Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

An air of tension had infused the village after Dominic’s party had left. Withred and Brinley took charge of the few men that remained. As Withred cast a grim eye over his nervous but resolute men, he knew they were all that stood before the wave of destruction that could soon be upon them.

Posted as a look out on the far boundary of the village, Tomas had instructions to blow one long blast on the ox horn he carried, should he spot the raiding party.

The warning blast would signal the women and small children to hide in a boarded pit located under a storage hut on the edge of the village. Simon, armed with an ax, would then lead them to the hideaway.

That left the able bodied men to combat the Saxons on the village boundary. Withred had discussed strategy with them repeatedly, until satisfied they could at least put up a creditable fight. He had drilled them to move rapidly into position upon hearing the horn. He anticipated the raiders would be fewer after their contact with Dominic’s group. At least this would give them a fighting chance.

Tomas took up his position on an elevated banking overlooking the eastern track, as he had done every day since Dominic’s party had left. He had kept to the task diligently from dawn until dusk. A good distance below him were the two main defensive positions set up by Withred. Sometimes he alleviated the monotony of watch duty by practicing his archery skills on the straw deer brought from Dominic’s camp—the figure now being even more bedraggled than before. The afternoon was quiet and overcast as he took aim at the dummy. He smiled as his arrow hit the kill zone just below its shoulder.

A clapping came from behind. He turned to see a smiling Simon. ‘Well done lad, maybe it’s the wolf hat that steadies your head and improves your aim.’

Tomas smiled and self-consciously adjusted his hat. ‘It’s through practice Simon, and more practice, just as Dominic told me to do.’ He eyed the bundle that Simon carried.

Simon laughed and sat down on the grassy mound. ‘Hungry as usual I see. There’s bread and cheese and nice red apples for us here.’

‘I didn’t think I could be so hungry sitting around all day,’ said Tomas as he joined Simon on the mound. ‘Martha said I’ve grown nearly as tall as—’

A familiar rumbling caused Simon to drop the hunk of bread he had unwrapped. Tomas quickly found his feet and stared up the track. He needed to be sure before he sounded the horn.

Simon was beside him and made to leave. ‘I need to get back,’ he said. ‘If this is who we fear then I’ll need to get the women and children into the hiding place.’

Praying it was Dominic and the others, Tomas strained to hear any familiar shouts. The growing intensity of many hoof beats diminished his optimism.

‘No … not Egbert. Please, not him.’ Tomas’ face drained of colour. Below him, his former tormentor rode alongside Osric with spear aloft and topped with Darga’s maimed head. Trembling now, Tomas managed to lift the horn and give off one long blast.

On hearing the blare, Egbert looked up to the rise and caught a glimpse of a figure he knew well. He saw that some of the riders had also seen Tomas and had hesitated on hearing the sound. ‘No, don’t stop,’ he shouted. ‘Ride on to the village; we’ll have sport with the runt bastard later.’

As the horn sounded, Simon passed Withred’s group. Urgent and grim, they ran past him towards their defensive position.

Upon reaching the village, Simon had scant time to muster and shepherd the women and children to the hideaway. Here, he tried his best to calm them but the sudden urgency had unsettled some of the younger children. As they started to cry, he lifted the boards that covered the pit. Martha gave Simon an anxious glance as she handed Ceola to him before climbing down into the hole.

Simon hugged Ceola. ‘Remember when you hid with Dominic and your da under the tree root in the forest?’ Ceola nodded—her eyes big and trusting. ‘Well it will be just the same; no one will find us and it will soon be over.’

‘When will da and Dominic come?’ Ceola asked.

‘They’ll be here before you know it, my love, they are on their way.’

He kissed the child and lowered her down to Martha. Then he lowered the other smaller children into the arms of mothers and grandmothers who
,
grim faced and weeping, accepted them. Anna, Brinley’s wife, was the last into the pit with Simon. Both replaced the boards above them.

