Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (45 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Govan helped Simon and four other men drop the large wooden gate into the hinge-pegs that were set into the edge of the upright beam. Already positioned, the other gate rested securely on its hinges.

‘There … the gates are in place,’ said Simon as he stood back with Govan and the others to study the completed job.

Before them, the stockade curved away from them and out of sight. Both gates rested in an open position, allowing them to see the completed huts within the village compound.

‘Four weeks to build it from a ruin … an incredible effort,’ said Govan. He frowned and kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. ‘And two weeks since Dominic and the others left for the west coast and Hibernia.’ Squinting through one eye as the sun slid from behind a cloud, he looked at Simon. ‘Do you think they’ll be there by now, Si?’

Simon silently mouthed his count as he pondered the question, his head bobbing in unison as he added up the probable days required for the journey to Hibernia. ‘Should have arrived three or four days ago by my reckoning,’ he said. ‘They should be well into their search by now.’

Govan looked along the dredged ditch beside the stockade. Now cleared of bodies and debris, green water filled it to within a hand’s width of the rim. He remembered the day of the raid when he had floundered in its depths; the day they had stolen his beloved Elowen; the day they had slaughtered, Bran—his truest friend and brother. He thought of Mule and Maewyn, no
w
alone somewhere in the world with Elowen.

Noting his distracted stare and aware of his anxiety and worry, Simon placed his hand on Govan’s arm. ‘They’ll get them back, don’t ever doubt it,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t have four better men searching for them. If they are there to be found, Dominic will find their trail.’

‘Where else
could
they be?’ asked an alarmed Govan, as Simon immediately regretted the tactlessness of his last words. ‘What if they were
not
taken to Hibernia? What if Dominic and the others have crossed the sea for no purpose?’

‘I’ve no doubt they
are
there,’ said Simon, eager to put this particular worry from Govan’s mind. ‘I was not thinking clearly … they could be nowhere else. They sailed from Norwic to Hibernia—that we know.’

Govan, still troubled, looked through the doors of the compound towards the huts within. ‘This was a place of death, forty-six days ago,’ he said.

Simon looked surprised at the exactitude of Govan’s recollection; a look not lost on Govan.  ‘Yes … I’ve counted every single day that’s passed since my girl was taken from me,’ explained Govan, ‘and I’ll count the days until she comes back, or until the day I  die if she does not.’

‘And I will count with you.’

Both men turned to see Nila who had come to see the completed village.

‘I will also count out every day until my boys come home, as I know they will.’ She looked at the compound, at the ditch, at the huts. ‘A place of death then, and a place of death now,’ she said.

Shivering, she walked towards the gates. Govan joined her and took her hand. Together they walked through the portal and reluctantly entered the new village.

For several days, Tomas and Will had watched Ranulf’s raiding party slowly move towards the lands protected by Arthur’s militia. Having travelled several miles from Brythonfort, the two rangers had gone beyond the boundary of the protectorate, intent on giving early warning of Saxon incursion into the land beyond Aebbeduna.

‘Be careful of their scout, I know him from old,’ said Will, as he lay on his belly beside Tomas on a hill overlooking the Saxon camp. ‘Traitorous bastard by the name of Irvin. Worked for Rome, but went over to the Saxon cause. Sold out for gold, can you believe that?’

Tomas squinted as he strained to see into the camp two hundred strides distant. ‘He has no love of his own folk then?’

‘None at all. I worked with him a spell, and spoke with him on a few occasions. Of the Cantiaci tribe in the southeast, he is. Bitter and hateful against the Catuvellauni people to the north of him. Doesn’t care if they’re fellow Britons or not.  Just hates them because of some blood feud that’s been going on forever.’

‘I’m Catuvellauni, but I would never fight against my own people,’ said Tomas. ‘I know of the conflict you speak of, but most sensible folk have put it behind them long ago, along with all the tribal disputes—at least we can thank Rome for that.’

‘Bastards like him never do put it behind them, though,’ said Will, holding his hand up as a visor against the dipping sunlight. Shifting his position to get a better view of the camp, he continued. ‘It was a small progression for him to go from hating the Catuvellauni to hating the rest of the native people here. Like I said, money moves him, that’s what he loves above all else. To hell with the lives of our people as far as he’s concerned.’

Tomas tried to spot Irvin from the group below. Most of the men wore similar garb: knee length tunics gathered at the waist by leather belts; woolen britches and leather shoes. A few wore chainmail hauberks that covered their heads and shoulders only.

