In The Grip Of Old Winter (21 page)

“We will go as you wish it,
to Eorl Bosa’s.” The leg dangled in front of Wulfwyn’s face and he wound the
rope back round the peg. “This is right, for Eorl Oswald’s and Leonor’s sake.”
He drew his knife and cut into the meat. “We cannot leave them when chance may
offer a different fate.” He handed a thin piece of meat, ragged around the
edges, to Peter. “Even though we are only two,” he cut into the meat again,
“the talisman you wear beckons with a strange hope.” He held up the slice he’d
cut and dropped it into his mouth.

Peter held his half-eaten
sandwich in one hand and the meat in the other. He laid the sandwich on his
lap, lifted off the bread and placed the meat on top of the ham and cheese. He
covered it with the bread and, determined not to think about how bad the meat
looked, took a bite.

Soft and tender, with an
aftertaste of burnt wood, the meat melted in his mouth. Not an obvious flavour,
like beef or lamb, more delicate and it went well with the ham.

Wulfwyn cut another slice.
“There are many shelters within the trees where we may hide.” He passed the
meat across. “Our paths must be covered and often and our tracks mislead to
hide our scent.” He cut more meat and gazed into the fire as he chewed. “I
thought to hide from Eorl Bosa’s men. I did not know that others walked abroad.
Their intent is unclear to me, though it is full of malice and so our movements
must be secret and wary.”

Peter ate the last of his
sandwich and crammed the meat into his mouth at the same time. When he’d
finished, he picked up his cup and sipped at the mint tea. “How far away is
Eorl Bosa’s?”

Wulfwyn rose and unwound the
rope. “Not far, as the crow flies.” He hoisted the leg back up and secured the
rope. “What do you see from the talisman’s signs?”

Peter held the seal-amulet in
his palm. “It’s not red.” None of the silver marks gleamed. “I don’t think the
spae-wife is nearby.” It flared, he decided, when she came close, like Bear
said. Her will over it, even after so many centuries, must still be so strong.

“Then let us set out now.”
The outlaw wiped his knife on some dry moss and guided it into the scabbard on
his belt. “I lost my sword in the fight with Eorl Bosa’s men. I am hoping that
an unwary guard strays too far from the Eorl’s walls that I may replace it.” He
emptied the pot over the fire and the embers hissed. A cloud of steam rolled up
towards the gap far above and the mint aroma sharpened.

Wulfwyn took hold of the
lower rungs cut into the tree’s trunk and began to climb. “Follow.”

In the gloom, Peter hoisted
his backpack onto his shoulders, stepped around the fire pit and stretched his
hand out until his fingers brushed across the coarse grain of the first rung.
The ascent needed greater care and effort, for the trunk narrowed the further
up he climbed. The light increased as he approached the large crack that split
the trunk. His fingers and shins ached as he held on tight and stepped up one
rung at a time. Then Wulfwyn reached down and grabbed hold of his backpack and
pulled and guided him through the crack and out onto the branch.

The cold air stung Peter’s
cheeks. Large snowflakes drifted past. The tree’s interior, warmed by the fire,
made him wish he didn’t have to leave. He straddled the branch as Wulfwyn
stepped around him and climbed down to the lower bough.

“Look where the bark is
broken,” said the outlaw. “And the twisted knots left by the tree’s vigour when
it lived. They are firm enough to hold a man.”

Peter shuffled up to the
trunk. Wulfwyn stood about a metre below him and the stream appeared even further
away, though that might be an illusion, because it moved so fast. It made him
dizzy and he focused on the cuts and gouges and odd protuberances in front of
his face. For a moment, he feared to slide off the branch and lacked the
confidence to trust the decision of where he’d placed his hands and feet, but
Wulfwyn showed no concern as he watched and, with his fingers gripped tight
against the broken bark’s sharp edges, Peter half-slid, half-fell off the
branch and slammed his body hard against the trunk for support.

“Kick to find a hole,” said
Wulfwyn.

