In The Grip Of Old Winter (23 page)

Peter didn’t know if the
grunt that greeted Wulfwyn’s comment might be in agreement or outrage. His
chest stopped hurting and his breathing eased. When he opened his eyes, the
green and weathered bark of an old tree loomed so close that he picked out the
individual lines which separated one piece of bark from another. Scared of who
he might see, he didn’t dare look up, but that just delayed the moment until he
had to move and so he rolled onto his back.

“Ah! You are right. ‘Twas
Godwine’s face that frighted’ his wits. He wakes.” Eorl Oswald stared down at
him. The man’s round cheeks gleamed red like two ripe apples and his black
brows bristled.

“Come.” Wulfwyn gripped
Peter’s arm and pulled him upright.

Peter’s head whirled with
dizziness and he gripped the outlaw’s arm to keep his balance. His stomach
lurched and he thought he might be sick. He shut his eyes and when he opened
them again, the ground steadied and the trees stayed upright and they didn’t
spin.

The man who had leapt out of
the bush also stared, his expression one of utter disbelief. A huge ginger
beard covered his face. He sniffed as if uncertain of what to make of Peter and
then he guided his sword back into its scabbard.

Peter leaned against the tree
for support.

“Well met,” said Oswald.

“Hello.” Peter’s voice squeaked
and he took a deep breath. His legs trembled so much that his whole body shook.

Eorl Oswald still wore his
fur cloak. Blotches of mud spattered it all over and two long slashes down the
right-hand side exposed the brown robe underneath. A strip of light coloured
cloth, wound tight around the fingers of his left hand, showed a dark stain
that seeped towards the cloth’s edges.

Oswald stared at the
seal-amulet and his eyes widened. “Is it this of which you speak?”

Wulfwyn nodded. “The meaning
of its being is clouded. It cannot be trusted.”

Oswald stared. “I have never
seen its’ like.” He leaned down for a closer look. “What moves these symbols?
The boy does not shape his hands like a ritual-maker. Is it some spirit that
lives within?”

Wulfwyn stepped between Peter
and Oswald. “He will tell all that he knows. Bosa’s manor is close and I fear
the gaze of unfriendly eyes. You say there is a hidden cave where we may rest?
Take us and we will speak there.”

Eorl Oswald wrapped his cloak
around him. He gazed beyond them, as if he searched for something or someone
just out of sight, his mouth drawn down in worry. Then he rubbed his forehead
as if to wipe away his doubts and strode deeper into the trees. “Wise words.
Follow.”

***

The ground sloped in a gentle
decline until it flattened out into a path. Not a path, Peter thought, but
perhaps the bed of a dried up stream or even a river, for opposite, the ground
rose in a steep bank and a deep cut, about three feet high, sliced through the
earth just above where they walked. In places, the cut disappeared behind the
remains of a landslide or a fallen tree.

Oswald led the way and
Godwine followed with Wulfwyn. Peter’s head thumped, but the dizziness eased
and he stopped wanting to be sick.

A fallen oak blocked their
way. Up on the steep bank, the exposed base, with roots that stuck straight up
into the air, leaned at an angle. The trunk, snapped off near the base, stood
as high as a wall and the remains of many of the branches lay in a shattered
tangle across a wide area of the forest floor.

Eorl Oswald scrambled over
the nearest branches and climbed the bank towards the tree’s roots. He beckoned
them to follow. Between the trunk and the roots, where the cut in the bank
reached its highest level, an opening appeared, wide enough, if they bent
double, for a man to enter. Oswald grunted as he climbed through. Peter
followed and dry earth pattered onto his head and shoulders. He didn’t need to
bend, but the sudden dark made him falter and he put his hands out and shuffled
forwards.

“Follow my voice,” said
Oswald. “I dare not light a brand until we are all within. The earth is uneven
and the roots will brush against your head. There is a twist, first to the left
and then to right and after that we shall be safe. We have little food, I fear,
but we may light a fire to keep us warm.”

Peter’s hand brushed against
the tunnel’s earth wall as the way ahead curved.

