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

The Red and Savage Tongue

F J Atkinson

PROLOGUE

` For the fir
e . . . spread from sea to sea, fed by the hands of our foes in the east, and didn’t cease, until, destroying the neighbouring towns and lands, it reached the other side of the island, and dipped its red and savage tongue in the western ocean.

Gildas
(c. 500AD - 570AD)

On the Anglo Saxon Invasion of Britain

Few men ever entered the wildwood. Indeed, the rumours of the dangers that lay within the primeval sprawl sufficed to persuade most sane folk to avoid even its perimeter. Murdoc, however, had little choice but to enter the forest, even though his every instinct told him to avoid it. In awe, he viewed its immensity from the overlook of a small hill, before turning his attention to the child who slept within the cradle of his arms. Instinctively, he hugged the infant close, so she would benefit from all the warmth of his body.

     The girl’s name was Ceola and she had witnessed horrors that had turned her brown eyes dull and unseeing. Murdoc was deeply concerned about her worsening state and realised that he must find the route that penetrated into the deepest part of the forest, even though his people had feared the inner woods and rarely gone beyond the boundaries of the village fields.

     He knew the Romans had built the passage as a marching road long ago, and had kept it in good repair. Recently, they had departed the shores of his homeland to fight foes closer to home, and he was fearful the track would now be forest again. Still, he hoped it remained, and considered it their best chance of rapid escape if it was still passable, as progress through the thick undergrowth would quickly drain his remaining strength.
His concerned gaze turned to his daughter as she mumbled in her uneasy slumber, and his frown turned into a grimace, as the horrors of recent days again invaded his thoughts.

     Three days had passed since the raiders had fallen upon his homestead and set it to the torch. At first, there had been much confusion amongst
his friends and family as the raiders had taken them by surprise, but the confusion had turned to panic as appalling, inhuman events had started to happen. They had spared few from the atrocities that followed, and a hellish cacophony had issued from the village as the screams of the villagers, young and old, blended with the whoops and shouts of the invaders as they had warmed to their terrible task. This noise still inhabited Murdoc’s mind and was present in his dreams, causing him to awaken from his infrequent and shallow sleep in great distress.

     ‘
Where’s mother?’ asked Ceola faintly, as her eyes opened in a squint against the light of the day. Murdoc was at first startled, but looked gently into her now-inquiring eyes. He had been expecting the question, and encouraged by her rare show of lucidity, composed his reply. Before he could answer, though, she spoke again. ‘I know you keep crying father. I’ve seen you, when you think I’m asleep. Is it because mother’s not here anymore?’ The dullness had gone from Ceola’s eyes. Now, they were big and expectant as she waited. Murdoc cleared his throat, emotional and unable to answer, as Ceola’s brown eyes began to swim with tears.

    
Weeping himself, Murdoc stroked a tear from Ceola’s cheek.  Finally, he managed a reply. ‘Yes … she’s gone from this world … but we will see her again one day. But for now, nobody can hurt us;
we are alive
;
we are special
.’ He whispered the last words with awe in his voice, causing Ceola’s eyes to widen again. ‘The forest will be our home and hide us from the bad men, and we must keep moving until we find some friendly folk and start our lives again.’

     The girl looked at him; her small face a pale oval in the shadow of the cloak.  ‘
But I’m tired and hungry,’ she said. ‘Can’t we just stop and sleep?’

     Murdoc stood and peered anxiously behind him, then looked
at Ceola. ‘Not yet,’ he said gently, as he brushed away more of her tears, thus creating intricate swirls of grime on her face. ‘We are still not safe. Once we’re in the woods we can rest and sleep. Wait just a little while longer. Just a little while … then we can rest.’

     He strode purposely down towards the forest edge, rage now displacing his grief, as he swore his soul to the burning pit that a reckoning would be unleashed upon the men who had wrecked their lives.

CHAPTER ONE

Dominic did not fear the forest; he was aware of the dangers and had the skills to deal with them. However, experience had taught him that much of the folklore associated with the wilderness was true; the woods could be a dangerous place for the unprepared.      

     Village life with its responsibilities and constrictions was not for him. He had always preferred to spend as much time as he could in the woods, hunting and trapping. This had set him apart from his compatriots who had viewed him as somewhat odd, as they were not able to understand why he should choose to visit the perilous forest instead of working the fields and tending to livestock. As well as this, he had chosen to hire his skills to the Romans before they left the isle, and they had employed him as a tracker and scout. They had also shown him how to fight using their assorted weaponry.

     In religious matters, too, he was his own man. To him, the old Celtic Gods blended naturally into the mysterious world he inhabited. Although Christianity was in decline, his fellow villagers had clung to their beliefs, and his vociferous attitude towards religious matters was yet another difference that set him apart from them. Eventually, the villagers considered his behaviour too strange and whimsical, and gave him the choice to either conform or leave. He had not needed long to ponder, and on a June evening, ten years gone, he had walked into the forest.

