Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (78 page)

When close to Almaith, Erec convulsed with disgust. Daubed liberally, her rouge was smeared and greasy. Carmine grease paint, ineptly applied to her slack lips, strayed outwards to mix with the stuff on her face. She reached out and touched Erec’s sword-scarred shoulders. The knight recoiled.

‘Push him to me.’ They were the first words Almaith had uttered since entering the water and promoted an immediate response from the guards who held Erec. Soon he was face to face with Almaith, her squashy breasts pressed against him.

Mercifully, Erec had his back to Guertepir, and so was unable to see his actions towards his wife. Repulsed, Morgana had turned her face away as Guertepir pulled her knees upwards and around him.

‘No ... you do not need to do this.’ Her plea to him was pathetic and distraught. ‘Drown me if you will.
Surely
that will appease the goddess.‘

Guertepir, panting in his ardor, ran his hand down Morgana’s side. ‘No, it will
not
appease her,’ he said. ‘My druid’—he squinted towards Muirecán who had renewed his chanting at the side of the caldarium—‘insists that the deity desires to witness—to
feel
even—fornication and the spilling of seed and juices into her blessed womb.
Then
you shall have your wish—
then
I will drown you—you British whore-wife.’

Abloyc had moved to the edge of the pool as he held Girard. To Erec’s relief, the boy had pushed his face into Abloyc’s chest, refusing to look at anything within the bathhouse. Erec implored Abloyc. ‘Anything—we’ve told you we’ll do anything—just don’t touch him.’

‘Then get on with it man,’ smirked Abloyc. ‘Do the right thing and rise to the occasion. Your water nymph is getting impatient.’

Abloyc’s remark caused an eruption of laughter from his men, but no mirth from Almaith. She had worked on Erec’s loins to no avail and had now resorted to sliding down his knee in an effort to satisfy herself.

Erec, his head pushed back as much as he could, grimaced at the hag’s close proximity as she panted and drooled into his face. But when Morgana’s scream came from behind he could take no more. A crimson rage fell upon him then, and such was the strength of his muscle spasm, he was able to pull free from the men who held him. Barging Almaith away, he turned to see Guertepir grunting over Morgana as he violated her. The Hibernian’s hand lay flat across her forehead as he pushed her sweet face under the waters of the pool.

Erec screamed at Guertepir as the guards made to grab him again. ‘NO! Why drown her. What more do you need from her!’  With elbows tied behind, Erec had few options other than push through the water and away from the men. Almaith’s clammy hand fell upon his neck.

‘No you don’t. A wife for a wife,’ growled Erec. He butted Almaith, the blow sending her sprawling backwards. He lunged at her exposed neck, his intent now to tear at her puffy flesh with his teeth. The guards stopped him. Three more had entered the water and two now helped a stunned Almaith from the pool. The third wielded a dagger.

Dead and defiled, Morgana floated before Guertepir.

Distraught and spent as his guards once more gripped his arms, Erec wept. ‘No ... ah no. You had no need to kill her.’

His thoughts went to Girard. He turned to him. What had his boy witnessed? He saw that the lad still pressed his small face into Abloyc’s tunic.

Erec heaved with sobs as he turned to plead with Guertepir. ‘I know you’re going to kill me now, but spare my boy ...  he has not harmed anyone … please spare my boy.’

‘You’ve cost me too much gold for that you British rat,’ spat Guertepir as he pushed Morgana’s body away from him. ‘As soon as my wife tells her father what happened in here today he will half my allowance. And yes, you’re right—I
am
going to kill you.’ He nodded to the man with the dagger who went to Erec and slid the blade across his neck. As Erec went limp, his guards released him, allowing his body to sink in a swirling fog of crimson to the stone floor of the pool.

Grunting with the effort of wading through the pool, Guertepir made his way to the stone steps. Impatiently, he beckoned to two of his retainers. ‘Come!’ he shouted to them. ‘In the water and help me out. Don’t just stand there with your thumbs up your arses!’

Moments later, Guertepir stood naked on the mosaic floor of the bathhouse as his servants patted him dry. He lifted his arms above his head, exposing his sides to the drying cloths, then turned his attention back to the caldarium. Discoloured by Erec’s blood, the opaque water obscured the two bodies which lay on the bottom of the pool.

Not far from Guertepir stood Almaith, her nose broken and bloodied from Erec’s assault. Two of her women dabbed at her wound as another placed the squirrel cloak over her shoulders.

