The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (12 page)

     They followed a trail, visible only to Dominic, and continued for some time as it meandered through the forest. Ever mindful that four of the enemy were still abroad, they took care not to blunder into open, exposed, clearings.

     After a while, Dominic stopped. ‘Can you hear them?’ he breathed, ‘they’re just ahead, and on foot. They must have tethered their ponies for now.’ He whispered further instructions to Murdoc, before proceeding quietly forward.

     Careful and tense, Murdoc followed him towards the distant sound of a hurried debate. As they approached, Dominic turned to him, put a finger to his lips and pointed to a six-foot wall of deep bracken. They slipped into the cover and waited.

     Dominic had an arrow notched as two men approached them, and he could almost touch the russet jerkin of one of them as he walked past. They continued for a few strides and Dominic nodded to Murdoc before walking out from cover.

     The men were
moving away from them, still unaware of their presence, when Dominic spoke. ‘Turn around so I may pierce your soft flesh my friends.’

     The men turned, stunned into inactivity, as Dominic loosed his first arrow from close range. It entered the throat of the nearest man with such force that only the feathers stop
ped it going through completely—the feathers left to protrude from his neck like a mocking adornment.

     The other man immediately took flight and began to run down the trail. Murdoc launched his spear, but it passed the man’s shoulder. Cursing, he took up the chase, now brandishing the ax he had re
moved from the dead man’s grasp; but the Saxon was fleet of foot and managed to increase his lead over Murdoc and Dominic.

    
‘He can’t be allowed to alert the others!’ shouted Dominic. ‘If they find out about us things will be much harder!’

    
His bowstring sang as he released another arrow at the fleeing man, but it missed and whispered harmlessly into the undergrowth. The man passed out of sight over the brow of a small banking, and as Dominic and Murdoc reached its crest, they saw he had stopped.

     Having met two of his remaining companions, he was
breathlessly relating events to them. They turned and ran at the Britons with their war axes held aloft.

     Dominic had
barely enough time to loose one more arrow. This time it hit the mark, and one man fell, pierced deeply through the chest. Drawing his sword, he prepared to fight the others.

     Murdoc was strong and athletic, but a village life as a stockman had not prepared him for hand-to-hand
combat with a seasoned warrior. Luckily, the man who met him, brandishing an ax, was not battle hardened, having fought only unarmed peasants since arriving on the island. Used to easy slaughter, he lunged clumsily at Murdoc, who easily evaded him. He turned, snarling, and again attacked Murdoc, this time with an overhead swipe aimed at his head. Murdoc was again able to avoid the blow; the Saxon becoming wrong footed as his ax continued its arc to bury itself into the forest floor. Murdoc seized upon this as best he could and swung
his
ax in a hasty sideswipe that hit the other man in his side. 

     Due to the rushed nature of the parry, the
non-lethal end of the ax landed, but with a force that cracked ribs and knocked the man to his knees. Grimacing and holding his side, the Saxon looked up, to behold his last mortal sight—the grey blur of cold iron as Murdoc’s ax fell to split his face from eye ridge chin.

     Murdoc turned rapidly, adrenalin surging through his body in waves, his ax raised and ready for further attack. He saw that Dominic fought against a worthy adversary: a huge Saxon wearing a chainmail vest. Both men circled each other, gasping for breath after several inconclusive engagements. As Murdoc approached them, the Saxon stumbled over a bramble tendril. Although fleeting, the trip gave Dominic the momentary opportunity to lunge unopposed at his opponent. After a brief resistance as it met the combatant’s chainmail
hauberk, his sword continued into the man’s vitals. Dominic complimented the breach with a lateral dagger thrust to his neck, killing him instantly.

     He looked towards Murdoc, hands on knees and gasping for breath.
‘The next time we fight…promise me you’ll take on the giant,’ he panted.

    
Murdoc smiled dourly, breathless himself. ‘I think not Dom . . . maybe the big game should be left to the tested hunter . . . a child could better me now, let alone a giant . . . sweet virgin Mary, how this fighting game tires a man.’

     ‘
We’ve not done yet,’ said Dominic straightening up. ‘This Withred—the fiercest and truest warrior of them all, according to Tomas—remains at the camp with Simon.’

Withred had waited anxiously all day for the men to return, his concern growing as late afternoon gave way to early evening.

     Simon had spent his time tidying the camp and stacking firewood. He had cooked a rabbit over the open fire, which Withred had shared with him.
Indeed, his captor had frequently told Simon to rest, and had generally gone out of his way to make sure the old Briton had not overstretched himself.

     After the meal, Withred sat on one of the stones that encircled the fire, sucking on a rabbit bone and looking into the forest for signs of movement. He looked briefly towards Simon, then back at the forest where he observed a sight that
prompted him to shoot to his feet. Standing looking back at him was the blood-smeared wolf-man, accompanied by a tall, determined looking Briton.

     He rolled to one side just as Dominic’s arrow struck the stone where he had been sitting. Thinking quickly, he ran to Simon, and grabbed him as a shield. He lifted his blade to Simon’s neck.
‘I speak your language,’ he shouted, ‘so talk to me, and keep away or the old man dies.’

     Dominic sighted another arrow at Withred, but was unwilling to chance hitting Simon. As Withred backed away, Murdoc placed his hand on Dominic’s arm and both men stopped their progress.

     ‘Let him go,’ shouted Murdoc, ‘It’s no use, your friends are dead.’

     Withred knew he was in a quandary. If he let go of Simon,
the wolf man would kill him, but he could not hold his present position for much longer. He attempted a compromise. ‘I’ll let him go if you swear to your Christ to spare my life. Ask the old one who he owes
his
life to. I saved him and the woman much torment at the hands of the others.’