     As a skilled woodsman, he had no trouble surviving the first year of his new existence. He lived the life of a hunter-gatherer during this time, staying in temporary shelters as he followed the herds of deer that provided him with food and hides.

      After a year, he had adopted a dry cave as his home and made it a permanent and comfortable base. His range was always within five miles of the forest edge as this gave him speedy access to the string of habitations and markets where he traded meat for provisions.

     It was the recent discovery of a raided and abandoned village that had prompted Dominic to head even deeper into the woods and seek a new camp away from the trouble. Rumour had it that an ancient ruin lay forsaken and remote beyond the great swamp. This was unexplored land for him, but finding the ruin and using it as a stronghold and storehouse until the troubles declined was now his intention.

     Unused for years, the trail he took was tangled and difficult to traverse.  To leave his arms free to fight through the vegetation, he carried his sword across his shoulders and chest, secured by a cord. Seldom used, and his one luxury, the sword had cost him much of the produce of a months trapping which he had given to a skilled village smith who had forged the blade. His curses punctuated the silence of the forest as the barbed brambles tore at his skin and clothes. His progress, though, was unrelentingly towards the river, because, regardless of impediment, Dominic possessed an indomitable spirit.

    Three days were to pass with difficulty of passage, and after a particularly prickly and stinging late afternoon, a testy and warm Dominic decided he would strike camp earlier than usual. He slumped to the ground, his forty-seven years we
ighing heavily upon him. After removing his wolf’s head hat—a trophy from a recent wolf attack—he smoothed back the sparse hair that grew around the sides of his head, and wrinkled his brow, thus exaggerating the deep furrows that were resident there. The top of his head was a mahogany dome, streaked now with the grime of days in the woods. He scratched the grey stubble on his chin, and drew his hands over his head in a hopeful, cleaning sweep.

    He froze, his hasty ablutions interrupted and his hands still atop his head, as a snuffling and grunting noise came from behind him. Getting quickly to his feet, with a grace that contradicted his years, he took his sword and peered into the green darkness behind the t
ree. He knew that complacency would be unforgiving, but only silence met him after walking a few steps towards where he had judged the noise to come from. The woods seemed to be waiting.

     He began to tap the side of a near
by tree with his sword, such was his discomfort with the stillness around him. He heard the noise again, this time nearer and coming from the undergrowth. On hearing this, he stuck the sword in the ground and drew his short bow. He notched an arrow and waited.

     Once more, the noise abated, this time for several minutes, and the returned silence seemed to burden Dominic as if it were a tangible entity.
His anxiety increased as he considered his situation. Just when he was at the end of his day the woods had decided to test him with this. As if hours wading through the damn brambles was not enough to punish a man. 

    
‘Come then shaggy one!’ he shouted, ‘…show yourself!’    

    
His eyes stood out in white contrast to his brown, weathered face as he strained to see into the gloom. He looked towards the tree beside him, his thought now to climb it, to give him a vantage point and possible refuge.

     This consideration saved his life. As he looked, he saw the bear cub. Seconds later, its enraged mother exploded from the bushes beside the tree. This fleeting warning ensured he was able to avoid most of its approaching bulk as he instinctively moved aside to take a glancing blow to his shoulder.

     The impact sent him crashing to his knees and made him lose his grip on his bow. He didn’t waste time trying to recover it; experience had taught him that speed was essential in these matters. Instead, he regained his feet, retrieved his sword, and faced the brown bear.

      It was his first sight of it and, although
brief, he knew he was in trouble. Even a man younger than he, and one rested and eager for conflict, would have trouble dispatching the creature that now lumbered towards him once more. It passed him by again, due more to Dominic’s stumble than deliberate avoidance, but its closeness allowed him to smell its stinking breath and hear the alarming crunching of forest litter beneath its huge paws. It turned, hunched and quivering, as if ready to strike again, this time giving him time to study it in detail.

     Even as it crouched, he judged it nine feet from snout to tail.
He saw immense, slab-like, muscles moving under the fur around its shoulder area as it slowly moved and sized him up. A boar in the undergrowth, alerted by the disturbance, ran into the woods in a slippery, zigzagging panic.  As this happened, he kept his eyes fixed on the danger before him. There was now a hint of caution in the brown detached eyes of the bear as it observed a creature that had managed to avoid two of its lunges.

    
Dominic could sense the bear’s hesitancy, and reflected on his chances. Maybe the animal was old. Maybe its best days were long gone. But he knew it was still lethal. He could not let complacency creep in now.

     Without warning, it bounded towards him again. This time, though,
he was ready and was able to roll to one side with a practiced dexterity. As he regained his feet, he stabbed at its passing flank with his sword. The bear was untroubled by the blow.

     He cursed as it approached him again. He knew that its weight alone would be enough to crush him should he fail to avoid another one of its lunges. However, it was to change its approach and this suited the panting Dominic. Instead of trying to run him down it slowly approached him, swaying its head from side to side in a threatening display. Suddenly it struck out with one of its great, talon-clad claws.  Instinctively, he met the lunge with his sword, succeeding in piercing its powerful foreleg.

