But he was not to be afforded the luxury of time. The shieldwall would be put to the test far sooner than he would have hoped, as the peace of the last several weeks was to be shattered, like the ice covering the village pond breaks when children throw heavy rocks into its midst.
***
The first inkling that all was not well came two days later. Most of the men were out working their fields, preparing the ground for the spring when they would spend long, back-breaking hours driving their ox-drawn ploughs back and forth across before sowing seeds in the resulting furrows. As the training had been going so well, Thurkill had relented in the face of their impassioned entreaties, allowing them time to tend to their neglected farms.
Meanwhile, he was in the mill, helping Eahlmund service the cogs and gears under old Haegmund’s close instruction and watchful eye. Though still active, the miller was not as strong or as fit as he had been in his youth and he was glad of the help that Eahlmund provided, so much so that he had overcome his distrust of any man who showed more than a passing interest in his daughter. Many was the tale told in the tavern by rueful young men who had tried to steal a kiss from Hereswitha only to find themselves boxed round the ears by her father and sent on their way.
But with Eahlmund, he at last seemed satisfied that he’d found a man worthy of his daughter. That he was close friends with the new lord of the village doubtless helped, which was why Thurkill was only too glad to support his friend if it made the path of true love run more smoothly.
Despite the brisk chill of the February day, they were sweating in their shirt sleeves as they laboured. Everything had to be checked to ensure that it remained in full working order. Stocks of grain would soon pile up if the mill broke down for more than a day or two. Parts had to be inspected and those that were broken, damaged or otherwise worn out had to be repaired or replaced. Then there was the rust, all of which had to be scraped away and re-greased to avoid seizures. All to make sure that, when the time came, the mill would be ready to grind the mountains of grain that would come in from the fields.
They were just resting with a refreshing cup of watered ale, when Unferth, the pig herder’s youngest son, came running in.
“Lord…” He stood there panting, bent double with his hands on his knees, breathless from the exertion of having run to the mill. The lad was in obvious distress, his thin body wracked with heaving sobs, while tears flowed freely down his cheeks leaving pale channels across his dirt-streaked cheeks.
Placing his cup down on the bench beside him, Thurkill rose to comfort the boy. “Take your time, Unferth. Pause a while so that you may catch your breath.”
The poor boy tried to take a few deep breaths but each time he did so they turned into sobs. It was several moments before he had recovered his composure sufficiently to enable him to blurt out his news. “It’s my father, Lord. He’s dead.”
Eahlmund rose to his feet, ready to run out of the mill, but Thurkill held him in check with a raised hand and an ominous look. “What do you mean ‘dead’, lad? How has this come to pass?” A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind: had he simply dropped dead from a failed heart as many of his age seemed to do? Had some accident befallen him in the forest? Or, worse, had someone killed him?
Though still snivelling piteously, Unferth was calmer now under Thurkill’s soothing presence. “I don’t know, Lord. I went to take him his lunch in the forest where he tends the pigs, as I do every day, and I found him lying on the ground. I hoped he was but sleeping but, as I came closer, I could see that he was dead.”
“How so? Could you tell what had happened?” Thurkill dearly wanted to shake the boy to get the facts he needed from him as quickly as possible, but he knew he needed to tread lightly. He didn’t want to upset him any more than he had to.
“There was blood. Lots of it from a big gash in his stomach, like a sword or spear would make.”
“Who would do such a thing to a harmless old man? We should find the bastard and make him pay.”
“Without doubt, Eahlmund, but we need to know what we face before we commit ourselves to an irrevocable course of action.”
He could see the frustration etched on his friend’s face, but he could also see that Eahlmund knew he was right. To blunder into a situation without knowing what awaited them would be foolhardy in the extreme. While it was his duty to avenge Egferth, he could not put the lives of others unnecessarily at risk. Already his mind had taken him back to his meeting with Aelfric a few weeks back.
As he saw it, there were four possible causes of this death. Least likely was an attack by one of the other villagers. Egferth was well liked and had no enemies that he knew of, so why would anyone want to kill him? Second, it could have been a passing thief who had tried to steal a pig, only to be surprised in the act. The other two possibilities were the least appealing. Either a band of lawless men had gathered nearby – the sort of which Aelfric had warned. Such people would be starving and would want to take livestock to stay alive. Emboldened by their numbers, they might well stoop to the level of killing the herder if it meant stealing a good number of pigs. Most worrying of all, though, would be if it was FitzGilbert with a force of soldiers come to kill him. He considered it unlikely as they would surely not want to draw attention to themselves until they were ready to attack, but perhaps Egferth had surprised them in their lair? One question should clear it up one way or another.
“Were many of your father’s pigs missing, lad?”
“I could not swear for certain, Lord, for I did not stay to count them all, but I would reckon at least half were gone, from what I could tell.”
“And what of your brothers?” He wasn’t sure how many brothers Unferth had, but thought it was at least two.”
“Egfrith was at home with mother as he hurt his foot yesterday, but Agbert was with father and he is missing.”
“You’re sure he is not dead like your father?”
“I don’t know, Lord. I only know that I only saw one body.”