‘Shhh!’ breathed Anna, in response to much whimpering and crying from the children as the darkness surrounded them. ‘Just imagine you are under a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night.’

A rolling and scraping from above, evinced that Griswalda had positioned some barrels of flour on top of the boards.

Just before it entered the village, the path passed between two ancient elms. Placed across this gap were three wooden oxcarts, tipped on their sides as a blockade. Thick holly bushes grew on either side of the carts. Although the barrier was avoidable via a difficult route through the surrounding bramble and holly, Withred had anticipated that the obstruction would nevertheless draw the raiders towards an engagement.

As soon as the horn sounded, Withred and the men—who were in a constant state of readiness near to the ox carts—had quickly mustered twenty paces ahead of the cart barrier, to a point where scores of arrows had been stuck in the ground in readiness. Here the men stood with bows ready and drawn—Withred and Brinley standing at their core. In total, twenty-two men stood between the raiders and the village.

‘Together when I say!’ shouted Withred, as the sound of onrushing, but still unsighted, riders made the ground shake. He was aware that the inexperienced men would have more success aiming at close targets, so had chosen their stance a hundred paces from a bend where the riders would emerge. In checking the Saxons’ stride, the bend would give the bowmen time to take sight, then loose their arrows when a mere fifty paces separated them. Withred had drilled the men relentlessly for this day.

As he waited, he cast a quick glance along the line of men. As a man of many battles, he was not surprised to see that some of the men were trembling violently; some even urinating where they stood, as the thunder of the onrush intensified. In a haze of hooves and dust, the Saxons emerged from the bend and yowled towards them.

Withred roared above the clamour. ‘Stay your attack till I say! Wait, wait, wait … NOW!’

Six arrows hit home, sending three men to the ground and leaving the others as riding-wounded. These were the younger men—the Geoguth—who had been eager to ride at the front of the group and prove their valour to Osric.

‘Hit the ground!’ shouted Osric, as he yanked his pony to a halt. ‘Find cover and attack on foot at my order!’

As they dismounted and scrambled for cover, Withred spotted Egbert throwing himself behind a nearby bush. Rapidly, he loosed an arrow at him. ‘Slippery bastard!’ he cursed, as his arrow clattered off the stony track behind him.

Three men, who had still not reached cover, took arrows and fell.

Osric, crouching behind a low mound, could see Wlensling kneeling for cover a few paces away. ‘What do we number Wlensling?’

Wlensling picked up his iron helmet and replaced it on his head. ‘I make it just twenty-four fit men left.’

Osric’s head whirled in frantic thought. ‘Gods!’ he cursed, then looked towards the village. ‘Withred . . . Withred! How goes it my friend?’ he shouted.

Silence met him.

‘Withred, why do you side with the Britons? It’s not too late to work things out with me. You know I’m a reasonable man. Come back to us. You cannot wish to spend your life in the fields with this miserable carrion.  I’ll share the spoils with you. Come over now!’

Again, silence. Osric turned to Wlensling. ‘Muster any men who possess bows to gather together under cover and prepare to get at them. We can’t stay here any longer, we must get this done with.’

Twelve archers assembled, and on Wlensling order they stepped from cover and sent a volley at the Britons.

The salvo was hurried and again inexpert. It caused no injury, but Withred, aware of the scarcity of his force and not willing to expose his men to further arrows, gave the instruction to withdraw to the cover of the ox carts.

Seeing the Britons run and leap over and behind the carts, Osric gave the order to charge at the Britons.  

Withred and Brinley had placed several axes and spears behind the carts, so all the men were able to arm themselves quickly upon reaching the barricade.

Withred, with his broadsword, and Brinley with his spear, defended the centre, while the rest, now joined by Griswalda, fought at the ends. The line held, as clumsy blows from the war axes and inexpert jabs from the spears barely managed to repel the attackers.  

