Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (34 page)

Maewyn pondered their options. He hadn’t thought much about what they would actually do after getting away from the men. He knew it would be daylight soon. Then they must hide. They had to find food and water, or whoever found them would discover only bones and shreds of clothing. They needed help, he knew that now, but how was he supposed to know if people were good or bad? Maybe if they got close to the source of the fire they could watch from a distance and decide what to do.

He stood up. Mule took his offered hand and Maewyn pulled him to his feet. ‘Come on then, we’ll move as close as possible, and spy on whoever burns the fire. As long as we’re quiet we should be safe.’

The monastery sat in a secluded peaceful valley a day’s ride away from the main track to the coast. Several huts provided accommodation for the Monks. Beside the huts, a guesthouse loomed large and welcoming—its thatched roof allowing an outpouring of smoke from the warming fire that burned within.

Surrounding the guesthouse, and similar in construction to it, were other buildings of varied size and function: a scriptorium for copying, a refectory and kitchen, a library, a smithy, a kiln, a church, and two barns. The barns held a goodly quantity of grain; the stubbled, fallow fields nearby having provided a fine harvest. Huge ponds, used for breeding fish, covered the rest of the Monastery grounds.

The first monks had arrived in Hibernia decades earlier from mainland Europe. As Christians, they had fled when the heathen hordes (Vandals, Sueves, and Alans) had raided Gaul and other areas. Since then, native Hibernians had swelled the ranks of the clergy, until a peaceful religious community had grown to thrive in the quiet valley.

Able to manufacture ironwork and pottery, the monks were useful suppliers of high status goods. This usefulness was not lost upon the heathen cattle lords who knew them to be no threat and left them alone to live their lives in the valley.

Just like every day since he had come to Hibernia from Gaul (now fifteen years gone), Rodric had risen at first light to milk the small herd of cows. Forbidden to eat any four-legged creatures, the monks kept the cows just for their milk. Ten of them now ruminated in a building next to the barn where they awaited his attendance.

As ever, Rodric intended to take his walk around the monastery’s extensive grounds before he saw to the cows. His first task, though, was to pray. Matins was the first of seven pray session during the day. As Rodric walked towards the small church, he met a freckled, ginger-haired youth. ‘Is it to be Latin or Celtic this morning, Ingomer?’ asked Rodric, as a twinkle glittered in his laughter-creased eyes. 

Recently ordained, Ingomer still struggled with his pronouncement of Latin words, much to the amusement of Rodric and the other monks. He grinned mischievously. ‘Merda, caco, pissio,’ he said. ‘How’s that for Latin this fine morning?’

‘I’d stick to Celtic if I were you,’ said Rodric, trying not to laugh. ‘If the Bishop hears you speaking such words he’ll have you flogged.’

Their talk continued in the same vein, with much laughter and teasing, until reaching the church.

Ingomer ran his flat hand down his face, as if wiping away his smile, just as they entered the church. The result was a suitably pious expression, which made Rodric want to laugh again. With his own smile suppressed but still playing at the corners of his mouth, he entered the church with Ingomer. Twenty minutes of sombre chanting later, Rodric emerged into a brighter day and set off on his walk.

His sandals scuffed through a field of stubble as he made his way to his favorite place: a small wood that overlooked the grounds. Here the morning birdsong was a treat to behold. Badgers also played in the wood, especially at dawn or dusk, and sometimes he would catch a fleeting glimpse of the old dog fox that patrolled the area.

As he approached the wood, he judged the direction of the breeze and decided to walk around the edge of the field. This would leave him downwind from the badgers. Maybe he would then have the chance to watch them a while.

He entered the wood, treading quietly, and was astonished to see, not badgers, but three children. Unaware of his presence, the children lay on their stomachs on a banking overlooking the monastery grounds.

Rodric was unsure, at first, what to do. He didn’t want to frighten them. By the look of their torn rags and generally unkempt and filthy disposition, they would run like frightened rabbits if he did that. Yet he couldn’t leave them. How could he? Wasn’t Jesus supposed to care for his flock? … and wasn’t he a disciple of the Lord? Wasn’t he supposed to do as Jesus would?

His concern grew as he neared them and got a closer look at their condition. As he recalled the scriptures, he found himself becoming angry. What did the bible say about any man who would hurt a child?
It would be better for him if a millstone was hung around his neck and he was cast into the sea.