‘Didn’t go
quite
as I intended,’ commented Guertepir as he appraised his wife.

Abloyc, who had approached with Girard, suppressed a smile. ‘No ... your lady didn’t seem to get the satisfaction she desired.’

Guertepir grunted his displeasure. ‘Now I’ll have to find some young Adonis to satisfy her.’ He looked at Girard now. Face hidden
,
the boy whimpered and shook. Guertepir stroked the infant’s blond curls as if fostering a heart-felt fondness towards him.

The nuance was not lost upon Abloyc. ‘You seem taken with Erec’s sprat,’ he said. ‘Am I to take it the court of Guertepir has a new young addition?’

Guertepir’s head shot back, his smile sardonic. ‘Are you mad,’ he proffered. ‘You know how it works Abloyc. We kill our enemies and we kill their children. This lad is the image of his father and will be
as him
one day. How would I sleep in my bed in years to come with Erec’s double walking my halls?’

Abloyc’s relief was palpable. ‘For a moment I thought you’d gone soft,’ he said. ‘I shall see to the matter at once.’

Guertepir stayed Abloyc’s hand as he made to remove his knife. ‘No ... not with a blade.’ He turned to the far wall of the bathhouse where the guilt, bronzed head of the goddess Sulis Minerva gazed down with passive eyes upon the assembly. Guertepir pointed to the icon. ‘She must observe the sacrifice close up,’ he said. ‘Take his ankles and cast his head against the stone beneath her.’

Abloyc shrugged. ‘As you command.’ He turned and strode towards the wall with Girard.

The face of Sulis Minerva was inscrutable, but Guertepir had misjudged her. The Romans and Britons had known the Goddess to be life giving and nourishing, and they would interpret her stare to be one of maternal grief as she watched Abloyc’s dreadful deed. With certainty, they would know that she now despaired at the very nature of man.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Days earlier, Arthur’s smile was as broad as the horizon as he stood on the wall-walk of Brythonfort with Heledd. Below him, Augustus, Withred, Dominic and Murdoc had just entered the gates of Brythonfort with the men of Angeln.

‘Good news ... thank Fortuna ... good news at last,’ said Arthur as he gripped Heledd’s hand. ‘Yet, I hardly dare count their numbers.’ As he overlooked the gates, the Anglii continued to file into Brythonfort below him.

He gave Heledd a swift assessment. ‘Mainly footmen for the shields but mounted warriors as well.’ They watched engrossed and one hour passed before the procession finally petered out. ‘Two thousand,’ said Arthur, as the last man went through the gates. ‘Better than I expected but still woefully short of what we need.’

‘They go to the hall,’ said Heledd. ‘There, we can hear of news from the outside.’ She squeezed Arthur’s hand reassuringly and peered into his troubled eyes. ‘Who knows, we may be pleasantly surprised.’

Arthur, his earlier euphoria now blunted by the grim realization of the task before them, reciprocated the squeeze. ‘And now I must tell them of the fall of Aquae Sulis and the probable death of one of my best men,’ he said as he turned and walked from the wall.

Arthur embraced Withred and Augustus as they came to him in the hall. ‘A magnificent outcome from an arduous task,’ he enthused, ‘and one I will not forget.’ Titon padded into the hall. ‘From Angeln, too?’ he asked.

‘It’s a long story and one that can wait,’ said Withred, ‘but he’s not from Angeln.’ In the way of introduction, he turned to the two men beside him. ‘Hereferth and Smala,’ he said to Arthur. ‘They know this land and speak British, and both are well-regarded in Angeln. It is they you can thank for the two thousand men who camp outside.
’

Arthur quickly appraised the two men. Hereferth was tall and imposing with an intricate swirl of ink covering his face; Smala was compact and stout—like a young bull. Arthur grasped their hands and thanked them for their attendance. After bowing to Heledd and kissing her hand, the Angle chiefs took their seats at the war council. Heledd left the hall and Arthur briefed the gathering with the latest information—the news of the fall of Aquae Sulis in particular creating a groan of dismay in the room.

When he had finished, all in the assembly exchanged concerned glances. In particular, Hereferth and Smala seemed less than pleased. ‘We were under no illusions of the magnitude of the task before us,’ said Hereferth, ‘but the reward of extensive land was too much to ignore. However, what you told us of the refusal of help from this Ffodor from Travena makes the undertaking before us much, much harder.’ He looked towards the door of the hall. ‘Outside, my men wait to go to war. Now I must tell them they will be completely overwhelmed if they do.’