Some of the Saxon Geoguths resorted to running and kicking sole-first at the carts, in a hopeful effort to knock them over. Three died in this manner when they got too close to Withred’s slashing broadsword. Six villagers also perished in the opening attack—victims to Saxon axes and spears.

Consecutive waves of Saxon hostility were repelled as the fight raged on with unbridled savagery. Eight more villagers and two Saxons fell—the Saxons to Tomas’ arrows. From his outlook on the mound, the boy had a clear site of the battle, and was able at last to put his relentless practice to cynical use.

Out of range of Tomas’ arrows and well away from the fight as they looked for any weakness in the British defence, Osric and Egbert watched the battle from the elevated position of their mounts. Above the hubbub, Osric shouted to Egbert. ‘This is getting us nowhere! Any ideas!’

Egbert looked at the knot of undergrowth on either side of the elm trees. ‘There’s nothing for it but to ride through that tangle. Leave a dozen men to occupy the Britons. Get the rest up onto their ponies, they can follow us through the breach.’

Stark and ashen, Osric surveyed the thick brush on either side of the barrier. He came to a decision and shouted to Wlensling. ‘Get on you horse, man … you and six good men, and get over here now!’

Wlensling, on foot as he marshalled his men, grabbed six others away from the conflict. Moments later they sat bestride their mounts at Osric’s side.

Nine riders left and pushed through the testing shrubbery a short distance from the barricade.

‘They’re trying to flank us!’ shouted Withred. ‘We can’t let them approach us from behind!’ He fended off an attack from the wire-hard Alfred, who had rained down a series of clanging blows upon his defensive sword. Beside him now, Brinley pierced Godrys, who had attempted to jump over the cart. Griswalda also jabbed out indiscriminately with his spear at the centre of the melee.

‘We can’t leave this position!’ shouted Brinley. ‘To turn back to the village now would be suicide!’

Withred delivered his mortal thrust to Alfred and pushed him from the rim of the cart. ‘Then let’s get this done with!’ he answered. ‘We number just eight now!’

Tomas had watched the conflict from his lookout after delivering his two kills. Osric and Egbert had been out of his line of sight, and so he had been unable to snipe at them. When he saw the nine riders squeeze through the choking entanglement of brambles, he set off in a quick jog and followed them. Hidden behind a tree, he saw them dismount and start to search all the huts in the village.

He avoided the Saxons and made his way to the fugitive’s sanctuary. As he neared it, he heard the screaming of children, terrified as the tumult of battle penetrated the roof of their hideaway. Shocked, he realised their discovery was inevitable.

Osric had decided to task the men to find hostages rather than join the fight at the barricade, and this was a mistake. He was hopeful his enemy would give themselves up when faced with the choice of either throwing down their weapons or seeing their loved ones slaughtered before their eyes.

Furious at not finding anyone, Egbert smashed his way through the huts. ‘They must have taken the women and brats out of the village and hidden them!’ he shouted.

Osric looked frenetically around him. He glanced back towards the oxcarts, and was ready to order the men to return to them when Wlensling signalled to him. ‘Osric! I can hear them. Over there, it’s coming from the hut.’

Tomas watched from distance. He knew there was little hope for the occupants of the hut. His next action was spontaneous.

In the dark of the hideaway, Simon had tried unsuccessfully to comfort the children, but the sound of battle filtering into the pit had terrified them to the point of hysteria. Even the older children, who had sat bravely with trembling lips, had given into their fear and begun to weep.

Martha and Ceola had been through it before, but this was far worse, and when it became evident that Wlensling had found the hut, Ceola buried her head in Martha’s bosom.

Simon felt broken as he picked up his ax and pledged his life to them. ‘For as long as there’s breath in my body, I’ll fight,’ he said. ‘I watched once and did nothing, but not this time.’

Martha rocked Ceola as the wolf howl filtered into the pit.

Simon was at first stunned, then elated. ‘Dominic!’ he whispered. ‘I knew he was not finished. Now we’ll see what happens when the wolf is let loose.’