Only one man stood out, and Tomas had a good idea who he was. His imposing manner and confident air, and the way the men suddenly changed their bearing as he went to them, told Tomas he had to be Ranulf. His armour, too, was different. Unlike the other men, his hauberk covered his entire body, reaching down to his knees.

A horse and rider entered the camp, causing Will to snatch at Tomas’ arm. ‘That’s him … that’s Irvin,’ said Will. ‘I’d recognize his riding style from a field away.’

‘No doubt he’s been looking for easy pickings,’ said Tomas.

‘He’ll find nothing but small farmsteads round here, but by the size of that party below they’re after a bigger prize: a large settlement and all the people in it.’

‘That will take them back to our lands, then. They need to move ever westwards if they are to find untouched villages…’ Tomas’ voice drifted to silence as Ranulf and Irvin walked to the edge of their camp. ‘See,’ he whispered. ‘Irvin seems keen over something. He’s pointing to the west
.
Maybe he’s found something to interest Ranulf. Maybe they’re ready to move on.’

‘It will fit with Arthur’s plan if they do, but they’ll not move today. I know Irvin; he likes a full day ahead of him when on the trail and it will be dark soon.’ Will turned to look at Tomas. ‘Talking of Arthur’s plan, do you have confidence in it?’

Tomas nervously loosened his neckerchief a touch and looked at Will. ‘Confidence in the plan … yes, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t frighten me shitless.’

Will smiled as he assessed Tomas.
Scared shitless you may be
, he thought,
but you still have the balls to do it
. Eventually he gave a little laugh. ‘Scared, you and me both,’ he said. ‘So it’s just as well that men like us will run through fires for Arthur.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The emerging dawn was visible as a thin grey line on the eastern horizon as Dominic’s group thanked Fincath for his hospitality and prepared to leave.

‘Do not forget that I want my replacement slaves as soon as possible,’ said Fincath, who was dressed in a linen nightshirt that reached to his ankles. ‘And I will not pay as much as a flake of gold until I look into their eyes and touch their skin.’

Dominic grunted as he heaved himself onto his pony. ‘Worry not about the slaves being stolen this time,’ he said. ‘Armed men of standin
g
will guard the next shipment,’ he nodded to Flint and Withred, ‘… maybe even these two bruisers.’

Fincath rubbed the chill out of his shoulders, as he stood hunched beside Dominic. ‘As long as I get my slaves, I care not who guards them,’ he said. He slapped the rump of Dominic’s pony sending it into a slow walk away from him. ‘Just get you down to the docks and catch the tide.’

Dominic put his pony into a trot. Flint and Withred did the same.

Fincath watched as they rode through the gates of the ringfort and down the hill and out of sight. Two retainers pushed the heavy gates shut with a woody clatter, then dropped a thick oak beam into the hasps to secure the gates.

Fróech, who had just arrived, placed a fur stole around his father’s shoulders. ‘Latchna’s on his way,’ he said. He’s provisioned for one day only … one day is all it should take for the Britons and Angle to get to the docks. If they go elsewhere they have lied to us and Latchna will return with news of their treachery.’

‘If that proves true then we need to be ready to ride out tomorrow,’ said Fincath. ‘The one named Dominic has my gold in his purse and I will take both his head and the gold from him if he has another reason for being on this island. If they have not been truthful they will all pay dearly.’

Fróech looked over towards a huge, carbonized, iron cauldron that hung over a stone fire ring. ‘If they
have
been lying to us then they deserve a death befitting cheats. Remember … we once made a man’s death last five days as we boiled him in that. We could do them one at a time while the others watch and anticipate their own torment.’

Fincath hugged the fur stole around him, his smile laced with nostalgia as he remembered past executions. ‘The agonized screams of dying bastards are melody to my ears,’ he said. ‘It’s been too long since we’ve heard the prolonged tune of death within these walls. I suppose it’s less effort to remove our enemies’ heads—too
quick
for some of them, though.’ He walked over to the cauldron, smiling as he placed his hand upon its crusty rim. ‘It would almost be worth them lying to us, just to get this going again.’

Their wistfulness was interrupted as Latchna arrived, leading his pony. ‘I am ready to go, my lord,’ he said.

‘Do not on any account let them see you,’ said Fincath, turning his attention from the cauldron. ‘As soon as you see them take to their boat, get back here. Collect Daman from the trading post and leave him at the docks overnight in case they attempt to fool us and return to the shore.’

