Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (68 page)

‘He appears to keep his men in good shape,’ said Gherwan. ‘I was afraid complacency may have settled after the peaceful years they’ve had down here.’ He turned his attention from the knights and lowered his voice an octave as they neared the doors. ‘Remember to show deference to him,’ he advised. ‘Do not forget that Ffodor is as great a king as Arthur, although without Arthur’s common touch. Unlike Arthur, this man expects reverence and attention. When we enter the hall, do as—‘

They paused as the compound became silent. The drill instructor had stopped his shouting. Looking across, they could see why. The other guard had approached him and after a hurried conversation, the trainer and twelve other men ran across the open ground towards them.

‘Seems like he wants his men around him,’ mused Murdoc. ‘Wants to show us a bit of force, maybe.’

They reached the doors and the guard led them into the brand-lit hall. Murdoc coughed a little as he inhaled the oily smoke. Before him, standing with his hand on the shoulder of a young woman who sat before him, stood a tall commanding man. Vulture-like, with his beady, piercing eyes and prominent nose, Ffodor was dressed in an ankle-length, brocade tunic. A black bearskin covered his shoulders, complimenting the lightweight, fur stole of the woman before him.

‘With me,’ said Gherwan as he grabbed Murdoc’s sleeve and dropped to one knee before Ffodor.

Ffodor gave his daughter a knowing little smile, then left her side and approached the crouching men. ‘I never thought I’d witness the day when Arthur’s people would have the cheek to come here and bow before me,’ was his only greeting. He let his gaze linger upon them a moment. The quiet was broken when Rogan, Ffodor’s instructor and champion, entered the room with his men. Ffodor glanced at the guard before turning his attention back to Gherwan and Murdoc. ‘Lift your heads and stand up,’ he instructed. ‘Whatever you’ve to say had better please me, or you’re going to my caves.’

As Rogan strode to Ffodor’s side, Gherwan and Murdoc got to their feet. Murdoc gave a quick glance towards Marcia who stroked the cheek of her baby. Both of her breasts were on show as the infant nuzzled at her—a situation that concerned her not at all. She noticed Murdoc’s brief attention, noticed he had penetrating, green eyes and a handsome head. She flickered a coquettish smile towards him before casting her eyes downwards to the baby again. Murdoc averted his gaze and looked to Gherwan.

‘Our news is grim, indeed, high lord,’ said Gherwan in the way of introduction. ‘Men gather in numbers to the north and east; men intent of breaking the peace that lies upon these lands.’

‘So Arthur has sent you to elicit my help, I take it,’ said Ffodor, glancing to his man, Rogan, who reciprocated his expression of astonishment. ‘The same man who stands up for the worthless knight who impregnated my daughter has the temerity to send his people here.’ He gave an incredulous little chuckle. Rogan, ever keen to please his lord, responded likewise.

‘If you’ll hear me out, high lord,’ said Gherwan, aware that his diplomatic skills were about to be put to their severest test, ‘then I feel you would at least understand why we travelled so far to reach your impressive stronghold.’

Ffodor paused a moment as he took in Gherwan’s statement, then said emphatically: ‘More like
why
Arthur has not had the grace to come himself.’ Before Gherwan could respond, Ffodor waggled his fingers at him with some impatience. ‘No ... never mind. Just tell your tale, so I can either send you on your way like whipped curs or put you in chains for having the gall to ask me for help.’

Gherwan continued. He told of the gathering of Hibernian and British forces. Of the suspected allegiance they sought with the Saxon invaders in the east. How between four and six thousand men were expected to swarm into the western peninsular. He speculated that Aquae Sulis was the natural target and the gateway into the protected lands. That Arthur would be outnumbered was inevitable. Ffodor and his resources had to help, reasoned Gherwan. This was not just Arthur’s fight.

Inscrutable, Ffodor listened to Gherwan without interruption. When his account came to its conclusion, Ffodor walked back to the long timber table and sat on its edge, his hands behind him as he looked, pursed lipped and thoughtful, at the knight.

After some moments, he said: ‘It seems you’ll be well and truly outnumbered without my help—by two-to-one or thereabouts.’