Peter bent his left leg for
balance and kicked with his right. His boot found a deep indent and he lowered
his weight onto it. He repeated the action and found a lower hold for his left
leg. At school, his less than athletic ability in PE aroused no response from
the gym master, but this new-found agility increased his confidence as he made
his descent.

He reached the lower bough
without Wulfwyn’s help, though the outlaw frowned as if puzzled. Before Peter
had a chance to respond, Wulfwyn jumped off, spun in mid-air, circled his left
arm around the bough, slowed his fall, and landed in the stream with a splash.

Peter’s new-found confidence
withered. To jump straight down required guts and might be dangerous if he
landed and slipped. He rolled onto his stomach and, inch by inch, shuffled
backwards until his weight and gravity took over and, though he gripped hold of
the bough with all his strength, he fell faster and faster until his boots
landed in the water and he staggered backwards. He whirled his arms to keep his
balance and managed to stay upright.

Wulfwyn’s frown deepened. “It
is like watching an infant who learns to walk.” He strode to the bank. “Maybe
in your land all the trees have fallen.”

***

Peter followed Wulfwyn and
they waded through the shallow water and climbed the far bank into the trees.
The outlaw crouched. The marks and imprints left by the three who passed in the
night made tracking them easy.

The barghest’s huge paw
prints ranged the furthest, but always returned to the crumpled leaves and
broken twigs that lay churned up the most. Other imprints appeared as shallow
hollows made, Peter guessed, by the carrier. The shape of a foot in the soft
soil, even the detail of some of its small bones, revealed the third creature that
came this way and Peter swallowed.

The outlaw rose and stared
into the trees. “We will follow, but be wary and hide at my signal.”

“Is this the way to Eorl
Bosa’s?”

Wulfwyn nodded. “I wonder
that our paths follow the same tracks as these.”

Peter wondered too. “It might
be a trick and they’re going to ambush us. The spae-wife wants the seal-amulet.”

The outlaw pointed. “I see
their marks for as far as the shadows allow. They are not close, yet stay
quiet.” He set off and walked in the prints and never strayed from their path.

Peter followed close behind
and trod in Wulfwyn’s footsteps. He glanced back; impossible to tell how many
people might have come this way. Only the imprints of huge paws proved that a
beast of monstrous size walked this land.

The seal-amulet might have
defeated the barghest and the carrier, but it can’t have hurt them, because
they recovered to continue the hunt
.

The ground sloped upwards and
wider spaces appeared between the oaks. Peter brushed past bracken and fern,
their fronds frozen and white. Not much snow, yet that dislodged by those they
followed, made their path easy to spot.

Wulfwyn stopped and Peter
almost walked into him. He peered around the outlaw’s back. A steep slope,
where not a single tree grew, rose to a ridge. Its edge, where even the ferns
and bracken failed to take root, stood out sharp and white against the grey
sky.

Wulfwyn crouched as he stared
ahead. “I cannot see if their tracks continue beyond the top of that rise.
Clear sight of our approach gives them an easy attack. Let us go east to work
our way up.”

Peter glanced all the way
along the ridge, but saw no sign of any movement. “We might not find their
footprints again.”

The outlaw stood. “Eorl Bosa
and his manor lie before us. I think they mean to go there.”

“Why?”

Wulfwyn pinched his upper lip
between his finger and thumb and then said, “I fear for Leonor. The spae-wife
is dust and bones, but she knows that Leonor is young and - a woman. If I
believe the old tales, she desires the youth bestowed upon all young maids.
Eorl Bosa wishes to seal his union with Leonor and swear his life to these
lands for William of Normandy.” He swept his hand through his hair. “Leonor
cannot know of the spae-wife’s approach, but the forced union that Eorl Bosa
desires will be beyond her endurance. We must not leave Leonor to either fate.”
He strode through the bracken and back into the trees.

In the old days, Leonor
died. She fell from the tower. Her story is different now and what happens next
might be better - or worse.