‘And if they don’t go to the docks?’

‘Then return to me at once. Establish which direction they head for and get back here without hesitation. Travel through the night, do not rest … do you hear me?’

‘Clearly, my lord’ said Latchna, as he mounted his pony and rode towards the gates.

Flint looked concerned as they rode down the track in the direction of the docks. ‘We’ll get to the docks by nightfall,’ he said, ‘but that doesn’t help our cause. We need to find the monastery, and we have no idea which way to go.’ He turned in his saddle, looking back up the hill. ‘For all we know we may be riding away from it.’

‘We have no option but to ask someone where it lies,’ said Withred, ‘but the people in these parts are loyal to Fincath. Unless we want to bring his wrath down upon the monks, we need to be careful who we ask.’

‘You think he would kill the monks?’ asked Dominic.

‘Undoubtedly,’ said Withred. ‘He’s no Christian himself, that’s for sure. The monks provide him with comforts, and that’s why he leaves them alone, but he’s not a man to upset, that I’ll warrant. If he finds out—’

‘Ahead!’ interrupted Dominic.

Looking furtive and afraid, a man waited for them fifty paces down the track.

After surviving the trial-by-neck, Kael had stumbled into the pitch-black Hibernian night seeking shelter. Already disowned by his family for his cold-blooded murder of a young herdsman in a quarrel over a game of dice, he was at a loss of where to go.

On that first night, he had slept shivering at the edge of the track that led to the docks. Swollen and engorged after his ordeal, his throat continued to bleed, causing him to hawk up globules of bloody mucus throughout the night.

The next day, exhausted and near to collapse, he had walked like a drunken man down the track towards the trading station. Daman, the man who worked there, had once been his friend. He was Kael’s last hope.

Daman was well aware of Kael’s past indiscretions, and knew he had been destined to endure the trial-by-neck. He was astounded, therefore, when Kael had appeared alive at his door. 

Looking up and down the road to ensure no one witnessed his assistance to Kael, Daman had ushered him into the hut—his curiosity, as much as anything else, driving his actions.

After hearing Kael’s tale, and subsequent pleas for help, Daman had given Kael water. Food was out of the question for Kael, who found it impossible to swallow anything solid.

Knowing he would be branded as a sympathizer to a callous murder if it was known he had helped Kael (and therefore would undoubtedly be expelled from his much coveted position in the trading post) Daman had told Kael he could give him shelter for one night only.

Subsequently, Kael had left the next morning, provisioned with enough water to last him several days.

Two further miserable weeks went by for him, during which time he took to scavenging and stealing food (which by now he could just about swallow) whenever the opportunity arose. For two days, he had a brief respite when the dock master, Guairá, employed him to help unload a large shipment of grain from southern Gaul. During this time, Guairá permitted him to sleep in the warehouse alongside the rats, and so gave him temporary respite from the cold and miserable nights.

The job ended along with the shelter it provided, and after leaving the docks, Kael made up his mind to seek out the monastery and the monks. Desperate, he had decided to steal from them. Their cows were highly prized and he could barter much for one. Enough, maybe, to set him up away from the isle; get him a passage away over the sea to Britannia where no one knew of his crime. There he could start a new life.

When he saw the children—the children who had to be the missing slaves that Daman at the trading post had told him about—he realised there might be an easier way to get himself on a boat to Britannia … an easier way than having to steal, then sell, a cow.

However, as far as passing on the information for profit, Fincath was out of the question. He knew Fincath; knew he was furious that he had survived the trial-by-neck; knew he would accept the information from him and then expel him from the tuath as before—perhaps even kill him.

Unsure of how he could profit from what he knew, Daman returned to the docks to seek work. Guairá had nothing to offer him this time, but whilst at the docks Kael had noticed a British boat berthed at the wharf—the boat which had carried Dominic, Flint and Withred.

Guairá had given Kael a brief explanation of the Britons’ business, telling him they were agents for a slave trader in Britannia; told him they had left that morning to meet with Fincath.  

The significance was not lost on Kael. They were slave traders, he knew of missing slaves; surely, they would thank him generously for such news. The information had to be advantageous to them. He looked at the British boat and fancied himself sailing back to Britannia on it.

He learned that almost half a day had passed since the Britons had left the docks, so he decided to follow them to Fincath’s ringfort, intent to keep their trail fresh.