He made his decision and spoke to them. ‘Do not run, I will not hurt you. I am a friend,’ he said in Celtic, keeping his tone as calm and unthreatening as he could.

Maewyn was on his feet at once, his face shocked and fearful as he quickly assessed Rodric. Before him stood a man who wore the long habit of a monk, tied at the waist with a rope. A Celtic cross rested at his breast, suspended from a cord around his neck. In comparison to the brutes they had met with recently, this man looked benign and genteel. His silver hair was fine; his head shaved from ear to ear in a Celtic tonsure, allowing long silver strands to flow down the back of his head to his shoulders. His features were fine-boned and handsome. Elowen and Mule now stood beside Maewyn, both of them as gawking and as indecisive as he.

‘My name is Rodric,’ continued the monk. ‘My lord is Jesus Christ and he instructs that I can do naught but well to fellow man. Therefore, you need not fear me. I am here to help you.’

Elowen started to weep, and in total abandon born from extreme weariness, she walked over to Rodric. Too tired to ponder further over the matter, she sobbed. ‘We have been through so much … please help us … we have no one now in this world.’

Rodric took Elowen in his arms. Mule joined them and Rodric embraced them both.

Maewyn, weeping himself now, fell to his knees. Finally he could rest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘We need to ride on till first light, then find a spot to hide in during the day!’ shouted Dominic as he rode his horse at speed down the Roman road.

Augustus shouted back as he held on to the girl before him. ‘That won’t be long; dawn already touches the sky to the east!’

Flint rode behind, reassuring the boy who rode with him. ‘Hold tight, lad,’ he said. ‘You’ll come to no harm if you just hold tight.’ 

Murdoc rode with the remaining boy. Like Flint, he reassured the lad who clung to his horse’s mane.

‘We’ll take our chances on the road until the sun rises,’ Dominic said as the others rode level with him. ‘Then we take cover and talk about what to do next.’ 

But Dominic was
already
working on a plan. Finding the wrong children had changed things considerably, but leaving them at the mercy of the slave traders had been unthinkable to them all. After finding them, a hurried conversation had taken place in the wagon, and they had decided to leave at once
with
them.

Withred, who rode at the rear of the group, cast an anxious glance behind him, aware that riders on fresh horses would catch them before long. He had no idea how far behind they were, but feared they were too close for comfort now. ‘I think we should go to cover,’ he shouted to Dominic. ‘The horses need to be rested and we have put a goodly distance between us and the town.’

‘Two more miles,’ insisted Dominic as they passed a milestone in the road. He pulled the rein of his horse, slowing it to a trot to enable Withred to ride alongside him. ‘There’s not enough cover here,’ he said breathlessly, ‘but if I recall correctly, trees meet the track just a couple of miles further on.’

As they continued at a lesser pace, allowing the horses to regain their stamina, the trees started to encroach towards the road. At a point where a stony path led from the road, Dominic halted.

‘This is the best place to leave,’ he explained. ‘The horses’ hoof prints won’t be seen by any tracker if we guide the mounts over the stones.’ He pointed to the rough scrubland that ran to the horizon. ‘The land here looks broken and complicated. Unfarmed and unpeopled too, I guess. There should be plenty of dips and hollows to hide in.’

They left the road as Dominic had instructed. Once through to the rougher ground beyond, Dominic dismounted and returned to the stony path. Although unlikely that men riding at speed would notice any disturbance in the stones, he knew that a skilled tracker could read the signs if attentive enough. After replacing a few stones and satisfying himself he had covered their tracks as best he could, he returned to the others.

One hour later, after Dominic had led them on a winding and intricate path through the scrubland, they found a water meadow where grass and reeds grew to shoulder height. Here, they settled on a dry bump in the ground, allowing the ponies to walk and drink in the surrounding water.

While the others explored the land beside the meadow to ensure its safety, the children settled down together. Murdoc stayed back to sit beside them. It was the first time he had been able to study them properly in the light, and he saw that many days of hardship and fatigue had taken its toll upon them. Their faces were stark and pale as they looked at him.

He smiled, wishing to put them at ease. ‘What are your names?’ he asked. ‘We’ve hardly had time to talk since we fled from the town.’

The girl spoke first, self-consciously pulling the swirl of filthy matted hair from her pretty face as she looked shyly at Murdoc.

‘My name’s Cathryn but people call me Cate,’ she said in a small voice. ‘The boys are my brothers. Art and Ula are their names. Art is the fair haired one.’

