In The Grip Of Old Winter (13 page)

Farmer Brunt called from the
cab. “What’s up, Old Pa?”

“It’s - phew!” He pointed to
Peter. “The carrier - he’s been here. I think - I think he’s taken Almina.” He
braced his back against the wheel and nodded in the direction of the charred
branch. “I saw him grab her. She cried out and then - and then she wasn’t there
anymore.” He faced Peter. “You’ll have to go - I’m needed.”

“The carrier?” Farmer Brunt
replied. “Winter snow’s brought him out too?”

Granddad glanced from the
farmer to Peter and then back again. “What...?”

The farmer jerked his head in
the direction of the lane. “The barghest is abroad. Young lad come upon it - I
heard thunder at the farm - leastways that’s what I hoped.”

Granddad swallowed and opened
his mouth as if he meant to ask something, then decided not to and faced Peter.
“Can you try and find Almina?”

Peter stood and his legs
wobbled after being bumped about from the ride. He climbed down and hitched his
backpack over his shoulders.

Granddad joined him at the
back of the trailer. “We have to get your dad to hospital. I fancy the women
will go with him and I’ll stay here. If you just find Almina and see what’s
happened, don’t put yourself in danger, and then come and tell me.”

The farmer called down.
“Where you sending him? Can he use a gun?”

“Not far,” replied granddad.
“Just around the house.”

Farmer Brunt muttered. “Don’t
want to be taking no risks. An old winter’s gripped us this year, that’s for
sure.”

Peter’s stomach tightened. He
wanted to avoid Almina and the carrier and now he had to look for them. It
didn’t make sense and if he found them, what then? If they saw him, they’d grab
him. He ran his thumb around the edge of the seal-amulet in his anorak pocket.
Bear told him to keep it, but he didn’t stand a chance if they both attacked.

“We have to get on with
helping your dad to hospital,” said granddad.

Peter ran towards the trees.
He’d hidden from Tobias and managed to escape from Almina. He’d slipped past
the barghest, though he’d wanted to turn and run. It didn’t always take courage
to be brave. A wary approach to avoid obvious danger worked just as well - like
at school, when he kept out of the way of the boys he didn’t like. An easy
solution, once you knew how. The same rules applied now.

He stepped off the track.
Bare twigs rustled and scratched as he pushed past. In the distance, Farmer
Brunt revved the tractor as he started up to the house.

Peter reached the charred
branch and just before he touched it, he said, “Leonor.”

Light and dark flashed and he
shut his eyes. A sound, that he hadn’t noticed before, like a fierce wind that
blew far away, whistled a high keen note. It trailed away into sudden silence
and he opened his eyes.

Grey daylight, the soundless
fall of snowflakes and through the trees, the manor. He crouched, alert and
searched for any sign of Almina or the carrier. No broken twigs or patches of
disturbed snow to indicate a struggle or that either of them had been here.

He peered up at the tower.
Tobias leaned out as if he searched for something below. The rhythmic
thud-thud,
thud-thud
, of a horse’s hooves carried through the trees and Oswald, draped
in a thick fur cloak, appeared from around the side of the manor astride a
large chestnut-coloured horse.

He glanced up and raised his
hand and Tobias waved back, though neither of them spoke. With a flick of his
heels, Oswald ordered the horse into a trot and guided it onto the track.

Peter swallowed - should he
follow Oswald or creep into the manor? He remembered Oswald’s promise to Leonor
to visit the outlaw’s camp. The manor might be entered at any time, but he’d
never know the whereabouts of Oswald’s destination if he didn’t follow now.

Tobias watched Oswald from
the tower and then resumed his guard and began to pace.

Peter darted out from where
he crouched and pursued Oswald as close as he dared. The track dipped, just as
it did in Peter’s time, between tree-lined banks. The lane cut across Oswald’s
path and when he reached it, Oswald guided the horse to the left.

