Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (56 page)

Cate sniveled and shook her head, and continued to cling on to Augustus. Gently, he pulled her away from him.

He turned to face Griff. ‘As you command, I’ll get into your wagon! Let’s get this done with, so I may return to my home with this child!’ He threw down his knife and nodded to the driver who had climbed down from his seat.

Anticipating the forthcoming show, the driver
,
wh
o
loved his work for Griff, opened the back door of the wagon and impatiently beckoned Augustus to get in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The day after the massacre of Ranulf’s force, the cleanup began. Built to ignit
e
quickly, the huts had been mere facades packed with straw. After the burn, nothing remained standing apart from the palisade fence.

Arthur assessed the damage along with Robert, his chief artisan. They also surveyed the scene of slaughter. Scattered around the inner space lay seventy corpses; all were soot-black; all were crisp and charred.

As they walked to the centre of the compound, six, high-sided, ox-drawn carts, entered. In each cart sat two men.

‘Is the pit ready for the bodies?’ Arthur asked Robert, as the men jumped from the carts and started to sling the cadavers onto the plank floors of the wains.

‘Yes … by the woodland away from the fields,’ said Robert. ‘More than the evil bastards deserve, I reckon.’

Arthur nodded his partial agreement. ‘Yes, I too would have let them decay, but we have the children to consider. I don’t want them looking at the rotting bodies. If left in the open, the buzzards and kites would soon dismember them and scatter their bones across the fields. It’s better we get them out of sight and out of mind as quickly as possible.’

‘They don’t walk this earth anymore, that’s the main thing,’ conceded Robert as he walked to the inner wall of the wooden palisade and slapped his hand on its surface.

Arthur also rubbed his hand over the seared timber. ‘Will the fence be sound enough for purpose after the new structures are built?’ he asked.

‘Probably better than if it had
not
been scorched,’ answered Robert. ‘The fire brought the oils to the surface of the wood and that’ll protect it from the weather. We’ll have to strengthen it, though. The rapid nature of the build meant it was built flimsier than I would have liked.’

‘Even so, it’s good that the heavy work we did in clearing the ditch and building the fence was not in vain,’ said Arthur, ‘…good that the fire did little damage to either.’

‘Yes, now we can start to build the huts again—this time to shelter
people
rather than straw.’

As the first of the loaded carts rumbled past them bound for the mass grave, Arthur had the cart driver stop. He beckoned Robert to join him at the back of the wagon. Eight bodies lay there. Some had already started to bloat, causing putrid, pink cracks to break through the black, crispy outer skins of the cadavers.

Robert shot his head back in disgust at the sight, as Arthur rolled one of the husks onto its back. The head was seared to the bone and unrecognisable, and apart from an intricately crafted hauberk, the body was naked.

Arthur fingered the hauberk. ‘Say hello to Ranulf, the cause of our heartbreak. This chainmail tells me it’s him.’

Robert winced at the sight of the very dead Saxon plunderer. ‘D’you think we’ve seen the last of them, now
he’s
gone?’

‘For now, but not for ever,’ said Arthur. ‘I’ve no doubt more of his kind will chance their hand, but at least we’ve avenged the people
he
wronged.’

With this in mind, Robert asked, ‘How are Nila, Flint and Maewyn taking the loss of Mule?’

‘Not good,’ Arthur sighed as he slapped the back of the wagon, signaling the driver to continue on his way. He pointed to Ranulf’s corpse as it bumped about on the floor of the departing wain. ‘Nila lost a husband
and
a son because of that man, but the loss of a son to any mother is the deepest cut of all. She has her other sons close to her at all times. She’s terrified of losing them now. Flint seems to be coping the best … talks of getting back on patrol as soon as his mother can let him go.’

‘And Maewyn?’ asked Robert.

‘Troubled and intense, he is … not like him at all by all accounts. He’s taken to visiting the Christian shrine at Brythonfort … seems to give him comfort. His meeting with monks in Hibernia appears to have had a profound effect upon him.’

‘Well at least the two lads have something to take their minds off their loss,’ said Robert. ‘I can only hope the new village we’re about to build here brings Nila out of herself.’

As he walked with Robert to the open gates of the compound, the mention of Nila led Arthur to think of her friend—Augustus’ wife, Modlen. He pointed eastwards beyond the fields. ‘Somewhere out there Dominic rides. Modlen told me this morning that he’s set out to look for Augustus. He rides eastwards towards the ancient forest with William and John.’