Oswald said, “It gives me
hope that I found you, for I am in terrible fear. Bosa has taken Leonor into
his manor and I cannot dare to think of what might be her fate. Godwine saved me
when Bosa’s men attacked the camp, but they snatched Leonor from my sight. I
cried and tried to reach her side, yet Godwine pulled me away. It was wise that
he did, though I raged with fury. It is better that I live, for that gives some
hope to Leonor.”

Peter drew closer to Oswald’s
voice.

“Go past me,” said Oswald.
“Walk nine or ten paces.”

Peter counted up to ten and
stopped. He heard Wulfwyn and Godwine step through the dark and then came the
sharp scratch of a flint being struck. Sparks flared in an arc close to the
ground. Two or three stayed bright and with a sudden crackle, a flame blossomed
and caught. Strands of dried moss curled and withered as they burned and the
flames spread and their brightness lit Godwine’s face. He placed twigs and then
small chunks of wood on and around the fire and the flames turned orange.

White roots, that sprouted
long thin hairs, dangled from above and a worm dropped and wriggled across the
floor. Larger roots protruded from the side of the earthen cave. A pile of furs
lay in a heap and the fire filled a small hollow scooped out of the hard-packed
soil. An earth-smell, so rich that Peter pinched his nose because it made him
gag, might be the only smell that ever existed.

Eorl Oswald raised his hand
to indicate their hiding place. “A den for thieves. I have not questioned
Godwine as to how he knows of such a place, though I am guessing that his
answer might not be the one of truth.”

Godwine tended the fire and
gave no clue as to his thoughts.

“Here.” Oswald passed a fur to
each of them. “Let us sit with as much ease as these rough comforts allow.”

Peter spread his onto the
ground and sat. The fire crackled and the smoke drifted towards the tunnel and
disappeared into the darkness.

Wulfwyn sat cross-legged
across the fire from Peter. “Eorl Bosa holds Leonor?”

Oswald covered his face.
“Aye. I cannot tell how our considered schemes to keep her safe, failed. I have
lost my daughter, my manor and my freedom. I will be hunted, killed or taken,
my allegiance to this land forgotten.” He lowered his hands. “I have little
hope, but whilst I breathe, my Leonor will not be forsaken. How I wish that I
did not live to see these times.”

“Many hold that wish,” said
Wulfwyn. He picked up a stick and laid it at the edge of the fire until it glowed
a deep red and a tiny flame danced on its tip. “The manor’s horn sounded and
Bosa’s knights appeared upon the cleared way. Did the guards upon the manor
walls spy your approach?”

Oswald shook his head. “No, I
feared that, for Godwine and I crept close to scout the manor’s defences.
Though we were not so close when the horn blew. We hid at your approach, for we
thought you Bosa’s knights sent to flush us out. I do not know why the horn
blew.”

Wulfwyn glanced across at
Peter. “Is there some tale that can be revealed by that which you wear?”

The seal-amulet, no longer
red, the silver markings long-vanished, resembled nothing more than a black
iron disc. Peter lifted it up and spun it round, as if he hoped to spot
something to explain what happened at the cleared way. “I don’t know; it hasn’t
done that before. I mean - last time a silver shape appeared I - I knew what to
do. But this time, I didn’t understand what it meant - and well - something
happened to those knights, but I didn’t do anything.” He let go of the
seal-amulet and it bounced against his chest. He must sound
so
stupid
and when he saw the three men frown as they stared at him, his cheeks burned
and he shuffled back as if he might escape their hard gaze.

Eorl Oswald spoke first.
“What is that around your neck? It is - different now. I do not understand your
words.”

Wulfwyn threw the twig into
the fire. “It is a curious talisman that is hard to know.” He picked up another
twig. “The carrier is abroad, for it was he that revealed our camp to Bosa.”

Oswald said, “The carrier has
not been seen in these parts for many seasons. I thought him dead. He must be
withered with age. What reason has he against me? I have given him no cause for
harm.”

