Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (50 page)

‘Give him to the monks as soon as it’s safe to do so,’ said Guairá. ‘They will respect him and lay him softly into the ground.’

Dominic nodded, sighed, then gripped Guairá’s hand in gratitude. ‘Oh, that this could have ended happier.’ He cast a brief glance towards the warehouse. ‘Thank you my friend, now I must tell Aiden’s family that we are about to leave without him.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Murdoc had no way of knowing how long he would be under house arrest in Dyfed, and the uncertainty was driving him to despair.

Four days had passed since his companions had left for Hibernia with Druce. Allowed to roam freely within the walls of the ringfort, he had spent his days pacing the grounds like a caged animal. He fostered no thoughts of escape, fearing the act would merely inflame Guertepir, who would then exact his ire upon Dominic’s group upon their return
.
Besides, Guertepir always had two men guarding the ringfort’s one gate.

Apart from an occasional brief word with the guards, Murdoc had spoken little to anyone during his detention. Having rarely glimpsed Guertepir, each of Murdoc’s days had seemed to last a lifetime.

A simple hut set against the walls of the fort provided him with shelter and a hard bed of straw. When the light of the day faded in the early evening, Murdoc would take to his pallet, hopeful that sleep would relieve him from the tedium of his existence. Meanwhile, Guertepir and his lackeys would feast nightly in his hall—the noise of the revelry causing Murdoc to spend several hours awake in the darkness of the hut.

Unknown to Murdoc, Guertepir’s strange wife, Almaith, would come to the hut in the early hours and gaze at him as he finally slept. She carried a small, tallow candle, and by its low light, she would gaze at Murdoc’s athletic form and handsome, candle-lit face, whilst pleasuring herself where she stood.

On the fifth morning, as a thoroughly morose and dejected Murdoc embarked upon his eighth lap of the ringfort, Diarmait burst through the gates and strode with purpose to the hall where Guertepir was holding counsel.

Moments later, Guertepir emerged, draping himself within his squirrel cloak as he rushed to the gate. He chose to ignore Murdoc and passed from sight through the gate, quickly followed by Diarmait.

‘You’re sure it’s them?’ asked Guertepir, as they hurried down the hill towards the landing bay, now followed by twenty of Guertepir’s guards.

‘It’s still half a mile out, but close enough for me to recognize the sail,’ said Diarmait.

‘How many are in the boat?’

‘Again, hard to tell, but it looks like at least five. Possibly even six.’

As they waited by the dockside, Guertepir nodded and gave a satisfied smile as the boat neared them. ‘Yes it’s them, and they have two children with them.’

Diarmait looked surprised. ‘Then they’ve not got everyone. They set out to find three.’

Guertepir was untroubled, his tone indifferent. ‘As long as they’ve got what
I
want, I don’t care.’

Druce skillfully tacked the boat shoreward until he was able to set it into a graceful curve towards the landing. Five men who waited on the wooden jetty caught the ropes thrown to them by Druce and Withred, then expertly entwined the ropes around wooden capstans.

Now secured, the boat offered a stable platform from which to disembark.

Grey with fatigue, Dominic was the first off the boat. Flint followed, with Elowen and Maewyn, while Withred hung back on the boat with Druce.

‘Five days. You’ve done well,’ Guertepir played the genial host and spread his arms in welcome. Dominic stood back, ignoring the invitation.

Unperturbed, Guertepir nodded; once to Elowen and once to Maewyn. ‘Just two?’ Dominic had no intention of going into detail with Guertepir. He did not deserve the information, had acted only in self-interest. Abruptly, he answered: ‘One lad died. That’s all you need to know.’  

‘Oh,’ breathed Guertepir, as if empathic. ‘But please … take the children up to the fort; they will be well looked after until you choose to leave.’

Flint pushed past Guertepir with Elowen and Maewyn. His look—
Be careful of the old bastard; he’s more on his mind than the welfare of these children
—was shot as a warning to Dominic.

Guertepir watched as they walked away, his face affecting a look of pious concern. When he turned to Dominic again, the look had melted away. Frowning, he pointed towards Withred and Druce. ‘Why are
they
still in the boat?’

Dominic signaled to Withred, then fixed his disdainful attention back on Guertepir. ‘He held back, because he knew what
really
concerned you,’ he said.

Withred arrived carrying a sack. ‘Here,’ he said, as he tossed the sack to the ground at Guertepir’s feet. ‘It was all I could do to hide it from the children.’