Robert smiled and shook his head in amazement. ‘Where that man gets his energy from beats me. It seems his mission in life is to find lost people.’

It had taken Dominic, William and John five days to get to Aebbeduna at the edge of the forest. The first thing that Dominic did was look for Wilfred—the merchant friend of Flint. He found him beside a workshop passing the time of day with a smith. The smith had been working on a sword, his constant reheating and reworking having produced a striking patternation throughout the steel blade.

Wilfred met Dominic with delight, hugging him as Dominic introduced William and John.

‘Aye, I can tell they’re Augustus’ brothers,’ said Wilfred, as he stood back and smilingly appraised them. ‘He’s not with you then?’

Dominic, who had hoped Augustus might have reached Aebbeduna by now, told Wilfred the reason for his journey; told him of his concerns over Augustus’ state of health; of the peril Augustus had put himself in by setting out alone. Wilfred shared Dominic’s concern as he left the smith to his work.

‘That’s why we must leave at once,’ said Dominic, who, like the others, led his pony down the rutted main road of the town. ‘Much that we’d love to rest up a while here, we just don’t have the time.’

‘Then I’ll come with you a little way,’ said Wilfred. ‘You can tell me more as we walk.’

They soon reached the last building of the town. Wilfred stopped here and wished them luck as they mounted. Two miles distant, they could see the edge of the forest. ‘A day’s travel into the woods will see you to your old village,’ he said to John.

‘Yes, and hopefully we’ll have met Gus by then,’ said John, as he heeled his pony towards the tree line.

Wilfred shouted to Dominic who followed William and John down the trail. ‘Farewell and seek me on your return for a warm bed and good ale.’

Dominic waved his thanks to Wilfred as he heeled his pony into a canter towards his beloved forest.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Augustus sat against the back wall of the wagon, elbows on knees, his fisted hands pressed against his temples as he looked down at the dusty floor.

He knew the biggest trial of his life was about to begin. All he had was his strength. Whatever Griff was about to throw at him he had nothing but his brute force to meet it with.

The wagon’s jolting ceased, yet the wagon still moved forward.
A smooth surface below
, though Augustus,
this is where it will happen.
The wagon stopped
an
d
Augustus looked to the door.

Moments passed and he sat in silence. A slight movement of the wagon told him the driver had detached the pony.
Probably taking it out of harm’s way.
The silence continued as snatches of past conversations filtered into his head. Something that Murdoc had said came to him, then. ‘
Sweet Jesus Saviour; he feeds the old ones to his dogs.’

He jumped as the driver released the securing twine from the door. Light flooded in, causing Augustus to hold his hand up as a barrier against it as it needled into his eyes. The driver, his shadow framed in the outline of the door, beckoned him out.

An undercurrent of nervous excitement quavered in the driver’s voice. ‘You … get your fat arse out here!’

Augustus moved to the door and dismissively pushed the driver aside with the back of his hand.

He stepped out.

After giving the driver a look of utter contempt, he looked around. He stood in a disused amphitheater; he didn’t need to be a Roman to know that.

A movement caught his eye, and he turned to see the driver climbing back inside the wagon. Augustus watched as the driver threaded the twine through the door and tied it from the inside. Through the tangle of wicker in the back door, Augustus could just about make out the driver’s eager eyes—just about hear his excited, panting breath.

He walked to the door and gave it an exploratory pull. It did not shift. The driver had tied it well. Again, he shot the driver a disdainful look,
pathetic little bastard,
before walking to the side of the wagon.

He turned from the wagon and shifted his gaze to the decaying terrace that ran down to the arena floor. The floor looked disturbed, as if a contest had taken place recently. Then he noticed the blood—
‘Sweet Jesus Saviour; he feeds the old ones to his dogs,’—
and remembered the two people who had earlier been loaded into the cart at the villa
.
Twenty steps up the terracing stood Griff, with the dogs and Ambrosius.

As Griff looked at Augustus, he knew he would boast for years to come about how his dogs had brought down and torn apart the giant Briton. As soon as he had seen the man, his only thought had been to get him to the arena and set the dogs on him. As the dogs now growled and yelped under his restraint he smiled in anticipation of the forthcoming show. Yet the man stood unmoving, calmly gazing up at him, seemingly unperturbed; almost as if he had already made his peace with his Gods and was preparing to die.