‘Aye, that is true,’ conceded Gherwan. ‘But if they outnumber us, they’ll come here and outnumber you, so doesn’t it make sense to meet them together?’

‘No—it does not. Their numbers will be fewer by the time they get to me. Arthur’s intervention and the sucking marshes will see to that. Here, I’ll be fresh, whilst they’ll be weak.’

‘They’ll also be battle-hardened and keen,’ pushed Gherwan.

Ffodor ignored Gherwan’s observation. Instead, he turned to Murdoc. ‘And what of you? What is your role here?’

‘My role, high lord,’ said Murdoc quietly, disliking the man’s tone, ‘is to explain to you what can happen when Saxon ambition is left unchecked.’

‘You think I don’t know what they can do? Do not forget I killed the bastards when riding for Rome.’

‘And in doing so, you sheltered the isle from them. But Rome has gone, and because the eastern lands lacked a champion they fell to the Saxons, just as these lands will fall if the lords become complacent.’

‘Become complacent,’ spat Ffodor. He glanced at Rogan again, the look conveying,
Listen to this peasant, he comes to my hall and tries to tell me how to govern my lands
! In response, Rogan shook his head with disbelieving dismay. ‘
You
are telling
me
I’m complacent;
you
who stand there, from God-knows-where ... from some guttersnipe tribe from the eastern lands.’

‘I come from a village flattened by them,’ said Murdoc hotly. ‘I was the only survivor along with my daughter! So, yes, I come from nowhere, great Lord—NOWHERE! Because my home has been taken from me.’

Gherwan shot a warning look towards Murdoc. Having noticed Ffodor’s reaction, he was aware his companion’s outburst had made an impact, but now was the time to tone down his address. The glance was not lost upon Murdoc, who continued with less heat. ‘You see, because we had no Lord to protect us, we were left open to attack. I fled to the vast eastern woods with my child, and we would have perished if not found by Dominic.’

Rogan spoke for the first time. ‘
His
name has become famous, even here. An accomplished woodsman, I am told, who helped defeat a raiding party in the woods some two years ago.’

‘Yes, that is he. I rode with him and we were able to kill them all because of Dominic’s guile and Withred’s tactical expertise.’

‘Again, you utter a name known to us. A ma
n
said to be brutal in combat, yet a traitor to his own people.’

‘A traitor to rape and torture, rather,’ defended Murdoc. ‘Yes ... he is brutal to wrongdoers, but he is also a man of good character, and a man unquestioningly loyal to Arthur.’

Ffodor spoke. ‘So you’ve already proven you can defeat them’—a disdainful curl came to his lip—‘even with help from
one of
them
it seems. Back then, you had no Lord to protect you. Now you have Arthur, so should be invincible. Why bother
me
with this?’

‘Because we defeated no more than thirty men that day and met them on equal terms. Now we could be crushed. You’ve already said we’d be in trouble without you, and be outnumbered by two-to-one.’

‘Well?’ said Ffodor. ‘What of it?’

‘This lord: The Saxon raiders are a vicious pack who will not stop until they reach the southwestern coast. Then their occupation of the south will be complete. In taking these lands, they‘ll leave no village untouched. That’s what they do: they strike fear into the people and drive them away; the lucky ones, that is—the souls who are not killed or enslaved.’ Murdoc’s eyes blazed with a fervent passion as he again recalled his ordeal. ‘I was such a man, I got away, and sometimes I wish I had not. What they did to my wife I will not even try to tell you, and it happened before my eyes, and
God help me
before the eyes of my infant child. If it were not for her I would have ended my own life that day, but I didn’t’—he cast a glance at Marcia; a look not lost upon Ffodor—‘because my little girl needed me, just as all daughters need the protection of their fathers.’

‘And I will protect mine ... when the time comes,’ said Ffodor emphasising every word.

Gherwan, wh
o
had allowed the impact of Murdoc’s passionate address to fall upon the room, sensed a change in Ffodor; but before he could add weight to the argument and win him over, Marcia spoke.

