Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (48 page)

‘The load is not bulky, Guairá,’ said Withred. ‘In fact it will load itself, or should I say
they
will load
themselves
.’

Guairá’s head shot back in surprise. ‘You’re telling me you are taking
people
back to Britannia?’

Withred nodded and looked at Druce, whose face rivaled Guairá’s in astonishment. Then he told them the tale of the children’s capture and the reason they had set off to find them; told them that Flint was a brother to the boys and a cousin to the girl. When he finished, he looked from Druce to Guairá. Transfixed, both had listened to the tale without interruption.

Druce was the first to speak. ‘I have children and I would have done the same. In fact I would sail around the known world to find them.’

Withred sighed, relieved he would not have to deal with his sailor. That would be a problem in itself. He looked at Guairá, trying to read the man, but he remained inscrutable. Withred subtly dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Guairá saw the movement, but only smiled sadly. ‘There’s no need for that, man. Unlike Druce here, I have no children; my wife is barren, you see.’ He swept his arm around the docks. ‘This here is my child, and here I live with my woman.’

He noticed that Withred still gripped his sword. ‘You fear I will tell Fincath, but I will not, and I will tell you why.’ He pointed up the track, towards the woods that were visible at the top of the hill. ‘Your friends come from the monastery beyond the woods, and they come with the children. Have you any idea what Fincath will do to the monks if he suspects they were involved in this?’

Withred nodded and was about to answer but Guairá continued. ‘I told you I have no children, but I do have a nephew whom I love more than life. Ingle is his name, and he is a novice at the monastery. If Fincath suspects the monks surrendered the children to your friends, my nephew will die. Need I say more? So stay your hand, Withred; you have no need to worry about me.’

Withred, who still looked up towards the woods, was about to respond when Fróech and four men crested the hill some four hundred paces distant.

Guairá followed Withred’s gaze and was on to it at once. ‘They’ve not seen you yet, so get to the warehouse and don’t move,’ he said to Withred. ‘Let me and Druce deal with this as best we can.’

Withred hesitated a moment. By his reckoning, Dominic could not be far behin
d
Fróech’s group and that meant trouble. Should he fight or should he hide? Realising the probable conclusion of the former option, he heede
d
Guairá’s advice and ran over to the warehouse.

Guairá quickly took charge. ‘Get down to your boat and busy yourself,’ he said to Druce. ‘You need to keep out of the way. They’ll know your boat is British—her Latin name gives it away. You won’t see Latin displayed on any boat from
these
shores.’

‘What will you tell them?’

‘The Gods know,’ sai
d
Guairá. ‘I’ve not had time to think. Just get yourself down to your boat.’

Druce swung onto the hemp ladder and clambered down its fifteen frayed rungs.

Fróech and his entourage soon reached the docks. Guairá was a long-term acquaintance of his clan, and Fróech approached him as a friend
.
He clasped the dock master’s hand. ‘Guairá, you old bull, it’s good to see that you still breathe.’.

Guairá affected a delighted laugh. ‘And you, Fróech,’ he reciprocated. ‘At my age, I’m grateful each morning when the situation is so.’

Fróech smiled, then looked around him, now eager to get on with the purpose of his visit. Frowning, he walked to the edge of the wharf. He returned to Guairá. ‘I’m here to make sure that three Britons who carry my father’s gold have sailed, as they said they would, back to Britannia.’

Guairá, who had rapidly cobbled his story together as Fróech had walked to the wharf, did not hesitate. ‘And so they have; they left just after midday.’

Guairá hoped the Britons, when they arrived, would see Fróech’s party as they crested the hill above the docks … and that could be any time now from what Withred had said. If they had any sense, they would wait and hide until Fróech left. After that, they would be free to sail away.

But Fróech’s expression edged on the side of skepticism. ‘You’re sure they were the people I seek?’ He pointed behind him towards the wharf. ‘A British boat lies moored below. What is
its
purpose?’

‘It brought grain this morning—grain bound for the south. It arrived just as the Britons—three useful looking men—left with their pilot.’

Fróech nodded, lips pursed, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He looked up the hill, possibly anticipating his pending departure.

Guairá dared hope he had fooled Fróech.

Yet Fróech was becoming uneasy as he further dwelled upon Guairá’s statement. How could they have made it to the docks so quickly if they had diverted to the monastery, as his scout had suggested? Moreover, it was just too neat a story from Guairá. What about the British boat now docked? The boat might well belong to the Britons who carried his father’s gold.

‘The man in the boat … I would speak with him,’ said Fróech, determined to examine the matter further.

Taken aback by Fróech’s sudden demand, Guairá, nonetheless, readily called for Druce, knowing it would arouse Fróech’s distrust if he wavered.

He shouted down to Druce, who sat as if busy unraveling a twist of rope. ‘Druce, fellow! My friend, the cattle lord would speak with you!’ He turned, smiled, then winked knowingly at Fróech. He shouted back down to Druce. ‘Maybe you’ll get a job from him … fetch his father some grain from the warehouses in Gaul.’

Fróech’s looked to his man, Cillian, who stood beside him. Its nuance suggested,
Did you hear that?
He’s just told him what to say.
Understanding
,
Cillian nodded.

Druce was soon up the ladder, standing uneasily before Fróech. The cattle lord asked him about his journey, and Druce, much to Guairá’s relief, concocted a story of his voyage from Gaul with a hull crammed with grain.

‘Small boat for grain?’ observed Fróech.

‘The price for grain is high so late in the year,’ said Druce. ‘A larger shipment would cost far more than my buyer could afford.’

Guairá tensed as Fróech asked Druce: ‘And your buyer is …?’

Fróech had turned at Guairá as he asked Druce the question; his expression conveying:
Let the man answer this for himself.