The lane followed the same
route that he had just walked in his time so many centuries later, though
churned mud, frozen hard by the cold, made progress along this route more
difficult than the tarred way he’d walked to reach Farmer Brunt’s.

The horse stepped with care
through the stiff rutted mud and Oswald didn’t demand a brisker pace so Peter
kept an even distance between them, ready to dive into cover if Oswald glanced
back.

Third time today, Peter
thought, I’ve travelled this route. The track’s twists and turns and the
regular pace set by Oswald’s horse, lulled and relaxed Peter until his
attention focused in an absent-minded way on the ground at his feet. Almina and
the carrier wouldn’t dare attack with the Eorl so close.

After a while, he glanced up
and with a shock lurched to a stop. Oswald stood in the lane beside his horse.

Peter darted behind the
nearest tree, held his breath and peered around the trunk. Had he been spotted,
or heard? No concern or alarm crossed Oswald’s face and with sudden speed, the
Eorl stepped into the trees upon the left-hand bank and the horse trotted
after.

***

Oswald and the horse
disappeared. No twigs snapped or bushes rustled as Peter imagined they must if
the Eorl and the horse climbed the bank. This silence wasn’t right.

He crept out of hiding and,
ready to dart into cover again, hurried to where Oswald dismounted.

The bank’s steep incline made
a quick climb to the top impossible, yet to vanish like magic appeared to be
the only, if implausible, explanation.

The waxy leaves of some
evergreen bush flourished along this part of the lane. Though dense, the leaves
didn’t grow from a tangle of twigs, but from long stems that, near their bases,
thickened into branches. Clusters of these branches gave the impression of one
big bush, yet plenty of space separated each stem and a way through proved
easy. The stems sprang back as he passed and the leaves hid him from anyone who
might be watching on the lane.

Another surprise came from
the downward slant of the ground. He expected a hard climb, not a gradual
descent. The air, trapped under the leaves and rich with earth-scent, warmed
his cheeks.

Very little light filtered
through the leaves and as he went in deeper, it darkened. Then his hands
brushed against cold earth which stretched for as wide and as high as he was
able to reach. He shuffled to the left and then to the right, but this earth
wall blocked his way.

He pulled off his backpack
and reached inside for the torch. With his hand cupped over the lens to stop
the spill, he switched it on and released his fingers a bit at a time until the
beam gave just enough light.

A wall of earth proved
correct, though as he opened his hand to release more light, he saw, further to
his right, a darker shadow that might be the opening to a cleft or a cave.

He stepped with care to make as
little noise as possible. This darker shadow widened and he aimed the torch at
his feet as he peered around its nearest edge.

Not a cave, but a ravine with
vertical sides and in the distance a thin line of grey daylight. He switched
off the torch, laid it on top of the sandwiches and hoisted the backpack onto
his shoulders.

He crept towards the light
and his hand brushed against the earth on the left-hand side. Twice he stepped
into the middle of the ravine and stretched his arms wide, but his fingertips
failed to touch both sides at the same time.

Impossible to see this secret
way from the lane, even in winter, for tree roots and bushes grew across the
gap high above. Is this where Farmer Brunt’s farm stood in his time? It might
be close, but he didn’t think he’d followed Oswald far enough.

As he approached the ravine’s
opening, he turned sideways and walked slower. Distant voices carried into the
enclosed space, though he didn’t make out the words. He dropped down onto all
fours and crawled. A bush, that grew low to the ground, spread across the gap
ahead and he crept up behind it and peered round.

In a clearing surrounded by
trees, many men worked. Some, huddled in groups, attended to their weapons.
Others scraped at leather hides or fashioned them with long dark knives.
Leather armour, thought Peter. A large black pot, that steamed, hung suspended
over glowing embers.

Oswald sat on a tree stump
while his horse stood close-by and munched at a sparse clump of grass. On his
haunches in front of Oswald, squatted Wulfwyn. Both men kept apart from the
others, but near to where Peter lay.

Oswald leaned forward. “The
muster is now complete?”