Peter ran to catch up. After
about a hundred metres, Wulfwyn halted and faced the ridge. “Let us climb now,
but be silent and alert and at my sign, keep low.”

The outlaw took long slow
strides that parted the bracken with the slightest rustle. Peter followed and
copied his movements. They passed the last oak and the bracken thinned and the
snow deepened and the loud crunch of their boots as they broke the crust made
Peter wince.

As they approached the top of
the ridge, Wulfwyn crouched and Peter did the same. They travelled the last few
metres on their hands and knees. The outlaw glanced left and right and when he
reached the top, he lay flat and peered over the edge.

Peter wriggled up and lay
beside him. No sign of the spae-wife, the barghest or the carrier. Below him,
the ridge fell away into bracken again and lower still, into another forest of
oaks. From this vantage point, Peter saw above and beyond the trees and in the
distance, a line, like a grey shadow, showed where the forest ended and rolling
countryside began. Snow lay for as far as he could see.

Wulfwyn nudged his arm and
pointed away to their right. Below them, in a clearing, a large manor stood
upon a rise of land. Even at this distance, Peter guessed that its size dwarfed
Eorl Oswald’s manor. It looked more like a castle from a picture book, for a
bridge spanned a wide moat that ran all around the high, thick wall of the
manor’s wooden defences. Grey smoke rose from holes cut into the thatched roofs
of several smaller buildings.

Four mounted knights trotted across
the bridge and then galloped along a wide track that cut through the trees and
headed towards the distant fields and the countryside beyond.

“Where’s the spae-wife?”
whispered Peter.

Wulfwyn shook his head.
“Crawl until we pick up their tracks.” He jabbed his finger along the ridge.
“Keep low and stay on this side. Eorl Bosa’s guards will see us the moment we
stand.”

Peter ducked below the ridge
and, still on his hands and knees, followed Wulfwyn.

Below him, the forest they’d travelled
through stretched far away into the distance. Somewhere under the snow-covered
boughs stood Eorl Oswald’s manor, but it wasn’t built on a rise like Eorl
Bosa’s and no smoke rose above the trees, so he didn’t know where to look.

With a jolt that made his
stomach clench, he remembered dad. Tears watered his eyes. He wanted to know if
Farmer Brunt drove his tractor through the snow so that dad might be helped. That
mum didn’t need to worry, because dad arrived at the hospital and been given
all the care that he needed. He wanted to be back in his own time and the fear
that he might never be able to reach the charred branch again, hit his stomach
like a punch.

He sat down with a bump and
wiped his eyes with the back of his glove. What was he doing in a time long
past, with strange people and a magical amulet that he didn’t understand? Why
him?
I’m just a boy.
Real dangers threatened that might mean being
killed and that fear made him feel sick. He wanted to go home.

Wulfwyn crawled on ahead,
unaware that Peter no longer followed. Then he stopped and tensed, raised his
hand and pointed.

Peter scrambled onto his
hands and knees and hurried forward.

A trail of churned up snow crossed
the ridge and disappeared into the bracken on the other side. The prints of
four huge paws, the outline of foot bones and the smudged dents of one who
walked on the stumps of their knees, broke the snow’s crisp surface.

***

Wulfwyn peered over the edge
of the ridge. “They must have crossed at night. Hidden from sight of Bosa’s
guards, they made their way into the trees.”

The trees below cast dark
shadows that deepened as the forest thickened. Peter stared long and hard, but
nothing stirred. “They might be anywhere. Perhaps they went past the manor.”

The outlaw shook his head.
“The land is empty from here to the sea. A few farmsteads, that is all.” He
glanced to his left. “We go back to where we climbed. There is a way through
the forest that will take us around this high ground. It is longer, but the
trees will keep us hidden.” He pushed away from the edge and slithered down the
slope. “Come, we can walk.”

Peter wriggled his way
through the snow. “We could move really fast if we had skis.”

Wulfwyn frowned. “This is -
what?”

Peter stood up and brushed
the snow off his anorak. “Oh - it doesn’t matter.”