He arrived after midnight and decided he would learn more. Knowing of a tight squeeze-through under the palisade, he swam the ditch and entered the ringfort. A similar breach in the roundhouse afforded him entry, and he crawled into one of the many shadowy corners just as Fincath and his sons had left, leaving the Britons alone.

He had moved even closer to the Britons then, and been able to listen to much of their conversation. Although strange in accent, he understood most of what they said. What he heard astounded and excited him. They had actually made the trip to
find
the children. 

Unwilling to risk any commotion—any chance at all that Fincath would discover him inside the ringfort—Kael (who knew of the Briton’ intention to leave the next morning) left the compound. Tomorrow he would meet them on the open trail away from the ringfort.

He slept alone and exposed for the rest of that night—the last time he intended to do so. Now he had news that would undoubtedly take him to Britannia. Better still, it was news that would command a payment of gold. 

Dominic rode up to Kael, followed by Withred and Flint. ‘What’s the story, fellow?’ he asked as he looked down on the care-worn Hibernian who waited on the track for them.

‘One you’ll be interested to hear,’ said Kael, ‘… but it comes with a price.’

Dominic raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘A price you say. For something to be worth a price it needs to be a commodity desired by the buyer.’ He looked Kael up and down, his gaze stopping upon the angry welt on his neck. ‘You look to me like you’ve been through a battle, man. What can you possibly have to sell?’

Kael’s smile was sly, flickering only briefly, and barely lifting the corners of his mouth—the kind of smile, thought Dominic, that would get a fellow his teeth knocked out in a tavern.

‘Before I sell, I need to name my price,’ said Kael. ‘Information about stolen slaves does not come cheaply.’ He paused and nodded mysteriously at Dominic and the others.

Flint was off his mount at once and pinned Kael by his biceps. ‘What do you know about them,’ he demanded as he pushed Kael into the shrubbery beside the track. ‘Where have you seen them? Forget any payment—I’ll pay you with cold iron unless you spit out what you know.’ Kael cowered, his eyes wide and terrified, as Flint withdrew his dagger from his belt.

Withred dismounted and walked over to the pair. He restrained Flint’s arm. ‘Maybe we need to talk further before we spill any blood,’ he said. ‘I’m sure we can come to an agreement that’s acceptable to us all.’

Flint, pushed Kael away, but continued to glare at him. ‘They are alive then,’ he said, as his tone slowly changed from anger to hope. ‘You have seen them alive, man … where?’

Looking hard-done-to, Kael adjusted his ruffled tunic. His tone was sullen. ‘I have news that’s to your advantage and you make to kill me. I
will
give you the information you need, but please just let me name my terms, that’s all I ask.’

‘Name them then … and quickly before I ignore my friend’s advice,’ said Flint.

Kael came straight to the point. ‘I want passage to Britannia when you set sail, and the means to set myself up when we get there.’ As he said his last words, Kael’s eyes darted to the purse tied to Dominic’s belt.

Dominic still mounted, looked to Flint and Withred. Flint shook his head, Withred looked unsure.

Dominic spoke. ‘By “
means to set myself up”
I presume you want gold from me. A passage to Britannia
and
gold. May I ask why you wish to leave Hibernia?’

‘Does it matter,’ said Kael, now frustrated and impatient. ‘I just have the desire to leave this wet clod of an island … there’s no more to it than that.’ Kael couldn’t believe he had to explain himself. He had expected things to go much smoother than this; had expected the Britons to be more reasonable and readily accept his offer. But no, they stared at him, even now; three stern, menacing men, not satisfied with his story. ‘All right, all right,’ said Kael, tetchily,as he realised he had no choice but to elucidate further
.
He knew he had no option but to invent an excuse for leaving. ‘I had a disagreement with a favourite shitlicker of Fincath’s.’ He flapped his hands dismissively before him. ‘It was just a disagreement over some cattle, but the man took it straight to Fincath. Now my name’s not worth shit in this tuath; now I need to get out.’

Dominic, who was a good judge of character, studied the man and knew he was lying. Regardless, he decided to press him about Maewyn, Mule and Elowen. ‘Tell me what you know about the children,’ he said. ‘I will give you a handful of gold, but only after we have the children on the boat and are a safe distance away from these shores … and, yes, you
can
sail with us if you deliver the children. Now tell us your tale.’

Kael recounted his story; of how hardship had come upon him after his quarrel with Fincath. He finished by explaining how desperation had forced him towards the monastery, where he had seen three children—two boys and a girl—fishing by a pond
.
Flint got Kael to describe the children.