He smiled at the brothers, who were scrawny but of a similar size.
Twins, but not identical
, he thought. The boys sat huddled together, still nervous, and reluctant yet to accept Murdoc, who turned his attention back to Cate.

‘I think there’s a very pretty girl under all that dirt,’ he said, as he took Cate’s hand. ‘My own girl, Ceola, is just a little younger than you, and I know you would get on well with her.’ As Cate blushed at the attention, Murdoc noticed that the fair-haired boy was staring at his bow, which still hung from his shoulders.

Murdoc smiled and removed the bow. Crafted by Dominic, it was recurved and powerful, and capable of delivering arrows at high velocity.

He handed the bow to the boy. ‘Feel how light it is, lad,’ he said. ‘One day you may carry a bow such as this.’

Art took the bow and twanged the string. His brother Ula now placed his hand on the bow, feeling its smooth, tactile lines.

‘They used spears to kill father and mother,’ said Ula.

‘And an ax to kill grandfather,’ said Art.

Cate had moved close to them, and there they sat, arms entwined, as they looked at Murdoc, their eyes hollow and sad.

Deeply moved by the horrible simplicity of the boys’ statement, Murdoc looked at the children, his heart aching for them
.
‘
Was no one…’ he cleared his throat ‘… was no one spared from your village?’

‘We didn’t live in a village,’ said Cate. ‘We lived in a hut, all together, beside the old forest. Just our family. Mother, father, we children, and grandfather—just the six of us. We kept a few pigs and an ox and grew grain in a field.’

Murdoc did not know what to say. He was reluctant to ask Cate or the boys for more details; details that would make them live their ordeal again. He could guess enough for now. No doubt, Griff’s scout had spotted the children and identified them as ripe for Hibernia. The adults were expendable of course—more so if they had put up a fight. Murdoc looked at the children and instinctively knew the parents and grandparent
must
have fought to protect the dear children that sat before him now.

Changing the subject from the killing, Murdoc asked. ‘Did you live on the eastward side of the forest?’

‘If that’s the side nearest to the sea, then yes we did,’ said Cate, who seemed most at ease with Murdoc.

Murdoc laughed, delighted. ‘I also lived beside the woodland, nearest to the shore. And Dominic—the man who led us from the town—he actually lived
inside
the forest for ten years.’

Art and Ula looked at each other in wonderment upon hearing this. Ula in particular seemed awestruck. ‘How was he not eaten alive?’ he asked.

‘Because he owns a bow like mine, and by God he can use it,’ beamed Murdoc, encouraged by the gathering curiosity and confidence of the children. ‘Here he comes now. He can tell you about his life himself.’ He stood up as Dominic and the others returned.

Murdoc told Dominic’s group the little he knew about the children. After hearing the account, Dominic slumped wearily to the ground, followed by Augustus and Flint. ‘Food for thought,’ he said, as he winked at the children, ‘but now is the time for sleep. All of us need to rest now in readiness for the toil of the night to come.’

‘I’ll take first watch, then,’ said Withred. ‘I’m nowhere near to sleep just yet.’

Seven hours later, and one hour before dusk, all had slept—some fitfully, some deeply—but all now were awake and attentive to Dominic. ‘There is much to discuss,’ he said. Now he addressed Murdoc directly. ‘This morning when you were talking to the children the rest of us made sure this place was secure and we discussed where we go from here. I’ll explain now.’

With a twig, he drew a map on the dusty ground. He had seen maps of Britannia when scouting for the Romans decades earlier and carried the image in his head. He traced a rough outline of southeast Britannia and drew an X upon it.

‘By my guess we are here, just over a day’s travel from Norwic.’ He drew a large circle to the southwest of the X. ‘And here, lies the old forest—my home for ten years.’

He drew a line a distance away from the east coast, running parallel to it. He stabbed at it. ‘That’s the road we travelled upon on our outward journey. It would undoubtedly be the quickest route back to Brythonfort, but this morning set me thinking. We need to avoid the road, even at night.  Therefore, it makes sense to go through the forest. Use it as a shortcut. It’s rough ground, though, and although a more direct route, it will add to our journey time. That’s why we used the road on our outward journey when speed was essential.’

Reminded of the reason for their journey, Murdoc looked at Flint, who had remained quiet since leaving Norwic. How he was coping with not rescuing his family, he could only guess.

