The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (26 page)

     The men stopped and rode back to Bryni, who was
dismantling the disguise. Egbert dismounted and walked beyond the entanglement to the open trail beyond. ‘I see what they’ve done here,’ he said as he turned to Wlensling for confirmation. ‘Is this not the route we travelled upon before?’

    
‘Yes, said Wlensling, ‘they attempted to mislead us, and nearly succeeded.’

    
‘Little wonder we were fooled,’ said Egbert, ‘the woods all look the same to me.’

     Osric clapped
Godrys on the shoulder. ‘Well done lad, you saved us a needless journey.’ He looked up the trail where Dominic’s party had gone. ‘Still we can’t chance another ambush.’ He pondered a while; his lips pursed, and then turned again to Godrys. ‘We need to keep an eye on them; they’re probably the main threat to us. Take Bryni again, and two others. Find them and watch them. If they turn to follow us, as I’m sure they will, send a rider at speed back to me at once. Engage them only if it’s safe to do so. I cannot afford to lose any more men.’

    
Godrys mounted his pony along with Bryni and two other men. It was easy for them to follow the Britons’ trail, and after they had ridden at a good pace for an hour, Bryni, who was at the front of the group, halted and raised his arm for the others to stop. The land climbed and opened out, treeless, before them, so that a false, flat horizon slashed across their field of view two hundred paces away. Stood on the horizon were six figures that looked at them silently before retreating behind the rise, and out of view.

    
‘Careful,’ said Godrys. ‘We know what they’re capable of. We fight only if we have the advantage. The longer we delay them now the more time Osric will have to take the first village.’ Godrys knew that a successful strategy now would boost his standing in the group. He too could be a Gedriht like Egbert and Wlensling, and gain more gold and women. Surely, it would not hurt to ride over the rise and seek out the Britons.

Dominic and the others had climbed into a deep furrow—the result of river erosion over many years. A clay wall, twice the height of a man, towered behind them, giving them total protection from the rear. Pockmarked by neat round holes, the wall was home to a colony of martins that flew and wittered tetchily around their heads. It was a spot picked out specifically by Dominic when he had sat planning strategy with Withred during the long winter. It was also the limit of his previous wanderings. The woods beyond were unknown to him.

     ‘Four outriders, I
counted,’ said Samuel. ‘The rest should follow soon.’

    
‘They’ve seen us, so ready your bows and aim at the rise, said Dominic. ‘If they show themselves, don’t hesitate.’

    
They had not long to wait. Godrys, unaware of the deep furrow, believed the Britons had fled through open country, so stood on the edge of the gully, totally exposing him and the others to attack.

     They took six arrows from short range
. Three of the men fell wounded into the gully where Augustus and his brothers quickly dispatched them with merciless ax blows.

    
Godrys had survived. An arrow had entered his left side—a flesh wound only—but had caused him to stumble backwards. He was quickly on his pony and turned to gallop back towards Osric’s men.

     In the furrow, the men quickly readied their bows for the next wave of anticipated attack. Murdoc climbed the slope and peered
cautiously over, intent to give early warning. 

     Three hours passed as they waited for the main body to arrive. Dominic, his patience strained, climbed the clay banking and stood on the top edge beside Murdo
c looking down the trail. ‘Damn my fucking eyes!’ he bellowed. ‘Prepare to ride. They’re not coming. How did I let this happen?’

     The men quickly
mounted, then rode frantically back down the track.

After Darga had deserted his companions, he had galloped wildly away until his pony reached the point of collapse. Darkness approached and Darga spent the night just beyond the fork in the track. He had not gone far the next morning when his pony stumbled into a rutted hollow in the dried mud. It went down, throwing Darga. His head struck the ground and blackness came to him.

    
After a while his consciousness returned, and he realised he was now on foot; his pony had broken a foreleg. Stumbling to his feet, he began to run, frequently looking behind him as he did so. Unable to continue at pace, he slowed to a walk. He paused to get his breath but could hear nothing but his own pounding heart. Gasping, he continued slowly to the hazel coppice where the trees displayed tattered strips of coloured cloth. Here, the undergrowth was thin—the cover sparse. He began to run again to reach the swathe of thicker forest cover three hundred paces ahead.

    
He whimpered as he heard the riders on the trail behind him. Lurching wildly towards the distant tree line, he had only covered half the distance before they were upon him.

     Wlensling was the first to meet him,
riding his pony into his back, and sending him sprawling onto the ground. The other riders quickly surrounded him as Egbert and Osric dismounted.

     Egbert withdrew his knife and pulled Darga’s head back by his hair making ready to cut h
is throat. ‘Ambush us would you?’ he growled. ‘Dig pits to ensnare us, eh? My only regret is that I don’t have enough time to kill you slowly, you British fuck.’

    
‘Stay your hand!’ Osric stopped Egbert in his tracks. ‘We need to find out what this man knows. Guthren, you speak some of their tongue. Get over here now!’ A thickset man with a straggly moustache joined them. Osric gave him his instructions. ‘Get from him what you can.’

   
‘Where do you ride to Briton?’ asked Guthren.

    
‘Back to my village, I had nothing to do—’

      Guthren slapped Darga.
‘We saw you, so don’t lie.’

    
‘They made me do it,’ sniveled Darga, ‘I’ll tell you anything you need to know. I’ll lead you to my village.’

    
‘How many armed men await us there?’

     ‘Few—a
nd most of
them
are useless. The better fighters you’ve already met.’

    
‘Apart from the cowardly bastard who fled at the first fight,’ sneered Guthren. ‘Tell me—is Withred at the village?’