‘I understand,’ said Arthur with some empathy, ‘but I intend to fight them from lofty ground with well-trained men. Such a combination has often overcome superior numbers in battle.’

The Anglii chief pondered Arthur’s words. ‘The journey here was long, yet my men remain in good spirits and ready for a fight. However, your assurance still fills me with uncertainty.’ He glanced at Smala, who responded with an unhelpful shrug. Hereferth turned to Arthur again. ‘Still,’ he continued, ’we are here now, and may as well listen to what this assembly has to say.’  

Arthur, aware the alliance could collapse at any moment, addressed Dominic, hoping he had something encouraging to add. ‘What news from our fair land, Dom? ... Something good I hope.’

‘Things seem quiet for now,’ said Dominic. ‘We got no further than Calleva ... there we met up with Withred and Gus, and they saved us the trouble of journeying beyond.’

‘And why so?’ asked Arthur.

Dominic glanced at Augustus, inviting him to take over. ‘We had no need to seek Saxons because we had already been told a host of them had passed through Londinium two days before we reached the town,’ said Augustus. ‘From Londinium they took Akeman street westwards towards Corinium and Aquae Sulis, no doubt.’

Careful not to allow his inward anxiety to reach his face, Arthur responded in an even tone. ‘As I fully expected; Guertepir’s envoy achieved its aim.’ He pressed Augustus further. ‘How many men? Did they say how many?’

‘Two thousand, I was told.’

’So that’s it,’ said Arthur, aware of the futility of trying to dress up the numbers, ‘… the size of our task. A total of four thousand Hibernians and Votadini, and add to that two thousand Saxons.’

Withred, unwilling to allow the meeting to take a downward turn, came in immediately. Curiously, his tone was optimistic. ‘Six thousand of them and three thousand of us; much better than the numbers facing us before I left for Angeln. I am confident we can win this.’

Smala, who had remained silent until then, responded. ‘
Confident
, Withred? How can you be confident? Like you said, it’s six thousand of them and three thousand of us ... or even fewer if I decide to leave at once and take my men back to Angeln rather than chase a lost cause.’

‘I’m confident because we are blessed with something they can only dream about,’ said Withred with passion. ‘Something worth four thousand men.’

Smala’s eyebrows shot up at this. ‘And what would that be?’ he asked.

Withred pointed to Arthur. ‘
That
would be him,’ he said. ‘Arthur—a man with extensive knowledge. A man who is no stranger to the disparity of numbers, yet a commander who has overcome them several times when fighting for Rome. Above all, his presence on the battlefield inspires men to fight as if possessed. I know, because I have felt his aura myself.’

Though uncomfortable with Withred’s glowing endorsement, Arthur, nevertheless, allowed him to continue to sing his praises. Anything … any words that would stop Hereferth and Smala leaving the hall and taking the Londinium road straight back to Angeln was fine by him.

Smala had mused over Withred’s words. ‘So to overcome the numbers, we are to rely upon high ground, well-trained men and an inspirational leader. Do you
really
think that will be enough?’

‘We have no choice,’ said Arthur simply. ‘We fight or we die.’

‘
You
have no choice,’ corrected Smala, ‘but fortunately
we
do.’

Augustus interjected now. ‘You forget, I visited your country and stood on a windy beach with you, Smala. The sea floods the land constantly and eventually some of your people will need to leave. The choice is yours—help us, or go back to your sodden lands.’

Hereferth touched Smala’s sleeve, then nodded towards the door. Taking up on Hereferth’s hint, Smala answered Augustus. ‘It has yet to be decided whether or not we
will
leave Britannia, but for now I will go from this hall with Hereferth and speak privately with him. After our talk, we’ll go to our men and tell them the size of the task before us all’—he cast a quick glance to Withred—‘we will also mention your endorsement of Arthur. We’ll return with our decision soon.’

‘As you will,’ said Arthur. ‘And remember your reward for this—extensive tracts of land above the wall of Hadrian.’

‘Why do you think we’re here in the first place,’ said Smala as he stood and walked to the door with Hereferth.

An air of tension infused the hall as an anxious conversation ensued. All knew what the outcome would be if left to fend for themselves. ‘If they go home we’re finished,’ concluded Withred to Arthur, ‘… even with you leading us.’