Dominic continued. ‘As you all know, I’m familiar with most of the forest and can lead us through it via the old Roman track that penetrates it. On the other side lies the town of Aebbeduna and there we can meet up with Flint’s merchant friend and renew our supplies.

‘After Aebbeduna, we can get back onto the old Roman road that runs nearby. It will take us westward to Brythonfort and the end of the journey for some.’ He paused and looked at Flint. ‘But not for all,’ he added.

Flint now spoke for the first time about the failure of the mission. ‘Though I’m heartened to have saved these children,’ he began, as he nodded towards Cate, Art and Ula who sat attentive and looking at Dominic’s dusty map, ‘I’m devastated not to have got my brothers and niece back. No more boats were to sail to Hibernia from Norwic after the one that was in port, Griff himself told us that. My brothers and niece must have been on the boat that sailed two days before we got to Norwic.’

‘And that leaves us with the thorny problem of how to get to Hibernia,’ commented Augustus delicately. ‘Because this is not over with, is it Flint?’

Flint shook his head defiantly. ‘This will never be over until I see them again.’

‘So how do we get to Hibernia?’ asked Augustus. ‘I say
we
because I intend to go with you, even if I have to swim.’

Flint looked fondly at Augustus. ‘I know you would my friend, but hopefully there’ll be no need to swim. No … I’ve been thinking about it; we can sail to Hibernia from the western shore, and the man who can help us is a Hibernian.’

‘I take it you speak of Guertepir,’ Dominic said. ‘In the kingdom of Dyfed on the western peninsula.’

‘You also know of him then?’ asked Flint, surprised.

‘Better than that, I’ve met him. When scouting for Rome, I had occasion to go to Dyfed. Guertepir was friends with Rome. They left him alone as long as he kept the region quiet. His great grandfather, a man named Eochiad, had been the first to come from Hibernia, some seventy years gone. For a quieter life maybe, or at the invitation of the Romans, I’m not sure of the reason. Anyway, his tribe—the Desi—are long settled and live in a ring fort beside a river close to the sea.’

Flint was encouraged by Dominic’s revelation. ‘That’s so useful,’ he enthused. ‘If you know the man it should make our job of procuring a boat and information from him much easier. He’s had contact with Arthur in the past and that was to be my touchstone to him, but this is much better.’

‘The man can be a tetchy, awkward bastard,’ Dominic said. ‘But I’ll help you with him—even travel to Hibernia with you.’ He turned his attention back to the ground map. ‘But first we must get back to Brythonfort to resupply, and by my guess that will take another eleven days. The forest offers a shortcut, but our travel through it will be much slower than the road.’

‘Twelve days in total, then, from Norwic,’ said Flint, frowning. ‘Then eight days from Brythonfort to Dyfed and our meeting with Guertepir.’

‘Yes, and that’s if all goes well,’ Dominic said, ‘but now we must prepare to leave. We can chance one more night on the road and that should bring us to the forest.’

They left the water meadows then, and made their way back to the road, but when only fifty paces away, the sound of approaching riders came to them.

Dominic was onto it at once. ‘Into that hollow,’ he snapped, pointing to a deep depression a short distance away.

Quickly, they dropped into the shrub-filled hole, out of sight of the road. Looking at his companions as his pony stamped beneath him, Dominic pointed behind, his expression advising
, Get ready to run for it.

Withred dismounted and watched the road, careful to remain out of sight. ‘Twelve of them, at a guess …’

He tensed and his hand went to his sword as his tone became whispered and urgent. ‘Nobody move, don’t even breath, they’ve stopped near the track.’

He watched as the leading rider, probably the tracker, dismounted and examined the stony path, looking for signs of passage. The man looked towards them, thoughtfully tossing a stone from hand to hand.

Withred shook as his adrenalin surged. ‘Get ready to fight,’ he said as he withdrew his sword. ‘Dom … help the children down and take them beyond this hollow. The place will be a bloodbath soon.’

Withred continued to watch the Saxon group as Dominic led the children away. Back at the stony path, the tracker still looked unsure. He spoke to the nearest man mounted, probably the leader of the group. After a brief discussion, the tracker threw the stone back onto the path, then after taking one last look into the wilderness beyond the road, he mounted his pony and rode away, followed by the other nine riders.

When Dominic returned, Withred had sheathed his sword. ‘That, friend, was too close for comfort,’ he said. ‘Now we need to let them get further up the track before we set off. They’ll camp soon, now the light’s failing.’