Thurkill frowned. It was clear to him now what had happened. But how to respond? Time was critical if they were to find those responsible and save Agbert, if he still lived.
“Your orders, Lord?”
Thurkill glanced over to where his friend stood, next to the miller, both eager to help. He could delay no longer. “Eahlmund, go prepare the men, we will have need of them. Then wait for my orders. And send Leofric to meet me at the gate, I have need of his tracking skills.”
“Aye, Lord.” Eahlmund rushed off, glad to be put to use. Like him, Thurkill was burning inside. A villager had been killed. One of his villagers. It was the first time such an atrocity had happened under his lordship and he yearned to run into the woods to hunt down those responsible. But he knew he had a duty of care to the rest of his people. He had to find out who was out there rather than blunder in blindly to avenge Egferth. What if there were dozens of them hidden in the woods? He would be no use to anyone dead having stumbled into an ambush. No, he would have to be patient, keep his rage in check, until he found out what they were facing.
Leaving Unferth with the miller with orders to take him back to his mother, Thurkill made his way to the village gate, arriving shortly before his companion. Thurkill was glad to have Leofric with him. Not only was he probably the fittest of his men, his skills as a hunter were second to none, having been taught to him from an early age by his father back in Haslow.
As they walked into the woods, heading to where Egferth took his pigs to root amongst the mast every day, Thurkill filled Leofric in on what he knew. “I need you to find the trail back to wherever the attacker or attackers have gone. I would know if they are still nearby, how many they be and whether they be ready for battle.”
Leofric nodded and set off at a trot to where Thurkill had indicated that the pig herder’s body would be. On arrival, they found that it was as the herder’s son had described; Egferth lay on his back, arms outstretched and mouth open as if mid-scream. The wound w
as actually in his chest, though, deep and ragged. Death must have been almost instantaneous.
“Looks like he put up a fight, though, Lord.”
Following Leofric’s gaze, Thurkill noted that, clasped in the old man’s left hand was what looked like a clump of human hair, the ends of which were matted with blood. It must have been ripped out in the struggle, Thurkill surmised. The tresses was long and straggly, another sign that they were not dealing with Normans, but he still needed to be sure before he gave his orders. He didn’t suppose a Norman soldier would have allowed old Egferth to get close enough to grab his hair and, besides, didn’t they all keep their hair short? This was much more in keeping with the Saxon style.
Meanwhile, Leofric was down on all fours, inspecting the ground around the body, scrabbling in an ever-widening arc until he rose back to his feet, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. “They went west, Lord, away from the village.”
“Can you tell how many?”
“It’s hard to say, but I would hazard half a dozen at least. The ground is soft which has helped preserve the tracks of all those involved, but that also means that there is much confusion and criss-crossing. On top of which, there are hundreds of hoof prints intermingled with human where they have sought to drive the panicked animals before them. All the signs tell me it’s a raid intended to steal the pigs. But I can’t say how many men were involved.”
“Nor how many may have waited further back in the trees.”
Leofric shrugged.
“No matter, let’s follow the tracks a while and see where they lead us.”
In all honesty, the path was not hard to follow. As his friend had said, the ground made soft from the wet winter weather meant that even someone as unskilled as Thurkill could easily stay on the tracks. Leofric, meanwhile, ranged widely from side to side to see if other clues were to be found. It wasn’t long before he called Thurkill over. “Look here, Lord, another set of tracks. It seems to be just one person, smaller and lighter than the others so his prints are less deep, but there is no doubt in my mind.”
“Agbert?”
“Yes. The tracks seem to run parallel to the main group, as if he is himself tracking them. I hope he stayed out of sight. It wouldn’t go well for him were he to be spotted.”
“We should hurry, Leofric. I fear for the lad.”
As quickly and as quietly as they could, the two men ran on, staying low and moving from trunk to trunk as much as possible. It was hard to remain silent, though, as the forest floor was carpeted in leaves which in turn concealed any number of twigs. It was fortunate that there had been a lot of rain recently; the moisture having helped to dampen the noise that they made, but it still sounded to Thurkill’s ears like a herd of cattle stampeding through the trees. He just prayed they could find the attackers soon and Unferth’s brother.
“Lord, down!” Leofric’s hissed warning brought him to a complete and sudden halt. He dropped to his knees beside his companion and leaned in to listen to what he had to say. “Voices up ahead. See where the ground rises a little? It looks like there’s a hollow on the other side and I’ll wager that’s where we’ll find our quarry.”
Urging his heart to calm itself so that he could at least hear over the sound of blood rushing through his head, Thurkill lifted his head a little and turned his one good ear towards the direction of the voices. Though he could not make out the words, it sounded like an argument was in progress. Pray God they are not so numerous that we cannot best them. “How many do you think?” he whispered back at Leofric.
“There’s three or four that speak, though there’s no telling from here how many others watch. We’ll have to get closer.”
Gently, the two men lowered themselves until they lay flat on the leaf-strewn ground. Thurkill shuddered involuntarily as the cold and damp began to seep through his clothes. “Slowly,” cautioned Leofric. “Feel for sticks as you go and move them rather than risk them cracking under your weight.”