     Dominic and Murdoc looked at Simon who nodded in affirmation.

     ‘Kill him,’ said Murdoc, ‘he doesn’t deserve our marcy. He must pay for invading our land. I, for one, will not swear to Christ to spare him.’

     Dominic turned his attention back to Withred.
‘I don’t believe in the Christ, and my friend will not swear to him. Anyway, I already know what you’ve done for them—the woman told us much. However, if I let you live I’m faced with two choices: to release you, whereby you’ll return with news of our position to your companions; or take you captive, whereby I’ll ever be looking over my shoulder in fear of your treachery. It will be easier to send you to your heathen hell I think. You tell
me.
What would you do if faced with such a choice?’

    
‘I’ve no wish to ride with the raiding parties anymore, and I can be useful if you allow me to accompany you, not as a captive, but as an ally.’ said Withred. ‘You’ll have to face them soon, and my knowledge and skill in combat will aid your cause. Of that, you’ve my word. So in answer to your question; I would increase my numbers if I were you, and accept a fierce warrior into your party.’

     Dominic raised his bow again and aimed it at Withred’s head.
‘Release the old man then walk to the hut and get out of my sight until I decide what to do with you. That is my decision. You’ve no other choice. Hesitate and I’ll kill you, be sure of that.’

     Withred held on to Simon as the s
talemate continued for a moment. Finally, he released him and gently pushed him away. He dropped his sword to the ground and held his hands up. ‘See … I do as you ask,’ he shouted, as he backed towards the building.

     Murdoc looked to Dominic who still had his bow under full tension and pointing at Withred.
‘We owe him nothing,’ he said. ‘Remember what these people have done to our families.’

     Dominic looked thoughtful as he recalled how Tomas had reacted when speaking of Withred.
‘Yes, they’ve done bad things since arriving on our isle … but maybe not this man. Bear with me on this Murdoc, he could be a great help to us. Don’t forget we are only two men—three now with Simon—against many.’

    
‘As you will,’ said Murdoc, ‘but I’m not easy with it.’

     Dominic lowered his aim and shouted at Withred.
‘Get inside the hut at once before I change my mind, and be sure of this: one wrong move and I
will
kill you.’

     Withred nodded his thanks, then turned and entered the hut.

     Murdoc approached Simon, looking concerned. ‘How are you? Martha told us what you both endured, and the day seems to lie heavily upon you.’

    
‘I’m fine,’ said Simon. ‘Your news of Martha’s rescue has already made me feel better. But tell me more about yourselves. I never expected to be saved by fellow Britons this day.’

    
Dominic told Simon his own tale; of how he had come to be living for years in the forest. Then he continued with his account of Martha’s liberation and the acquisition of Tomas. Finally, Murdoc recounted the harrowing tale of the massacre in his village.    

    
Simon embraced both men warmly in thanks and consolation, before giving his own account. He ended with the story of the sacking of his village. ‘Like you I was away from the huts when they struck ….’ He paused a moment, a barely perceptible twitch of emotion playing on his face. ‘… like you, I witnessed the slaughter, and don’t wish to see anything like it again.’

   
Murdoc gave Simon’s arm an empathic squeeze, his look saying
I know how you are feeling … believe me I know how you are being plagued right now.
‘The first task then,’ said Murdoc, ‘is to stop the others returning to the east with news of new land to take. I guess we’ve little time to prepare for their return; they must have found other villages by now or, failing that, abandoned their search. We must be ready in either case, although they outnumber us by quite a few.’

    
‘We’ll use stealth, then,’ said Dominic. ‘Patience and stealth will reduce their numbers as before.’

     By late evening, the group, including Martha, Tomas and Ceola, were together at the camp. Simon and Martha had embraced warmly upon their re-union.

    
Dominic had reasoned they would be safe enough staying in the relative comfort of the outpost as long as they watched the track ahead for signs of the returning raiders. It would then be easy for them to slip into the woods, or return to the tree house if needs be. Dominic and Murdoc would continue with the task of hunting down the invaders one by one.

    The Saxons had gifted them a welcome abundance of ponies and some of these grazed contentedly on the lush grasses at the forest edge. Others
languished under the open lean-to at the side of the hut, ready to assist in a quick escape if the need arose.

     Withred sat alone against the wall of the stone hut. Dominic and Murdoc had allowed him to take the evening air, preferring anyway to keep him in sight.

     Martha looked at him and said to the others. ‘I don’t understand that man; he rode with the raiders, yet he’s the only one who showed us any mercy.’           

     Simon nodded.
‘Yes that is so; the man is a mystery to me as well.’

    
‘He hates Egbert, that’s for sure,’ said Tomas, ‘and that
has
to be in his favour. He alone had the power to stop him from running completely mad on the raids. He’s high ranking, I know that.’

      Dominic was testing the balance of Withred’s recovered sword as he stood in front of the others. He locked a hard stare on Withred.
‘Yet I would have killed him without thinking,’ he said, ‘and may still do it with his own sword, unless he gives me reason not to.’  He walked over to Withred while the others watched. ‘Well Saxon,’ said Dominic searchingly, ‘what can you offer us, and why should we trust you.’

     Withred stood slowly and returned Dominic’s stare.
‘I’m of the Anglii people, I’m not Saxon.’ He looked over to Simon, Martha, Tomas and Ceola. ‘Not that it made much difference on the raids—Angles also committed foul deeds.’ He looked to the woods frowning, as if trying to make sense himself of his reasons for being on this strange isle. He turned again to the waiting huddle of Britons. ‘I came here as a warrior to fight and gain land for my people, I make no excuse for that, but what they have told you is true. I took no part in either rape or wanton killing.’

    
‘So why would you side with us now?’ asked Dominic. ‘What has changed apart from the desire to save your neck from this sword?’