Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (27 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Six riders left Brythonfort headed for the eastern shore. Withred rode at the front of the group alongside Dominic. Both men had changed their appearance. Gone was Dominic’s wolf’s head hat—an adornment of renown that would be too easily noticed—replaced now with a cloth band which encircled his head.

Withred, for his part, had shaved his head entirely, revealing several white battle scars across his scalp. One day’s growth of dark whiskers covered his angular features—the density of the shadow hinting that his face would soon be thick with beard. The result was astounding. When first revealing the change to the others, they had gasped at the transformation.

Augustus had looked to his companions in disbelief. ‘God’s he was frightening before,’ he had exclaimed, ‘but now he’d make Grendel shit its pants.’

Later, as the group rode over a demanding, broken, trail, Dominic goaded his horse through an outcrop of hawthorn which sprouted across the entire width of the track. ‘It’ll be good to get on the Roman roads,’ he said. ‘Once we’re on cobbles the miles will fly by.’

‘You reckon they’ll still be in good repair?’ asked Withred.

‘Not perfect after all these years, but far better and quicker than riding through land like this. I know the roads here like the back of my hand … I should do, I’ve ridden on most of them scores of times when scouting for Rome.’

Withred looked up the track as if hopeful to spot the Saxons they pursued. ‘I’ve ridden many of the roads myself and they
are
quicker, but we’re six days behind the raiding party. How long did you say this journey will take?’

‘We should reach the road tomorrow, and I reckon four days will bring us to the ruins at Calleva. After that, possibly another three days to Londinium.’

‘Not much left of Londinium, now,’ remarked Withred. ‘Last time I was there it was mostly a ruin … a few homesteads here and there, but not a lot going on since the Romans left. We need to be careful when we get beyond Londinium. The land thereafter, north and east, is peopled with Saxons, Angles, Jutes. Most are merely peasants and farmers, but there’ll be roaming bands of warriors as well.’ 

‘We shouldn’t be troubled if we stick to our story. Britons live alongside them now … but you’re right; we do need to be careful the further east we venture. Two day’s travel on the Roman road northeast from Londinium should then bring us to Camulodunum.

‘Now that
is
a viper’s nest we need to avoid. If I’m going to be recognised it’ll be in Camulodunum. The place is crawling with chancers.’ 

‘Avoid it we will, then. We’ve no need to pass through the place, anyway. We can easily skirt round it. Three days past Camulodunum should see us in Norwic.’

Flint, who had ridden to the front and listened to the latter part of the conversation, was concerned. ‘That’s twelve days or thereabouts,’ he said.  ‘By my count the raiders will be half way there by now.’

‘I think maybe not,’ said Dominic. ‘If they’re force-marching captives they’ll be moving much slower than us. What takes us twelve days will take them sixteen, I guess.’

Flint did a rapid count in his head, the numbers promoting a tone of panic in his voice. ‘If that’s right we’ll still arrive two days after them. Elowen and my brothers could be anywhere by then. Can’t we move faster? Get there before them?’

Withred shook his head. ‘We don’t have the luxury of fresh horses every day, so we have to pace ourselves … find the right balance. If not, we’ll exhaust the horses and end up walking.’

‘Then let’s hope the journey goes smoothly,’ said Flint. ‘I fear for the children, the longer this goes on.’

Five arduous but uneventful days were to pass before they approached Londinium. The first thing to hit their sight was the town’s most impressive feature: its wall. Tall and thick, the structure was still complete, having been the last major construction project completed by the Romans. The rest of the town, though, was in the process of slow decay. Most of the population, British and Roman, were long gone, and only a few Saxon families now lived in the town. Many of these had erected rough shacks against the wall, and most survived by scavenging for loot, or combing the river mud for lost or discarded artifacts. Some fished the river—the catch supplementing their findings from the river mud, which they bartered for provisions.

As he rode over the timber pile bridge into the town, Murdoc observed the river. The Romans had named it Tamesa (the flowing one) according to Dominic. He noticed three figures on the shore. Two of them—a man and a woman—carried stout sticks which they jabbed into the mud. Occasionally they would bend to examine their finds. These, they either tossed to one side, or placed in the wicker basket at their feet.