‘
A man in the west, named Renan,’ invented Druce. ‘A settler … new to the island.’

Fróech was not fully convinced. Guairá had said the grain headed south. The trader said it had gone westwards. Maybe an understandable mistake, but he needed to be sure the man was telling the truth. He would take him back to his father. If he was with the Britons, he was undoubtedly their sailor. Without him, they were going nowhere. If they had already left, then so be it, but—little matter— he would task Cillian to hole the boat just in case they had not.

‘It would please me if you would come with me to speak with my father about trade with Gaul,’ said Fróech to Druce. ‘It will be worth your while, believe me.’

Druce looked uneasily to Guairá. The dock master shrugged as if to say,
There’s no way out of this … you must go for now.

Fróech clicked his fingers and Cillian brought a pony over to Druce. Smiling, Fróech invited Druce to mount.

After avoiding Colman’s party, Dominic’s group soon came to the dock road. Upon reaching it, Dominic dismounted and examined the ground looking for clues. Flint crouched beside him. Dominic was thoughtful as he rubbed the trail dirt through his fingers and looked down the track.

‘Problems?’ asked Flint.

‘Mmm,’ murmured Dominic, frowning now as he considered their predicament. After a moment, he came out of himself and looked to Flint. ‘Five riders recently split from Colman’s group. They went down towards the docks.’

‘Probably his brother, Fróech,’ said Flint. ‘I hope Withred has the wits to hide.’

‘No need to worry about Withred. Our problem now is how to deal with this?’

‘We’ll do what Withred no doubt decided to do: hide until they’ve gone.’

‘And hope Colman doesn’t turn up to complicate things further,’ Dominic added.

Flint looked at the children who watched and waited from the elevation of their mounts. Elowen and Mule shared the same pony now. Maewyn sat on the pony he had shared with Flint. Dominic told them of the developments at the docks. Mindful of the importance of lying low if they sighted the Hibernians, the group now continued down the track.

They encountered no one, and Dominic was the first to reach the rise overlooking the wharfs. Below, he saw Fróech and his men. He dismounted and led his pony back out of sight of the men below.

A stockyard full of steers abutted the track. Dominic tied his mount to the rough fence beside the holding pen. He flinched when a steer crashed against the timber. The commotion increased as the beasts within jostled for position. Trying to ignore the noise, Dominic looked down to the docks again. His concern leapt when he saw Fróech talking to Druce.

He halted Flint and the children, then updated them on the developments below.

‘Can we take them?’ asked Flint, unable now to see any other way around the problem.

‘Four of them; three of us with Withred … maybe. We‘ve had worse odds.’ After a moment of pondering he sighed and nodded towards the children. ‘But they make things tricky to say the least. However this plays out, they must be protected.’

Flint agreed, and was about to suggest they wait and watch a while, when one of the steers again hefted its bulk against the nearby fence. The ponies were spooked. Dominic grabbed the reins of the nearest two as they made to rear. Flint attempted to do the same with Mule and Elowen’s steed, but the animal bolted and eluded his grasp. He could only watch as the pon
y
—
with Mule and Elowen sat bestride it—ran down towards the docks.

Withred looked through the dusty, slatted wall of the warehouse. Frustrated and feeling impotent, he had watched as all the developments on the docks had unfolded before him. Earlier, his instinct had almost driven him to intervene and engage the men who had pressed Druce to mount the pony.

Having managed to control his urge to act, his plan was to stay hidden and follow the Hibernians when they left with Druce. Somehow, he would get him away from them. He had no choice; the man was their mariner.

He tensed when he saw an astonished Fróech suddenly look up towards the dock road and order three of his men up the track. One of his men remained and stood with him beside the wharf.

Withred’s plans changed again when the pony carrying Mule and Elowen appeared heading towards the wharf. The pony—eyes rolling in panic—managed to come to an abrupt halt before reaching the drop into the water. Mule and Elowen fell heavily to ground. The pony, head tossing and tail swishing, clattered away along the wooden wharf.

Fróech quickly grabbed Elowen, who had rolled forward towardshim. Mule lay motionless, apparently stunned
.

‘
Guairá, you lying bastard, I’ll have you flayed,’ muttered Fróech, looking around for the dock master. Holding Elowen tight, he looked up the hill as his men ran to meet Dominic and Flint. He looked towards Cillian. ‘Get down the ladder and hole their boat!’ he shouted, as it dawned on him he could use the girl to his advantage.

Withred suddenly burst from the warehouse.

Fróech’s eyes shot wide, but his gaze never left Withred
.

He shouted to his man. ‘See how big the warehouse rats grow, Cill. One has escaped to have its shit-eating life ended.’

Cillian stayed put by the wharfside as he watched Withred moved carefully towards Fróech.

‘At least I don’t hide behind the skirts of a girl,’ shouted Withred. He gave Elowen a reassuring look,
Don’t worry, I can get you out of this
, as she trembled in Froech’s grasp.

He continued to chide Fróech. Laughing at him now, he shouted, ‘If I’d known the best that Hibernia can offer uses a child as a shield, then I wouldn’t have endangered myself raiding the worthy men of Britannia for all those years. Instead, I would have come to Hibernia to fight its cowards.’

Cillian, eager to boost his standing with Fróech, drew his sword. ‘I’ll finish the upstart for you, my lord. His clever tongue will soon feed the fishes.’

Withred looked at Cillian. Obviously high ranking, the man, like Fróech, wore a full-length hauberk, probably imported from Britannia.
Good protection against the slash of the sword but not the stab
, thought Withred, who was singularly unimpressed by the man.

Withred readied himself for combat whilst Cillian’s eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. He had noticed the skillful and confident way Withred wielded his broadsword—the weapon swaying in his practiced grip. But his anticipation of a tough fight proved unfounded.