Griff hoped he had not given in; hoped he wouldn’t go down without a struggle. It was better when they struggled; made the dogs go mad; made them inflict even greater damage.

Augustus’ serenity soon turned to impatience. He lifted his bulging arms in defiance and bellowed at Griff. ‘Come on, then, you depraved shit, get on with it!’

That’s better
, though Griff,
now the dogs will go to work.

He set them loose and they hurtled down the steps eager to tear into Augustus
,
who had not strayed far from the wagon; and, as the first of the dogs hit him, he had already climbed up onto the top of the wagon’s metal-rimmed wheel. The dog clenched its teeth upon his shin, but let go and fell back as Augustus kicked out the leg.

Both dogs now leapt at him as he turned and grabbed the top of the cart, but the broad expanse of his back defeated their efforts to bite into anything loose, and they fell back to the floor of the arena.

From above Griff exchanged a quick glance with Ambrosius. This was new to him. Usually, his victims’ fear froze them into passive inactivity. That or they attempted to fend the dogs off, and that was when it got
really
interesting. Nobody had ever attempted to climb out of harm’s way onto the wagon’s roof before. Except that it was not out of arms way—not when you had an archer of Ambrosius’ skill standing beside you.

‘Ready your bow,’ Griff said. ‘Knock him off the roof but don’t kill him, I still want to see the dogs finish him.’

With a massive heave, which drained much of his strength, Augustus pulled himself to his waist onto the wagon roof leaving his legs dangling over the edge. This put the dogs into a frenzy, and they hurled themselves upwards, their jaws closing with hollow snaps as they found only air to eat.

Augustus splayed out his palms and with a grunt managed to drag the rest of his body onto the wagon’s roof. And there he crouched, as if awaiting the start of a sprint race, slack jawed and panting as he took in the arena below him.

The arrow hit him before he saw it—its onrushing
hiss
heard a fraction before it pierced the meat of his right shoulder. The impact knocked him onto his rear on the very edge of the wagon. Frantically, he fanned his arms through the void behind him as if back paddling in water, and so managed to avoid toppling backwards into the jaws of the bounding dogs.

His senses sizzled like lightening as he snapped the arrow by its feathered end, leaving a hand’s width of broken shaft to protrude and stem his bloodflow. Aware that another arrow would follow, he remained crouched as he looked over to Ambrosius who had now walked down to the bottom steps of the arena. The dogs had gone to him. Unfulfilled and pulsating with energy, they jumped and yelped around him.

As Augustus shuffled across the top of the wagon, he noticed that its rush-work roof gave a little under his weight. He gave the roof an exploratory thump, but his fist bounced innocuously from it. Then he noticed a small rent in the wicker and managed to worm a thick forefinger beneath it. He pulled, and a shard of willow snapped away from the plane of the roof. Now he shoved four of his fingers into the breach. Again, he pulled, and this time a fist-sized hole opened up.

His glanced over to Ambrosius—a glance that saved his life. As Griff had joined him, Ambrosius had again let fly an arrow, but this time Augustus was able to throw himself flat onto the roof of the wagon as the arrow parted the air above him. Now he looked through the hole in the roof. Below, the terrified Saxon driver looked up at him. 

Augustus knew what he had to do and took the chance to stand upright. Knowing he had only seconds before his big outline would invite another arrow strike, he jumped and brought his feet down with a heavy stamp upon the breach in the roof.

Griff watched, with a fascination bordering on admiration, as the big Briton disappeared through the top of his wagon.

Ambrosius, eager to get the thing done with, made to approach the wagon, but Griff stopped him.

‘No need for that,’ said Griff. ‘The big bastard’s going nowhere. He can’t stay in there forever. The dogs’ll have him when he comes out. You watch … we’ll get our show yet. Just watch the dogs—’

The wagon door exploded outwards, muting Griff, as Augustus tumbled onto the floor of the arena and crouched to face the onrushing dogs.

When Augustus had dropped through the roof, the driver had made a futile attempt to get out of the wagon, but Augustus was having none of it. With force, he had thrown the man to the back of the cart, where he had hit the wall and slid onto his arse. ‘Now you
will
watch the show,’ Augustus had spat. ‘Now you’ve got the best seat in the arena.’ After undoing the twine on the door, Augustus had then kicked the door open and left the wagon.

Now he dealt with the first of the dogs as it leapt at him. Crouching in front of the open wagon door, he was able to shove its muscular flanks past him and into the wagon without it inflicting a single bite. Quickly, he secured the door with the twine, just as the second dog leapt onto his back. At least he now had only one dog to fight.  