Guertepir looked impassively at the sack. He nodded to Diarmait who stood nearby. Diarmait came over, stooped, lifted the sack, then pulled Fróech’s head from it. He held it up for Guertepir to examine. 

Guertepir’s look was inscrutable as he studied the head. He swept the matted hair from the forehead to reveal the snake symbol. ‘Justice seems to have been done,’ he said after a moment. ‘Now collect your man and get back to Arthur’s dung heap.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Augustus’ convalescence progressed slowly under the care of Rozen. After three days in bed he finally found the reserves to get to his feet, and from then on his vitality increased with each new day. 

On a quiet November morning, he strolled with Modlen, Ula and Art around the walls of Brythonfort. Since their rescue by Dominic’s group, three weeks earlier, the boys had been taken to the fortress. Here, the childless Augustus and Modlen had accepted them as their own.

Augustus now walked with his arm around Art’s shoulders, while Modlen held Ula’s hand. They climbed the stone steps to the paved sentry path that ran alongside the curtain wall. After reaching its heights, they looked out eastwards.

As a thin breeze ruffled Ula’s blond hair, he asked Modlen, not for the first time, ‘Will anyone ever go and look for Cate?’

Modlen glanced at Augustus, whose face had taken on a troubled cast on hearing Ula’s question. She was aware her husband constantly wrestled with an inner guilt since he had left Cate behind in the forest, but however much she tried to persuade him about the inevitability of the decision, she could not get him to accept it. Cate’s abduction was a constant torment to him; an itch that would not go away.

Modlen now looked into Ula’s enquiring eyes and cupped his small face in her hands. ‘Yes, of course someone will look for your sister. As soon as Dominic returns and Augustus regains his strength, we will talk with Arthur about it.’

Augustus sighed at Modlen’s words. ‘It’s
two week
s since he left for Hibernia. How long must we wait until we act on this? Soon winter will be here, and any journey back to Norwic to find the girl will then be difficult to say the least.
Now
should be the time to move east, why can’t Arthur see that?’

Modlen had been through it all before with Augustus, but she remained patient, knowing how the subject plagued him. With her hand on his thick arm, she looked tenderly into his bleak eyes.

‘Because Arthur has a lot before him,’ she said. ‘He believes the raiding parties will come again before the weather keeps them at bay, so he needs all his men at hand. The scouts are out looking for Ranulf, or any other warlord who decides to chance his hand. If Tomas or Will return with news of invaders then all the men of the protectorate will be needed to repel them.’

‘I will go and look for Cate, then,’ said Art suddenly. ‘I think I can remember how to get back to Norwic. If I’m sneaky I’ll be able to steal her from the bad men.’

‘And I’ll come with you,’ said Ula. ‘Together we’ll be able to carry her back here if she’s hurt.’

Augustus and Modlen turned their attention to the twins, smiling as they thrust their spare frames forward in defiance.

Augustus knelt before them. Taking Ula’s small hand and enclosing it gently within his fists, he affixed both lads with a fond gaze.

‘How brave you both are; but the wilderness of Britannia is no place for twelve-year-old boys to walk alone.’ 

His heart ached as he looked at them. Having witnessed the bloody slaughter of their parents and much-loved grandfather, the boys had to deal with their own inner demons. It was apparent during the day when they would mutter and fidget apparently for no reason, and at night when their sleep echoed with desperate little screams and murmurings. Augustus and Modlen often exchanged sorry looks when hearing the boys’ torment.

Already, though, their love for Augustus and Modlen was growing. Often, they spoke about their new guardians when lying in their beds. Modlen was kindness, itself; always ensuring they had clean clothes to wear and comforting food to eat.

They were aware that Augustus had taken acute injury for their sake. As for Dominic and the others … although probably kind and good, they seemed determined to pursue a pressing mission and had left Brythonfort. The boys knew that Augustus had tried to go with them; knew his injuries had prevented him, and for that they were grateful. From the day he had started to recover they had spent many hours with him.

He had walked with them through the woods that lay near to Brythonfort and found them good trees to climb, helping them clamber onto the first branches if they were too high to reach. Modlen had scolded him when the boys had returned home with tales of their tree climbing adventures. Augustus had only laughed, saying,
‘Lads should be lads, and, anyway, the climbing will make them agile and tough.’

