The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (29 page)

    
‘Traitor,’ gasped Wlensling, as he quickly gained his feet. ‘Always you arrive when the fighting is almost over.’

    
‘Twenty of your fellow murderers would disagree with you if they still held breath,’ growled Withred as the two of them circled.

     The sword fight that ensued was brutal and unrelenting, both men having to defend their opponent’s savage swipes and thrusts. Withred took a flesh wound to his thigh and had to fend off several follow-up hacking blows from
Wlensling who seeked to capitalise on the breach. This served only to drain Wlensling’s stamina, already much depleted after sustaining the arrow wound to his shoulder.

     The momentary pause in the assault was enough for Withred, and a huge sideways swipe at Wlensling as his defensive stance briefly faltered, succeeded in partly severing his left arm. Screaming,
Wlensling instinctively placed his right hand over the springing tendons and muscle, thus dropping his sword. It was all that Withred needed to conclude the fight. Swinging his sword with dexterity and power, his blade blurred, as it described a rapid horizontal arc to cleanly decapitate Wlensling. 

     As Wlensling and Withred
had fought, Dominic lay stunned. Osric’s ax had hit him with its blunt end, fracturing his cheekbone, but not killing him outright. Through a silent, vague fog, he saw the Saxon warlord bear down upon him after leaving his pony. Dominic prepared to become a dead man; sorry that he would not see the defeat of the Saxon force after such an immense struggle. When the deathblow didn’t arrive, it took only a fraction of a second for his muted world, and blurred kaleidoscopic vision, to return with a rush to the here and now.    

     He saw that Osric had fallen, rather than got down from his pony, and the reason for his fall was the arrow sticking from his side.
‘Tomas,’ said Dominic, as Osric made to gain his feet, his broadsword still in his grasp.

     Still incapacitated from the blow, he watched as Murdoc rode quickly up to
Osric to thrust his spear between his shoulder blades, and through his ring-mail hauberk. Osric fell forward again onto his belly, his helm dislodging. Dominic lost no time in picking up the nearby ax that had caused his injury. With it, he cleaved Osric’s head from nape to crown.

     Murdoc dismounted and stood beside him, just as Withred arrived. Back to back, they
rotated around to see that Augustus and his twin brothers, William and John, still fought against three of the Geoguths. The fourth brother Samuel lay wounded, possibly dead, under his collapsed pony.

     Dominic quickly retrieved his bow and took down one of the Saxons. One of the others was hacked to the ground by William. The third,
knowing it was over, made to gallop from the clearing. He fell to Tomas’ arrow.

    
‘Nobody goes back this time,’ said Dominic, as he put another three arrows into the wounded man.

     The battle-
weary men assembled around the critically wounded Samuel. Augustus cradled him, just as he had cradled James the day before. He looked to his brothers, his face haggard and his pale eyes brimming with tears. ‘We’re too late for him—he’s gone.’

     Dominic, his cheek now black and swollen, placed a consoling hand on Augustus’ shoulder
, before turning to leave the brothers to their grief. Tomas, by now, was trotting down the hill to them—his face a mask of worry.

    
‘You saved my life, along with Murdoc,’ said Dominic, ‘I’ll never—’

    
‘Egbert!’ shouted Tomas, ‘Where’s Egbert, I can’t see his body!’

     Withred,
now haunted and drawn, looked to Murdoc, barely able to impart the dreadful news. ‘He took Ceola down the westward track. Brinley has given chase. Both were mounted.’

     Murdoc
’s colour drained—his face as sick as sin. ‘What,’ he whispered, ‘. . . my little girl is with that monster?’ He shook his head in disbelief, before taking a great gasp of air and running to his pony. ‘Westward track you say, I’ll return with Ceola or not at all!’

Egbert rode his pony as fast as the rutted track would allow. He had stuffed Ceola in the sack procured from the hut in the village; his threatening glare sufficing to cow her into silent submission as she lay shivering with fright slung over the pony’s withers.

    
He knew he could not go back—Osric and the others would kill him for leaving them. To take the child to a slave trader—one that specialised in the sale of infants—was now his priority. He knew of such a man who would give him much gold for the child in the town of Northwic, and figured that if he headed westwards the woods would soon end. Then he would journey north, before heading back eastwards, travelling at dusk and early morning when the route would be quiet but still light enough for him to find his way. He would keep himself and the child alive by stealing food from the towns and villages along the way.

     Knowing that pursuers would follow, he travelled without rest for the remainder of the day, before camping off the track. He untied the girl from the sack and roughly signalled for her to lie down and sleep. Ceola, knowing that the man would truly hurt her if she misbehaved, fell into a shivering and shallow
, tear-stained slumber, as darkness fell.

     The next morning, Egbert waited, away from the main track, listening for the sound of riders. He was about to continue his journey when the
sound of movement down the way alerted him. He glared at Ceola and put his finger to his lips in a hushing gesture. She recoiled away from him, curling into a submissive ball.

     Brinley had resumed his
pursuit at first light, his fervour overriding his exhaustion as he single-mindedly gave chase. A disturbance in the undergrowth behind him was the only warning he got of Egbert’s approach, but too late to react and prevent Egbert from slipping a cord around his neck.

     Dragged to the ground onto his back, he tried to grab the
cord but to no avail. He kicked until the leaf litter of the forest floor scrunched into a heap before his heels. With Egbert’s full weight dragging downwards, Brinley had no chance of breaking free. His last sensation was the smell of Egbert’s fetid breath.

     Egbert stood up and looked around panting. Satisfied that Brinley was alone, he dragged the body off the track
.