“The carrier gives no
allegiance,” said Wulfwyn. “That is always his way. He serves his purpose, none
other. He is unmarked by the seasons and the strength of his will endures. For
his return is as a companion to others.”

Oswald raised his hands. “Why
must all be spoken in riddles? Tell me plain or not at all.”

“The words I speak are
strange. Their meaning is difficult, but I have the truth of it with my own
eyes.” Wulfwyn rubbed his brow. “The folk tales, the night horrors whispered at
eventide around the fire, the words of travellers and old dames that frighten the
young - these are no wilful utterances, for there walks with the carrier upon
this land a cold and heartless spae-wife and the black dog of night-terrors,
the barghest.”

Eorl Oswald’s mouth hung
slack and Godwine glanced up from the fire and studied Wulfwyn as if he spoke
nonsense.

“And this is plain speaking?”
said Oswald. “Your wits are turned.”

“I cannot ask you to believe
my words, my Eorl.” He faced Oswald. “I fear for Leonor too; there waits for
her a fate far worse than a union with Bosa. The tales told of spae-wives from
across the sea might make any man lose their wits. She is terrible to behold.”

“It’s true,” said Peter. “She
appeared in the camp with the carrier and the barghest.” He held up the
seal-amulet. “She wants this back. It’s hers. The carrier gave it to me by
mistake. They attacked us, but then the silver shapes appeared in my head and I
beat them back. You’ve seen the barghest, Eorl Oswald, it attacked you on the
common way, I...” He’d saved Oswald from death, but how to explain the consequences
of what he’d done? How to admit that he’d followed him like a spy?

A sudden shout from outside
echoed into the cave. Wulfwyn and Godwine rose and drew their weapons. More
shouts, somebody screamed and then a rumble of thunder that growled deep and
low.

“The barghest,” Peter and
Wulfwyn chorused.

***

Peter leapt up. Godwine
stamped out the fire and darkness fell like a black curtain. Smoke filled the
cave and Peter covered his nose, though his eyes stung and watered. His heart
beat loud and hard.

He strained to hear anything
that might explain the cries they’d heard. Though he dreaded the possible
scrape of claw on earth and the rasp of hot breath if the scent from their
trail revealed this hidden cave to the barghest. The dark made every bad thought
possible. He might die here, they all might and their bodies rot and moulder,
never to be found, eaten by worms.

He touched the seal-amulet.
Cold and dead and invisible in the dark.

“Do we have weapons?”

Peter jumped at Wulfwyn’s
voice.

“I lost my sword in the
glade,” said Oswald.

“Then follow the boy.”

A few embers still glowed
from the fire and Peter stepped over them. A hand clamped onto his shoulder as
Oswald brought up the rear. The rich earth-smell mingled with the smoke as they
crept into the narrow tunnel.

Peter brushed Godwine’s back
with his fingers. Their breathing sounded loud as the earth walls closed around
them. Peter wished he had a knife or a sword. He stared ahead and strange white
shapes wafted across his sight.

Just the dark or a trick
of the eyes.

If something waited for them
in the tunnel, then its attack must come now. Ahead, the tunnel walls faded
from black to grey. He scuttled after Godwine, eager to see the daylight.

Oswald stumbled after and
muttered. “Better to meet our foes in the open than be cornered like rats in a
trap.”

Wulfwyn and Godwine stood
braced on either side of the tunnel’s entrance, ready to fight. Peter peered
around their backs, but if danger threatened, it stayed hidden or had passed,
for a dead man lay beside the oak’s broken trunk, the backs of his hands
pressed against his chest as if to push off a heavy weight. Blood covered his
neck and jaw and his wide eyes stared straight up at the grey sky. He wore
armour, though no helmet and his sword lay several feet away from his body.

Oswald stepped forward. “What
manner of death has come upon this man?”

Wulfwyn approached the dead
man and Godwine followed.

Oswald’s hand pressed on
Peter’s shoulder. “Stay. Your eyes must see sharper than mine. Shout if danger
threatens.”