ‘Answer my question?’ Are you not a savage like them, and would you not have gone into the hut?’
‘He would not have gone into the hut.’ Tomas’s intervention was unexpected and stunned the room to silence, so that all turned to him. ‘He would not have gone into the hut, I know because I was also on the raids—you forget that. I saw what happened and he never went into the huts.’
Martha let go of Withred and turned her head away as her tears came. ‘Why did you ride with them then? How could you do that?’
‘Many things lead us to what we become,’ said Withred, his tone intense. ‘We’ve spoken of this before, and I’ll try to answer your questions, even though the answers must be hard to accept. I kept Egbert off you as much as I could. As for my loyalty to Osric, it’s true I was one of those who swore to die for him—a Gedriht—but I’ve renounced the oath. I’ve no wish to take part in the bloodletting of defenceless people.’ There was a brief silence, before Withred, spoke again: ‘Martha,’ he said quietly.
She looked at him.
‘I saw you escape from the hut, and I let it happen. You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth, I swear.’
Martha put her hand to her mouth—her eyes shut tight as she wept. She turned to Withred, placing her other hand on his arm, unable to speak. Withred’s expression was intense and earnest when he said, ‘Whatever my sins, I’ll make amends. For the rest of my life, I assure you, I’ll make amends.’
Simon got slowly to his feet, and put his arms around Martha. ‘Fate indeed leads us down a twisted trail,’ he said, ‘and it could be argued that we’ve no choice over what we become in life.’ He smiled and surveyed the hut. ‘Who would have thought that this odd group of people would be standing together in a Roman hut in the middle of a wild forest this day. What matters now is that we are all alive, and all together fighting for each other.’
A noise came from outside, interrupting them. Tomas went to the window opening, and peered out. ‘Its Dominic and Murdoc—they’re back!’ he shouted, as he ran out into the pelting rain.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After escaping the camp, Egbert and Cissa had travelled as fast as the terrain would allow. Living on their nerves, they frequently glanced behind, expecting to see their pursuers appear at any moment. Cissa had removed the arrow from Egbert’s thigh, the projectile having merely glanced through a layer of fat. After this, they had attempted to leave the track and enter into the thick undergrowth, hoping to lose the chase, but after a period of tortured progress, fighting through the ensnaring shrubbery, they had returned to the easier passage of the track.
When nightfall came they were glad to rest, but they slept hardly at all. At first light, fearful that the others might come upon them, they were on their way, eager to steal extra miles on the Britons.
As the rain began to fall, their progress slowed, and they spurred their mounts as fast as they dared, but in their haste, they missed the side trail they had used on their outward journey, and so continued along the track. The pass around the steep valley side was already beginning to erode, and they looked to the sky for their God’s help as they saw that great bites of the path had fallen into the depths of the valley. Again, the Gods were benevolent, and they emerged from the shadow of the pass without mishap.
> After that, the path descended steeply into the forest, and they made slow progress on its greasy surface for the rest of the day. Two more days of hard riding passed without encounter, before they eased their progress and dared to hope they had beaten the pursuit.
A further three days brought them to the edge of the forest where it met the sea. Here, the water mirrored the dull grey of the sky—the scene monochromic in contrast to the rich verdant palette of the woodlands. They purposed now to head southwards, as this would lead them to Camulodunum and Osric.
As they picked their way along the rocky shoreline, the barnacle encrusted boulders made their passage slow and difficult. Evening fell, and they dismounted and sat looking out to sea, watching and listening as the languid waves rattled the shingles on the foreshore.
Cissa looked nervously around. ‘We need to rest but we’re too exposed here.’ He looked up the shore towards low cliffs a distance from the water line. ‘Maybe we could find a cave in the cliffs and make a fire.’
Egbert sighed as he slowly raised himself to his feet and grabbed his pony’s halter. ‘I think you’re determined to make me as thin as you are crow. If you must—’
He stopped, his blood frozen, as a wolf howled, causing Cissa to cower under his pony’s belly. Egbert’s first thought was of Dominic, so he stood behind his pony, the sea at his back—the beast acting as a shield.
Cissa for his part peered from under his pony in the direction of the howl. A grey blur in the distance, along the beach, confirmed his worst fears and set him in a panic. ‘We must get our backs to the cliff. Wolves have been following us—real wolves—not the wolf-man we saw in the forest.’
Egbert swung onto his pony, and looked at Cissa with disdain. ‘Then get on your feet man. Make yourself big on your mount. They will soon leave to search for easier prey.’
The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Page 12