Wulfwyn gave a brisk nod.
“Aye. A few shy of two hundred answered the call.”

“I fear that number is less
than I hoped.”

“Enough to beat the Normans
into the sea,” Wulfwyn replied. “Some warriors answered that scattered from
Harold’s army, battle-hardened men that fight for our dead king’s name.”

“Have I their loyalty?
Turncoats and spies thrive when fortune favours risk.”

Wulfwyn glanced across the
clearing. “They will slice every Norman into a thousand pieces before they
listen to a word of their foreign filth. Revenge is sweet when pride still
smarts. Do not dispute their loyalty.”

“It eases my heart that you
speak such words, Wulfwyn.” Oswald wiped his sleeve across his brow. “Such
times make even brave men anxious.”

Wulfwyn rocked back and sat
upon the ground. “We hold the advantage on this land. The Normans follow the
easy paths through the trees and do not know the hidden ways that give speed to
our pursuit. We have traps from which they will not walk free. An arrow through
a Norman’s neck will be a sign to their comrades that they are surrounded, a
sign that they are dead.”

Oswald rose and paced. “I
wish, though, that some easier way might be found. I fear for Leonor’s safety,
for Eorl Bosa will persist in his demands and while he lives his retribution
will be swift and with Norman knights at his call...” Oswald clenched his fist.
“We
cannot
fail once the spark is struck.”

Wulfwyn sprang to his feet.
“Then do not talk of defeat. Come, I will tell you the means by which we secure
his capture.” He walked closer to where Peter hid. Oswald followed.

“This,” Wulfwyn said, “is
your hearth stead.” He picked up a large log and placed it end up on a bare patch
of ground. With his knife, he gouged furrows into the earth away from the log.
“This is the path from your hearth stead to the common way.” He made more
furrows that cut across the path. “This is the common way.”

Oswald, hands clasped,
watched.

“Men,” Wulfwyn continued,
“let us say one hundred, will take up arms around your hearth stead. Some
archers will be concealed within the tower where Tobias paces.” Wulfwyn thrust
the knife into the earth and stood. “Eorl Bosa receives reports that you and
Leonor are attacked by outlaws loyal to King Harold’s name.” He scratched his
chin. “Bosa’s attack will be swift with as many men as he can muster. He will
ride the common way and once this camp is passed,” he swept his arm around the
glade, “another one hundred of our men will follow. When he rides up, he will
find the hearth stead empty and know that you and Leonor are captured.” Wulfwyn
spread his arms wide. “At my signal, we will strike and drive against him from
all sides to force him into a tight place from which he will lay down his
sword, or die.” He crossed his arms. “If he lives, you will force his
confession as a traitor to this land and to the name of King Harold. You will
not accept an objection from him to this charge. Extract a pardon for us all
and his promised word that no pronouncement of these events will be set down or
uttered. He will hire many of our men into his household to hold him to this
pledge.” Wulfwyn picked up his knife and thrust it into the sheath at his belt.
“This is our victory.”

Oswald gazed at the ground
and said, “And if he dies?”

“All his men will perish and
their bodies flung into a pit where the trees grow close and the day never
shines.”

“So, he is lost and the cause
of his passing never discovered?”

Wulfwyn gave a brisk nod.
“Justice serves the common good and stamps upon the traitor.”

Oswald drew his cloak close.
“This is a perilous business and yet it is true.” He clasped Wulfwyn’s arm. “I
am no warrior and must trust to your judgement. What is our most immediate
need?”

“Bring Leonor here tonight,
with as much as will give her comfort.” Wulfwyn paced back towards the fire and
Oswald followed. “I will send the men forward to take up arms. Then, set Tobias
upon your horse to ride at speed to Eorl Bosa’s to report the attack.” He
grunted, which Peter thought might be the beginnings of a laugh. “We might cut
Tobias, to give his words their rightful weight and revenge the hurt his arrows
almost caused my person.”