     He set off westwards again, Ceola in her position in the sack flung in front of him. As noon came, he decided to rest up his pony away from the track. Again, fortune favoured hi
m, as the sound of travellers, this time from the west, alerted him to stay silent. He lay with his grubby hand over Ceola’s mouth as six riders passed him by. A quick glance told him that these were men to avoid—British warriors of high stature and expensive weaponry, riding heavy horses. He tensed as the men stopped. 

     Will examined the track closely as he rode at the front of the group. Gherwan, Erec, Flint and Cadmon
rode together behind; the tension heightened since they had entered the confines of the forest.

     They stopped as Will held up his hand and dismounted to examine the ground. He turned to look at the other men, and then looked beyond them towards the scrub beside the path. He walked to Gherwan and beckoned the knight to stoop within whispered earshot.
‘A rider’s trail meets us here from the oncoming direction,’ he breathed. ‘It’s fresh…very fresh.’ He pointed to the scrub. ‘Someone went in there.’

     Gherwan signalled to Flint and Cadmon to ride back up the track to block the way should anyone try to flee.
‘With me, Erec and Will,’ he said quietly as he looked to the disturbed vegetation.

     He nodded, and the three of them rode slowly through the scrub boundary just as Egbert, who took them by surprise, burst through on his pony. Ceola stood where he had left her, hand to mouth
, her eyes startled, as the huge British warhorses crowded the space around her. ‘Will, see to the child!’ barked Gherwan, as he turned his horse to follow Egbert.

     Back on the track, Egber
t saw his westward route blocked, so turned and galloped back down the track. His pony had the advantage of rapid acceleration over the heavier British horses and he quickly put a good distance between himself and the pursuing Erec and Gherwan.

     He looked back
, relieved to see that the Britons were out of sight, but as he turned his attention back towards his onward route, he was forced to halt. Ahead of him, eyes rimmed dark and face set grim, sat Murdoc upon his pony. ‘My daughter, what have you done with her?’ asked Murdoc, dreading the response from Egbert.    

     Egbert
understood only a few words of the British tongue, but knew what the question had to be. He readied himself to fight with Murdoc, but froze as the Briton raised his bow. ‘Where is she?’ he repeated, his voice quavering now with a mixture of emotion and rage. ‘Tell me what you have done with my daughter?’

     A thunder
ing behind Egbert heralded the arrival of Gherwan and Erec. Gherwan rode past Egbert and met Murdoc. Meanwhile Erec kicked Egbert from his saddle and removed the war ax from his pony.

    
‘We are Britons from the west, our lord is Arthur,’ said Gherwan to the astounded Murdoc.

     Murdoc was about to mumble a reply when Will arrived carrying Ceola.
‘It’s my girl,’ said Murdoc, crying now. ‘I thought her surely dead…that man took her…I chased him through the night…but I thought her surely dead.’

    
Will handed Ceola to Murdoc, and he hugged and rocked her through a babble of tears and laughter as he soothed and comforted her.

    
Gherwan later told Murdoc the story of their journey from Brythonfort. Murdoc, with Ceola on his lap, then told them of his struggle alongside his compatriots. The name of Egbert cropped up repeatedly as he spoke, and after Murdoc had told their tale Gherwan looked towards the Saxon as he lay bound on the floor. ‘He’s yours to dispose of Murdoc, do with him what you will.’

The women, children and old men hiding in the woods had received Withred and Dominic’s appearance with relief and joy. Much grief then descended on the group as they learned of the men who had died protecting them. Martha was still inconsolable over the abduction of Ceola, feeling responsible for handing her to Egbert. The ensuing walk back to the village was a sad one, as the women supported each other in mutual condolence. Simon supported the stricken Martha who had lost the will to continue with her life.

     Augustus and his twin brothers, William and John, were the only fighting men from the village who had survived the encounter with the Saxons. Their joy as they emotionally reunited with their wives and children in the village was short lived as the enormity of the communal bereavement, as well as the loss of their own brot
her, Samuel, returned to them. Brinley’s wife, Anna, hugged and comforted James’ widow, Sarah, as the realisation of losing both a son and a husband crushed her.

    
Dominic, Tomas and Withred started the task of burying the fallen, whilst Augustus and his brothers rode back to the flooded valley to retrieve James’ body.     

The next day, Simon sat with Martha against the wall of the hut where the abduction of Ceola had taken place. Leaning against him, his arm around her, she gnawed at her nails and stared into the hollow in the floor.

    
‘She may yet be found,’ said Simon quietly. ‘Brinley and Murdoc will not give up the chase, you can be sure of that. Have faith, they may yet return with her.’

     At the mention of Murdoc’s name, Martha squeezed her eyes shut and shook
with emotion. ‘I let him down Simon, I let that brute take his girl . . . I handed her to him.’

    
Simon knew that Martha was beyond consolation, but, still, he tried. ‘None of us in there knew it was Egbert,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t see in the glaring light. Do not torture yourself, please girl. We all thought Murdoc had returned. You’re not to—’

     ‘Riders approach
!’ the cry came from outside the hut.
Martha and Simon could only look at each other.

     As Murdoc rode into the village holding Ceola, a spontaneous cheer erupted. The gloom that had pervaded the village since the end of the battle now lifted, as the joy and relief of seeing Ceola
, warmed the hearts of the onlookers. Martha ran from the hut and stood before Murdoc, unable to speak, her eyes awash with apology.

     Murdoc dismounted and handed Ceola to her,
then placed his arms around them both, and there they stood, rocking and weeping.      

    
Imposing, the six Arthurians rode up to the assembly. Tomas’s eyes grew wide upon seeing the huge warhorses and the knights they supported. ‘So this is how Rome looked,’ he said in awe to Dominic who had joined him. ‘These are the type of men you rode with.’

    
‘Yes, except that these are our fellow Britons. The fellow in buckskin is Will and I know him well, I tracked alongside him for Rome, and look, they have a prisoner.’