A bare-foot, girl-child, no older than six years, walked behind them, copying them in her child’s way as she scraped ineffectually at the mud with a thinner stick. Her blond hair was long and unkempt; her smock dress, dirty and tattered. She reminded Murdoc of his own daughter, Ceola. His heart melted when beholding her.

Flint rode beside Murdoc and could not help noticing his focus of attention. ‘Sweet little thing,’ he said. ‘She’s probably a Saxon child. It seems they don’t have it all their own way. The poor mite seems half starved.’

Murdoc looked towards the pony tethered to Augustus’ horse. ‘No harm in giving them some oats and dried meat, then. They seem harmless enough.’

Withred, who was riding behind, had heard the exchange. He opened the pannier attached to Augustus’ pack pony and removed a hunk of dried mutton and a small sack of oats.

‘Come,’ he said, as he slung the provisions over his horse’s withers. ‘We’ll give them something to cheer their day, and gather some news about the land hereabouts.’

The woman picked up the girl as the six riders approached; their austere bearing giving her cause for concern. A bearded man with a shaven head coaxed his horse down the muddy banking as he approached them. He was not a man to cross, not a man to get on the wrong side of. She glanced to her husband who stood beside her. She placed her hand on his arm, but was relieved when the bearded man smiled and dismounted before them … relieved further, when he spoke their tongue.

‘We wish you no harm,’ said Withred. He offered her the meat and oats. ‘Please take these, we have ample.’

The woman paused a while, unsure of what to do. Her man nodded to her. She took the bundle. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘The food will fill our bellies tonight.’

The others arrived and dismounted. Augustus waved and smiled at the child. ‘Beautiful she is,’ he said to the woman. Withred translated and the mother beamed.

The Saxon man was spare of build, dressed only in a thin, linen tunic which was beltless and reached to his knees. His feet were bare and his legs coated with orange mud up to mid-shin. ‘Thank you for the food,’ he said. He looked up the slope, towards the nearby wall. ‘The day draws on, and though we haven’t much to offer, you’re welcome to stay with us tonight.’ He offered his hand to Withred. ‘My name is Godwine. Hild is my wife, and Udela our daughter.’

Withred took his hand. The others did the same as the tension eased. Godwine led them from the river and into the town. Augustus sat Udela upon his horse, and chattered to her in Celtic as he led them up the slope. Hild walked beside them, her hand on Udela’s back in support.

When they entered Londinium, the Roman layout of streets was plain for them to see, but years of looting and reclamation had removed the roofs and considerable sections of wall from the structures. The result was a town looking victim to an earthquake.

Goats bleated, and hardy little pigs grubbed amongst the rubble, feeding on scraps and plant growth. A vital source of milk and meat, all animals wore the mark of their owners.

Godwine led them through a maze of streets, defined by low-lying, broken walls which were lichen-grey and stained with red. Soon, they came to the town’s high defensive wall and so to Godwine’s dwelling.

Two vertical, timber piles, ten paces apart, and attached at their top with a beam, stood ten paces from the wall. Two more hoisted, horizontal posts attached the frame to the wall, forming a cube. The roof and two sides of the box were covered with stitched goat’s skin, leaving the front open. A circular stone fire ring sat at the entrance to the simple dwelling. Firewood was stacked beside the hut, some claimed as flotsam from the river, some bartered from a woodsman who came to the town twice weekly with a cart piled high with the stuff.

The design of Godwine’s hovel was popular amongst the inhabitants of Londinium. Built against the city walls, and sitting at intervals around it, were many similar structures. Some served as dwellings, whilst others housed butchers’ shops or smokehouses. Strips of pork and salmon hung from elevated racks within the smokehouses.