‘That, I know too well,’ said Arthur. ‘With them, we can go to Aquae Sulis and at least take up position upon the hill and face our enemies; without them we can only withdraw to Brythonfort and sit helpless while our lands are ravished.’

‘Talking of Aquae Sulis … any more news since it was taken?’ asked Murdoc.

‘None yet,’ said Arthur. ‘I have Tomas and Nairn watching the place. If Guertepir decides to take his snout from the trough and move out with the rest of them, they’ll let us know.’

‘And no sign at all of Erec and the knights garrisoned there?’

‘Nor the people,’ replied Arthur heavily. ‘I fear the worst, Mur. There were many women and babies there; I should have got them out before Guertepir arrived.’ Suddenly, he slapped the table in frustration, causing many to jump. ‘Why
did
I let Erec go to Aquae Sulis! If we lose him it will be a sorry loss indeed.’

‘What of Will? Any sign or rumour of
him
on the road?’ asked Murdoc, keen to steer Arthur away from his self-recrimination.

‘None,’ came in Dominic. ‘Perhaps he followed the Saxons as they made their way to Aquae Sulis. You know Will. Meticulous in his scouting; likes to make sure.’

‘Still, I worry for him,’ frowned Arthur. ‘It’s not like him to leave it so long without getting word back to me, somehow. But there’s nothing we can do for—’

Hereferth and Smala stepped back into the hall, cutting off Arthur’s words. Inscrutable, their faces betrayed no indication of their decision. Both sat and were silent a moment. Frowning, Smala studied the tabletop. He drummed his fingers as if still mulling over his decision.

In dread of his response, Arthur asked him: ‘Well, come on man; spit it out. What are you going to do?’

Instead, Hereferth answered. ‘Decided we are on a fool’s errand and this can only end badly,’ he said. Crestfallen, Arthur’s men fell to silence. Hereferth allowed the hush to linger a moment before continuing. ‘But war
is
the trade of fools so we might as well get it over and done with.’

Arthur stirred as if pushed by a broom. ‘You mean . . . you are saying—‘

‘Saying we will go to war with you, Arthur. The troop has agreed to see this out. They fear the awful trip back to Angeln more than any army—Saxon or otherwise.’

Arthur sprung to his feet and went to Hereferth. He embraced and back-slapped him
.
Above the outbreak of relieved murmuring, he said: ‘That is so good to hear, man. Now we can fight; now I can look my enemy in the eyes instead of scanning his distant figure from the battlements of Brythonfort.’

Smala explained further. ‘Our people want the land, you see. Many of the men out there were dispossessed after the recent storms and have little to show from a lifetime of heavy toil.’ His attention went to Arthur. ‘Also, your name is known to them; even across the sea your deeds are legendary. To fight alongside you they regard as a great honour and is the reason many of them came to Britannia, so in the end it was not hard to convince them to stay.’

Arthur gave a curious little smile. ‘Convince them, you say. So you were in favour of this all along?’

‘Before I left the hall I had made up my mind, Hereferth as well, but we could not speak for our men because they are volunteers.’

‘Seven hundred British and Anglii mounted men, and three thousand footmen are our numbers now,’ said Arthur. ‘At last I have something to work with. The first thing to do is to get your mounted men used to fighting from horseback. Withred tells me the animals are used merely to get you to the point of battle, from where you dismount and fight on foot. But my knights fight the Roman way,
from the saddle,
and this will give us a steal over them. The Votadini, Saxon, and Hibernian horsemen also use the horse merely as transport, but we will force them to fight mounted, and therein lies our advantage. Your Anglii riders will receive the knowledge of how to fight as my riders, and though untested when going into battle, it will at least give you some advantage over them.’

‘When do you purpose to leave,’ asked Hereferth.’

Arthur turned to Flint for guidance. ‘How ready is the shieldwall?’ he asked.

‘They’re ready to fight,’ said Flint matter-of-factly. ‘Only real combat will improve them now.’

‘And archers, Dominic. How many can we count on?’

‘One hundred worthy men I took from Flint and Erec’s shield fighters. All men familiar with the bow. Add the bowmen from Angeln, and I can start to prick the faces of Guertepir’s rabble.’

‘Archers, shield men and knights,’ said Arthur, seemingly satisfied. ‘A good balance of fighters to take to the enemy. One day’s intensive practice for the Anglii knights—yes
knights
you will become, not mere horsemen—then two days’ travel to the city. Three days from now we will stand together overlooking Aquae Sulis. Badon Hill and glory or death awaits us there.’