    
‘Yes, yes,’ said Darga, eager now to please, and hopeful now that he could be of use to the Saxons. Maybe he would ride with them on future raids. Surely, the fighting would be easier against undefended folk. It would get him out of his miserable life in the fields. ‘It’s he and Dominic who trained the village for combat,’ he added.

    
‘This Dominic, is it he who wears the wolf head?’

    
‘Yes it’s he.’

     Guthren told Osric and the others.

     ‘Dominic is his name then,’ said Egbert. ‘Dominic the wolf-man. His wolf head
and
his man’s head will part his body before thi
s
campaign is over.’

    
‘It seems we’ve little to fear in the village, then, apart from Withred,’ said Osric. ‘We should be heedful, though, of some resistance. Ask him—’

    
Wlensling interrupted. ‘Godrys approaches at speed!’

    
Godrys arrived, exhausted, and wearily dismounted. He told of events back down the trail.

    
‘Three more men dead,’ said Wlensling. ‘We number just thirty-three now if my count is correct. That’s too many losses at this stage.’

    
‘Yet we still have enough men to get this task done with and return with slaves,’ said Osric. ‘We can cut
their
number by one now. Kill this coward, Guthren. He is no use to us. We know our way from here without him.’

     Darga
, aware from Osric’s tone and gesture of what was about to happen, implored Guthren who had raised his ax. ‘No don’t slay me! I can lead Withred and the others away from their defences in the village and make it easy for you to kill them.’

     Guthren hesitated and told Osric of Darga’s offer. Osric pondered but shook his head.

    ‘No!’ screamed Darga. ‘I’ll kill them myself, I’ll—’ Guthren’s ax fell, shattering Darga’s skull. Egbert stepped in shoving Guthren aside, grunting as he added five more ax blows to Darga’s head.

An air of tension had infused the village after Dominic’s party had left. Withred and Brinley took charge of the few men that remained. As Withred cast a grim eye over his nervous but resole men, he knew they were all that stood between the women and children, and the devastating wave of destruction that threatened to engulf them.

     Posted as a look out on the far boundary of the village, Tomas
had instructions to blow one long blast on the ox horn he carried, should he spot the raiding party.

     The warning blast would signal
for the women and small children to hide in a boarded pit located under a storage hut on the edge of the village. Simon, it was agreed, would muster and lead them into the hideaway, armed with an ax.

     The others would combat the Saxons on the village boundary. Withred had discussed strategy with the men repeatedly, until satisfied they could at least put up a creditable fight and move quickly into position upon hearing the horn. He
anticipated the raiders would be fewer after their contact with Dominic’s group. At least this would give them a fighting chance.

Tomas took up his position on an elevated banking overlooking the eastern track, as he had done every day since Dominic’s party had left. He had kept to the task diligently from dawn until dusk. Below him were the two main defensive positions set up by Withred. Sometimes he alleviated the monotony of watch duty by practicing his archery skills on the straw deer brought from Dominic’s camp—the figure now even more bedraggled than before. The afternoon was still and overcast as he took aim at the dummy, and he was pleased to see his arrow hit the kill zone just below its shoulder.

    
A clapping came from behind him.  He turned to see a smiling Simon. ‘Well done lad, maybe it’s the wolf hat that steadies your head and improves your aim.’

     Tomas smiled and self-consciously adjusted his ha
t. ‘It’s through practice Simon, and more practice, just as Dominic told me to do.’ He eyed the bundle that Simon carried.

     Simon laughed and sat down on the grassy mound.
‘Hungry as usual I see. There’s bread and cheese and nice red apples for us here.’

    
‘I didn’t think I could be so hungry sitting around here all day,’ said Tomas as he joined Simon on the mound. ‘Martha said I’ve grown nearly as tall as—’

    A familiar
rumbling caused Simon to drop the hunk of bread he had unwrapped. Tomas who was quickly upon his feet, stared up the track, needing to be sure who approached before sounding the horn.

     Simon stood beside him.
‘I need to get back,’ he said, as he made to leave. ‘If this is who we fear I’ll need to get the women and children into the hiding place.’

     Hoping it was Dominic and the others who approached, Tomas strained to hear any familiar shouts, but the growing intensity of many hoof beats diminished his optimism.

     As the first of the men came into view, he froze, horrified. ‘No … not Egbert. Please, not him,’ he mumbled, as his face drained of colour. Below him, his former tormentor rode alongside Osric, spear aloft and topped with Darga’s maimed head. Tomas, trembling now, managed to lift the horn to his mouth and give off one long blast.

On hearing the horn, Egbert looked up to the rise and caught a glimpse of a figure he knew well. He saw that some of the riders had also seen Tomas, and they had hesitated on hearing the sound. ‘Don’t stop,’ he shouted. ‘His very presence tells us we are near our goal. Ride on to the village; we’ll have sport with the runt bastard later.’

As the horn blew, Simon passed Withred’s group coming the opposite way. Urgent and grim, they ran past him towards their defensive position.

     Upon reaching the village, Simon had scant
time to muster and shepherd the women and children to the hideaway where he tried as best as he could to calm them, but the sudden urgency had unsettled some of the younger children who began to cry. He lifted the boards that covered the pit. Martha gave Simon an anxious glance as she handed Ceola to him and climbed down into the hollow.

     Simon hugged Ceola.
‘Remember when you hid with Dominic and your father under the tree root in the forest?’ Ceola nodded—her eyes big and trusting. ‘Well it will just the same, and it will all be over soon.’

    
‘When will father and Dominic come?’ Ceola asked.

    
‘They’ll be here before you know it, my love, they are on their way.’