As Augustus watched Modlen with the boys, he thought of Cate. Thought of how she would love Modlen; how Modlen would love her; how different Cate’s life would now be if he had prevented Ranulf from stealing her. His torment would not go away. He knew it never would.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Tomas and Will had spent the entire day shadowing Ranulf’s group as they moved ever westwards towards Arthur’s protectorate. They had watched as the group of seventy men had passed by small farmsteads, ignoring the people who dwelt within them.

‘They are too few to attack Brythonfort, but enough to sack a large village,’ observed Will as they rested up, hidden from Ranulf and his men who had halted for the day.

‘That’s why they leave the farms alone,’ said Tomas. ‘They want slaves in numbers
and quickly
so they can get themselves out of dangerous country as soon as they complete their raid.’

‘I think the time may have come,’ said Will. ‘Time we split up. You’re on your own from here on, Tom.’

He parted the bushes before him. Two hundred paces away, Ranulf and his tracker, Irvine, sat together having a discussion beside a lively campfire. Satisfied that now was a good time to leave, Will went to retrieve his pony.

All that day, Tomas had expected Will to make the decision. He knew, the closer they got to Brythonfort and its villages, the more important it had become to warn Arthur of the approaching threat. From now on, he would be scouting alone. Will was about to leave for Brythonfort.

He embraced Will, as he returned with his pony and made ready to leave, knowing their goodbye would have to be brief and discreet.

‘Two days should get you back to Arthur,’ said Tomas quietly. ‘So hopefully we’ll meet up within four days if all goes well.’

Will looked edgy as he mounted his pony and lifted its reins to send it in a slow walk away from the lookout. ‘All
will
go well, you have to believe that,’ said Will as he left Tomas to his own devises.

Ranulf warmed his hands on the fire and continued to stare into it as he spoke to Irvine. ‘The men are getting impatient. Twenty days in the saddle and still nothing to show for their hardship.’

‘It doesn’t do to rush these things’ said Irvine, himself staring as if entranced into the fire. ‘All the villages are already plundered up to here, and the population is sparse.’

Ranulf looked from the fire and nodded to the woods ahead. ‘We’re getting perilously close to Arthur’s lands. From now on we need to be extra careful.’

‘That’s why you employ
me,’
said Irvine pointing into the fire. ‘I stop you getting your arse scorched.’

‘The route ahead is new land for us,’ said Ranulf, ignoring Irvine’s observation. ‘Maybe tomorrow will dawn upon a juicy British village to sack.’

Irvine stood and stretched the stiffness out of his back, groaning as he spoke. ‘Maybe … but any untouched villages from now on could well be within half a day or less of Arthur’s roaming militia.’ His stretching done, he peered through the failing light towards the surrounding shrub growth. ‘I’m uneasy and I don’t know why,’ he frowned. ‘I think I may take a look around after dark.’

‘As you will,’ said Ranulf. ‘Just be sure you’re alert at first light to resume your duties.’

Two hours after dark, the camp had settled to a familiar routine. Six guards had taken first watch around its periphery and these sat beside small fires. Others sprawled on the ground as they played dice by the firelight in the main camp. Some, who would be on guard duty later, had chosen to steal a few hours sleep.

Irvine strolled around the camp edge having brief words with the guards. Then, happy the camp was under no immediate threat, he decided to take advantage of the dim light provided by a full moon and clear sky. Quietly, he walked to the nearest bunch of shrubbery, sixty paces distant.

Here, he observed the hoof prints of Will’s pony. Stooping to get a closer look, he could see the prints were fresh and led away from the camp.
It’s not where you’re going, but where you came from,
he thought, as he strained to see beyond the moon-shadow cast by the shrubs. He could see enough to follow the tracks backwards as they encircled, then led away from the camp.

He tensed as he noticed the tracks led to a group of bushes that provided a good overlook of the camp.
They’ve been watching us!
The thought made his skin tingle and heart race. He patted his waist checking on the position of his knife. Not sure if anyone still lingered behind the bushes, he decided to take a look.

After taking a looping rout to bring him to the back of the bushes, he paused and listened. Yes, it was unmistakable; he could hear breathing … slow laboured breathing. He removed his knife and, crouching and silent, made his way to the base of the shrub. There, illuminated by moon glow, slept a youth.  A recurved, laminate bow was on the ground beside him; a full quiver of well-crafted arrows propped up against the bushes.

Tomas opened his eyes just as Irvine stooped over him.