‘Why
should
you help them, father?’ She drew the infant from her and pulled the Roman stola she wore across her exposed breasts. All turned to her. ‘Do not forget how Arthur treated you—
treated me
!’ She looked to the side, her nod summoning a nursewoman from the shadows. The woman took the baby from her and left the hall. Marcia stood and joined the group who lingered beside the table. She shrugged further into the stola and fastened its silver-corded belt around her waist. ‘If he’s such a magnificent king then he will be able to handle this without help from us,’ she continued. ‘Do
not
go to him; he insulted me and now he clicks his fingers’—in emphasis, she clicked her own fingers—‘and expects us to gallop to his aid with an entire army.’ She turned to Rogan, her air defying him to disagree with her. ‘What say you, champion? Do you think your Lord should run to Arthur?’

‘You ask me … want my—‘ Rogan quavered. Having been won over by Gherwan and Murdoc, and accepting the core of their argument, Rogan had intended to offer his advice to Ffodor—to counsel him to help Arthur. Now, though, things had changed. Marcia’s stare had left him in no doubt she would make life difficult for him if he flouted her. What she had accused Flint of, she could also level at
him
, though this time it would be true. How she would do it and still get her father to abandon Arthur he did not know, but the threat was enough. He had no wish to be castigated and forced to leave Ffodor’s household.

‘
Well
?’ said Ffodor with strained patience. ‘Are you awake, Rogan? As my champion, I value your advice. Now spit it out, man!’

‘I—I—think it wise not to act hastily,’ he replied. ‘We don’t even know if these forces are hostile. But if they do come to attack Arthur, then let
him
meet them. Regardless of your past differences with him—for I think those should not have a bearing on this—Arthur must be left to cope with his own matters, like we dealt with ours recently.’ He had referred to an outbreak of unrest that had led to the far-western Cornovii tribe attacking some of Ffodor’s farmsteads and villages. Ffodor had contained the rebellion and driven the Cornovii back to their own territory.

Gherwan intervened, speaking directly to Rogan. ‘You cannot compare a tribal dispute with what’s about to happen now,’ he reasoned. ‘A few savages bloodying the nose of Ffodor, your Lord, bears no resemblance to the carnage ready to erupt.’

‘See, father—the insults continue,’ burst in Marcia. ‘He demeans your achievements and would have it that your victory over the Cornovii was worthless.’

‘Enough—enough of this,’ said Ffodor, wandering over half a dozen things at once. ‘We are going round in circles when the answer has been plain from the start,’ He turned to Rogan. ‘You were right when you said Arthur should be left to deal with his own matters, but wrong when you said our past difference have no bearing on this—for they indeed
do
matter to me.’ He regarded Murdoc now. ‘I listened to what you said, and your account was indeed harrowing. The tale served its purpose—the purpose being I will not now throw the pair of you into my caves, for I think that you, man, have suffered enough, and never let it be said that Ffodor lacks in magnanimity.’

‘
Not throw us in your caves
,’ said Gherwan exasperated. ‘Is that the best you can do? The land is threatened and you think this will be resolved by not throwing us in your caves. What about helping us defend the liberty of Britannia.’ Gherwan’s tone now became pleading. ‘Ffodor, I beseech you; forget this—this personal dispute—there is much more at stake here.’

Indignant, Ffodor replied: ‘NO! I am wronged and demand satisfaction on the matter before I will even consider raising the levy and sending men to Arthur.’

‘And meanwhile the armies march and prepare to move on us while we can muster only half their numbers. And ...  “
satisfaction on the matter”
… what satisfaction do you seek?’

‘It’s simple. Send me the scoundrel who made me a grandfather. Send him here to Travena to accept his duties to my daughter and I might just spare him his head.’

Gherwan was dismissive. ‘Out of the question. Flint is important to Arthur, and Arthur believes he has done no wrong and will not abandon him. Besides, the man is one of Arthur’s best knights and it would be madness to remove this man from the field in times such as these.’

Ffodor’s demeanor became resolute. ‘Then I cannot help you. If Arthur is stupid enough to turn down my support because of his misplaced faith in one man, then so be it, this conversation is over.’ Ffodor’s twelve knights still stood by the door. He addressed them. ‘Take these men from Travena and get them on the road back to the Levels.’