As he walked into the town, Flint’s feelings were ambivalent towards the Saxon family. He considered their reason for being on his isle. Were they not invaders? If so, they were just as much to blame for his father’s death and his brothers’ abduction as the men who had attacked their village. Yet, as he looked at the three scavengers and witnessed their hardship—observed their poverty—he could not help but feel for them. Maybe they had no choice. Perhaps Godwine had come to Britannia to give his family a better life, although how anything could be worse than scavenging for treasure on the muddy banks of the river he could not imagine. Perhaps even the little girl was British. She may have been born in Britannia.

But it did not take long in the company of Godwine and his brave little family, before Flint saw them merely as human beings; no different from his own family—just people trying to survive in a savage and uncertain world.

Murdoc saw a few strips of dried salmon resting on a rough table within Godwine’s dwelling. ‘We barter meat for our findings,’ explained Godwine as he noticed Murdoc’s interest in the salmon. ‘Anything left, a man takes from us. We get useful items from him: pots, flints, irons.’

Why not catch the fish yourself?’ asked Murdoc. ‘That way it would cost you nothing.’

‘We have no nets,’ explained Godwine. ‘It would cost us a year’s findings to obtain one.’

With Udela on his knee, Augustus sat beside Hild, who sorted through the day’s finds from the basket. Much of it appeared worthless to him: a strip of curled dry sandal leather; rusted pieces of iron, probably from a sunken merchant boat, and other indistinguishable items. What a difference a simple fishing net would make to their lives, yet it seemed so unobtainable to them.

Hild smiled when she saw the dismay on Augustus’ face as he appraised the pile of seemingly worthless debris. She reached into the goatskin pouch that attached to a cord at her waist.

With Withred translating, she said: ‘Everything’s got a value here, even old bits of leather.’ She took a silver coin from her purse. ‘But this, I found this morning, and it was too valuable to throw into the basket. This will ensure we eat for many days.’

Augustus’ bearded face split into a grin and he held Udela in the air, tickling her belly with his bald head. ‘This skinny little rabbit’s going to turn into a fat little piglet,’ he laughed as the girl emitted a helpless belly chuckle above him.

Dominic, who stood by his pack pony nearby, could not help but smile. ‘No need to barter your coin while we’re here, Hild,’ he said as he fished through the pony’s pannier. ‘Tonight we all eat from
our
provisions. You will eat like a wildman from the forest, cooked by me … a wildman from the forest.’

‘Hild is grateful, but says we’ve done more than enough to help them already,’ translated Withred. ‘I’ve told her nonsense.
We
provide the fare tonight.’  

Dusk came and they ate a hearty supper and chattered long into the dark night.

In the morning they bade their farewell to Godwine, Hild and Udela. Although with them for less than a day, they felt a deep fondness towards them; admiring their indomitable spirits, their incessant cheerfulness and strong unity. All shook Godwine’s hand; all hugged Hild and Udela before leaving. They continued on their quest, their hearts lifted by a chance meeting with good people. 

Withred rode ahead with Dominic through Londinium’s eastern gate. ‘We need to be ever more cautious from here on,’ he advised. ‘I used this route many times when riding with Osric. It’s the main way from Londinium to Camulodunum. We’ll see Saxon war bands soon, and we need to have our story ready when we do.’ 

But Withred‘s worries proved groundless that day. The road was in good repair by the standards of other less-used routes; the people they encountered mainly merchants and stockmen. Often, herds of tough little sheep, driven always by Saxon folk, blocked their passage.

The second day out from Londinium dawned cool and grey and the group took to the road at first light. The land now seemed completely devoid of Britons, a fact not lost on Dominic.  

‘The last time I passed here, it was as a scout for Rome,’ he informed Augustus who rode beside him. ‘I was a boy of seventeen then and learning my trade with an old Roman named Livius.’ He smiled fondly when remembering the old scout. ‘What he didn’t know about wood-lore and tracking was not worth knowing. All over this isle, as far north as the great dividing wall, some say even beyond that, he had travelled. All over the empire as well. I learned some Latin from him, he learned some British from me. But one language we rarely heard in those days was Saxon. Every one of these farms and homesteads were owned by Britons.’