     His experience in combat had taught him to take advantage of any moment, no matter how fleeting, afforded him by an enemy. Now was such a time, as the creature paused for a heartbeat to run its flickering gaze over its injury.  This gave him the opportunity to shuffle nearer in the hope he could intimidate the bear into a retreat, but this was a mistake.  The creature struck again with its horny claws; the blow renting through the fabric of his jerkin to leave four crimson lines. These quickly expanded in thickness to leave one bloody band. The force of the attack had spun him round, and he ran from the creature’s reach, head bowing towards the floor as he frantically pumped his legs to arrest his fall. He turned to face the bear. It had not charged, but instead again moved slowly but purposely towards him, open mouthed, its dexterous lower lip dripping saliva.     

     Dominic knew that he had been within inches of disembowelment. He sensed that the thick fabric of his tunic h
ad saved him, and as a vain man he would have time enough later, should he live, to mourn the ruination of a garment that had cost him five beaver pelts. He shouted at the bear. ‘Take your cub, I’ve no interest in it, go! GO!’

     He waved his arms above his head to make himself big, and continued to shout and growl at the bear whilst jumping up and down. In response, the bear raised itself upon its hind legs so that it now towered above him, its enormous bulk blocking out
much of the light. It seemed invincible, but suddenly became disinterested in Dominic. Content that its display of dominance was sufficient, it dropped back to its paws, turned casually, and trotted into the thicket beside the tree followed by its cub. His ordeal was over as suddenly as it had begun.

     Dominic slu
mped back exhausted and panting—his eyes on the bush where the bear had left. When his breath returned he picked up his bow and looked around for a tree that would offer him lofty protection for the night.

Two more days passed without further incident until, in the early afternoon, he came to the river. It was a landmark for him, marking what he guessed was the two-thirds point of his journey, and it gave him great satisfaction to see its calm, green waters swirl towards him. Up the river, his route seemed to be benign. Knee-high grass carpeted the narrow flood plain beside the water, and grew in an undulating swathe from the water's edge to the encroaching forest. Across the river, the trees grew thickly up to the water and Dominic felt grateful to be on the easy side of the current. His hat, he filled with water from the river, before dumping it upon his hot head. The water’s relieving coolness felt delicious to him, and he shivered with pleasure as icy droplets wormed down his back.

     He scratched at his shallow abdominal wounds and began to walk alongside the river, meeting little resistance from the loose grass. For the rest of the day he made good progress, occasionally having to walk through the water when the flood plane narrowed to meet the cliffs to his left. The day passed without incident. That night, his camp was comfortable beside a low fire, and sleep soon came to him.

     As a traveller of many experiences, he was never far from wakefulness, and this night was no exception. Three hours of sleep had passed for him when a faint splashing in the otherwise quiet river had him awake and onto his feet within seconds. Again the splashing, and this time it was apparent that it came from the opposite side of the river. He walked into the water up to his knees, an arrow notched and ready, as he peered intensely into the darkness seeking the source of the splashing. The scene illuminated slightly as the inky clouds shifted away from the moon. A group of deft shadows told him that a group of deer was drinking in the moonlight.

         He aimed, and loosed his bow directly at the smallest of the shadows. The young deer fell, immediately killed, as the others swiftly faded into the deeper shadow
of the wood. He ran splashing though the water, and then skillfully and quickly butchered the fawn. He secured it with twine and slung it across his back before returning to his overnight camp—his immediate need for sustenance now taken care of. When the morning came, the woods across the river looked undisturbed and unvisited. He cooked and breakfasted on a portion of the deer. What remained, he left for the scavengers of the forest; happy that they would benefit from his kill.                                                 

     After staring long and hard across the river, Dominic gathered his possessions and continued on his way. Another two days passed without event.

     He smelled the marshes half a day before he came to them. Although obstructed as he clambered over the huge boulders that littered the riverbank, he always found a way forward. Soon he was soaking, both from the perspiration of his efforts, and from the humidity that seemed to increase the nearer he got to the marshes.

        The evening was casting a dusky, pink glow when he at last got his first sighting of the swampland. It was a vision that astounded him, and not for the first time in his life he realised why he had chosen the existence of a wanderer. Before him, reflecting the low sun
, was a vast grey-pink expanse of shallow water. Dragonflies skimmed its surface, and toads and coots croaked and screeched their songs into the darkening sky. Ancient alder trees rose like sentinels, stretching into the far distance.

     He decided to rest at the marsh edge that night, leant against a rock, his hands resting upon the hilt of his sword. Now he was near to his goal,
he knew he should be extra vigilant, but could not help feeling enchanted with his surroundings. Eventually, he fell slowly into his usual light slumber as he succumbed to the toil of the day.

     He woke early;
his brief disorientation causing him to jump with sword in hand, ready and primed. His head swam as once again he saw the swamp, this time cool and misty as the day awakened. He sighed and looked across it, seeking a possible transit.