It took an age to cover the twenty or so paces to where the ridge peaked. Each movement had to be carefully planned and executed lest any unforeseen noise betray them. Just before they reached the edge, they pulled their hoods forward over their heads; the dark material would hopefully disguise them from any who casually glanced in their direction. The last few paces were taken at a pace that a snail would have been able to match, such was their proximity to the gathering.
The argument was still in full swing, giving Thurkill hope that all attention would be focussed on the protagonists. Eventually, they reached a position where they could look down into the hollow and, when they did so, Thurkill’s heart sank. It was not just that he could count upwards of thirty men arrayed below them, but also what he saw lying on the ground around which the majority of the bandits were clustered. Agbert.
He was too far away to tell whether the boy were alive or dead. His face was, however, turned towards them and Thurkill could see a dark stain that ran from his forehead down to his chin. The poor lad had clearly been bludgeoned but was hopefully just unconscious.
To his great joy, this was soon confirmed when it became apparent that Agbert was the cause of the argument. After listening for a few moments, Thurkill could tell that the leaders of the group seemed to be split between those that wished to kill the boy and be done with it, and those that urged restraint. At least the boy lives! Thurkill grinned to himself. But he knew they would have to act fast if they wanted that to remain the case.
“What does it matter? We’ve already killed his father, what difference would it make if we do for his boy too? Two dead bodies are much the same as one.”
“And one is already too many. I told you not to use your seax, Beorhtric, but you wouldn’t listen. We only wanted the pigs. We could have just knocked him out and been on our way.”
“You’re too soft, Lilla. Always have been. What if he’d woken up and raised the alarm before we’d escaped? We’d have the whole village down on us by now.”
“And who’s to say that won’t still happen? How many sons does he have? What if this lad has a brother who has already raised the alarm? You saw the village. That wall and the ditch that surrounds it tell me that there are men there that know how to fight. We should have passed it by and sought a softer target.”
“Too late for that now, Lilla. You know how hungry we are. You know how long we’ve been wandering the forests with nothing more to eat than what berries and mushrooms we can find. We needed meat now or else we’d soon starve. These people have plenty; more than enough in fact. What’s a few pigs to them?
“It’s his own fault that he got himself killed, anyway. If he’d just let us take them and be done with it, he might still be alive. Bastard tore half the hair from my scalp too.” The man named Beorhtric placed his hand gently to the side of his head where Thurkill could see there was a bloody patch where old Egferth had done his damage. Good for you, old man. Rest assured we will finish the job for you.
Meanwhile, Lilla still did not look convinced but chose to say nothing. With matters left hanging in the balance, Thurkill gently nudged Leofric in the ribs and indicated with the briefest of nods that they should retreat back from the ridge. Once they were a safe distance away, he grabbed his friend by the shoulder.
“Hurry back to Gudmundcestre and gather the men without delay. Eahlmund will have already roused them so they should be ready to go. Bring them back as quickly as you can. I’ll keep watch here to see what they do. Hurry back, man, Agbert’s life is in grave danger. I just pray that Beorhtric doesn’t carry the day while you are gone.”
Leofric turned and ran. It was not far back to the village – no more than a mile – but Thurkill still reckoned it would be a half hour or more before they returned. Please God stay their hand for a while longer. The boy doesn’t deserve to die.
***
All thirty of the men from the village were armed with shield, spear and seax when they arrived. Leofgar held them back, well out of earshot while Leofri
c and Eahlmund went forward to where Thurkill waited to discuss their plans.
“Are they ready for a fight? They know what is expected of them?” Thurkill asked, anxious that this would be the first time they would have had to use their weapons in anger. Practice was all well and good but nothing could really prepare you for the stark reality of battle when the snarling, screaming man in front of you was intent on taking your life. He hoped their nerve would not desert them when the time came.
“As they’ll ever be,” Eahlmund growled. “They want the blood price for Egferth and to save his son. There could be no greater motivation. The boy lives still?”
“Aye. A truce appears to have settled upon them and they seem unsure what to do next. The fools believe themselves safe here; they’ve made no attempt to place sentries to watch for attack.”
“Well, then let us teach them the error of their ways and what it means to kill one of our own.”
“Let’s not be hasty. I would offer them the chance to surrender and face justice, if they would take it.”
“They deserve to die.”
“That’s as may be, but it is not our place to play God. There is a law in this land and we should offer them the choice to subject themselves to it. They may still be condemned to die for their crimes, or at least those that perpetrated the foul murder will, but if they refuse to submit and choose instead to fight, then so be it. May God have mercy on their souls for I will not.”
Eahlmund grinned and shrugged. “That logic explains why you are lord and I’m but a hairy-arsed oik, I suppose. What would you have us do, then?”
“Leofric, take a dozen men and sweep around to the rear; we must cut off any possible escape. Hoot like an owl twice when you’re in position. Eahlmund, you bring the rest of the men up behind me when I give the signal. Have them form a shieldwall in two ranks as they have learned. Go now – but quietly. I’ll not have them forewarned of our presence.”
Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2 Page 42