He stood upright with the dog still clinging to him as mad screams and frenzied snarling came from inside the wagon where the second dog had already started to inflict its frenzied maul upon the driver.

After shaking his dog free, Augustus barely had time to raise his arms to deflect it from his face as it leapt at him again. Its bulk was enough to make even Augustus stumble backwards towards the wagon, and when the dog leapt at him a third time, Augustus went down.

Griff and Ambrosius had gone back up the steps to get a better sight of the struggle. When Augustus fell, Griff had exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Ambrosius.
He won’t get up from this
, was the consensus of the glance.

Augustus pulled at the dog’s ear as it attempted to bite into the flesh of his midriff. Completely oblivious to the tugs, the dog continued to tear at him until it had torn open a flap of his skin. Beneath the flap, Augustus’ flesh glistened raw and vulnerable.  He swiped his fist at the dog’s head.
No, you are not eating me alive.
Augustus was adamant; he could not let it happen.

The blow only enraged the dog, making it turn its attention from his gut to his face. On his back now, Augustus jammed his elbow under the dog’s muzzle as its jaws snapped at him a finger’s width from his nose. He was aware that one bite on his face would signal the end for him. He could see no way to gain advantage over the dog, but was not prepared to stop fighting, even though his energy had almost gone and his arms now screamed for relief. As the quiver in his arms became a shake, he imagined, with an uncontrollable morbidity, what it would feel like to have the flesh ripped from his face.

Then he remembered the arrow in his shoulder.

With his last reserves, he took the full weight of the dog on his right arm only, then reached across with his free hand and snatched the arrow from his shoulder. It emerged slick and bloody, its shaft clamped within his fist.

Inevitably, his right arm collapsed under the sustained weight and pressure of the mastiff, but he met the dog’s descending face with the leaf shaped arrow point, jamming it through the dog’s wild, amber eye; deep through its socket, and into its brain. A small, curtailed yelp was all the dog could manage as it immediately flopped dead upon him.

‘CHRONOS!’ Griff’s scream was shrill and girl-like as he witnesses the demise of his bitch, causing Ambrosius to look at him with some concern. Now Griff could only stand mute and horrified—his hand pressed to his open mouth.

‘Shall I finish him?’ asked Ambrosius as he drew his sword.

Griff, eyes wide with shock, hand still to mouth, could only manage a tiny nod. Ambrosius left and trotted down the steps and across the arena floor to Augustus.

Augustus managed to climb to his knees and gasp in a mouthful of air. Only now did he notice that the screaming from the wagon behind him had stopped. A wet chomping and occasional crunching indicated that the dog was now feeding upon the driver.

As Ambrosius ran towards him, Augustus knew that his struggle was not going away any time soon. His thoughts raced madly. He considered getting into the wagon and shutting the door to give him a brief respite, but no … the dog was in the wagon, he could not enter it.

Without shield or weapon, and exhausted after his struggle with the mastiff, he knew he had little chance against the fresh, adept man who now approached him with purpose. As Ambrosius quickly closed on him, Augustus looked at the dog, dead at his feet below him. Grabbing the collar of the dog with his right hand, its stumpy tail with his left, he lifted it chest high just as Ambrosius reached him.

He hoisted the body of the dog above his shoulders to meet the first overhead vertical strike from Ambrosius. The sword crunched through bone and tissue, almost cleaving the dog in half. Ambrosius immediately followed the strike with a waist high horizontal swipe at Augustus’ midriff. Augustus just managed to block the cut with the now-articulated body of the dog; the second strike cutting the dog in half.

Still grasping the collar of the riven dog, Augustus stumbled back towards the wagon. He was done in, he knew it—his next action would be his final one, and as Ambrosius shuffled towards him, readying himself to deliver his deathblow, Augustus threw the half-dog at him as a last act of defiance.

Ambrosius’ avoidance of the dog carcass caused him to shift his balance as he attacked Augustus with another overhead slashing swipe; the slight stumble giving Augustus the extra moment he needed to avoid the attack.

Ambrosius’ sword rang shrill as it hit the metal rim of the wagon wheel, creating a myriad of orange sparks, the force of the impact causing the sword to fly from his hands. Augustus was exhausted and could only fall upon Ambrosius, but his leaden weight was sufficient to press him to the side of the wagon.