Authors: F J Atkinson
Darga nodded, an insolent smile flickering on his lips, before averting his eyes from Dominic’s gaze and twisting the fabric of his jerkin in surly compliance.
‘Murdoc already knows he will enter the woods,’ said Dominic, turning from Darga, and addressing Murdoc directly. ‘Your leg gets better by the day, and you’ve already bloodied your spear on the enemy in similar circumstances, and that makes you invaluable to me.’
He looked at the rest of the gathering.
‘And this, my friends, is the number of the forest raiding party. Eight men will ride with me. Augustus and his three stout but nimble brothers, Murdoc, Darga and James, and maybe my trusted scouting apprentice Tom.’
Tomas beamed at Dominic’s endorsement, although he already knew of Murdoc’s inclusion.
‘You are confident indeed if you think that a force of eight men—or seven men and a boy if you decide to take the worthy Tom—can beat fifty,’ said Brinley. ‘But we must have faith in you, we’ve no other choice.’
‘The forest party needs to rely on stealth and concealment,’ explained Dominic. ‘A small force can move quickly and decisively.’
Withred now took the floor.
‘The rest of all the able-bodied will receive further instruction in the use of the ax and spear, from me, and use of the bow from Dominic. We may not be able to match their experience, but at least we can put up a credible fight, if needs must.’ He looked at Dominic who nodded. ‘Soon the morning will be upon us. Tomorrow we’ll practice again. We thank you all for your attention.’
He went over to Dominic as the meeting began to disperse.
‘Thank you for taking Darga,’ he said in an aside. ‘Just be sure to lose him in the forest.’
Dominic chuckled.
‘I could not have left him with you. I’m not that pitiless.’
Brinley remained pensive and seated as the crowd left the longhouse, wondering if they would still be alive to see the next harvest.
When the blizzard finally stopped, the people of Camulodunum left their habitations for the first time in three weeks.
A huge fire burned in the town square, attracting a huge throng of the population who were glad to come out of the stuffy confines of the huts. Fed day and night, the blaze turned the deep snow of the square into a sea of slush that soaked the footwear of the milling crowds.
Many hard-nosed warriors had come to the town for the winter, and these were the focus for Wlensling. Many of them had been considering returning to the continent, convinced that the island had nothing else of value to offer, and
thus unwilling to embark upon a fruitless journey through the gruelling forest. Although, aware that the Romans had established many marching routes throughout the kingdom, the men still felt that all the best land and treasure had gone.
As two of Osric’s trusted Gedriht, Wlensling and Egbert had been set the task of recruiting men for their chief’s spring campaign. The word quickly spread of the new, lush pastoral land that Wlensling and his war band had discovered, and soon he, and the now-sober Egbert, had provisionally recruited
seventy men, all of them eager to join Osric’s upcoming incursion.
As the huge bonfire cast a warm, red glow on his face, Osric studied the crowd sauntering before him and turned to Wlensling and Egbert.
‘By Woden’s balls, this heat revives my strength.’ He warmed his hands on the fire. ‘Now show me the men who would follow me.’
As Wlensling pointed at certain men in the crowd, Osric either gave a nod of approval or shook his head in rejection. He eliminated those with whom he had personal disagreements, not wishing any rivalry to complicate the forthcoming campaign. The ones left were men who had ridden with him before and proved themselves both loyal and fearless. This left him with a core of between
forty and sixty men. He instructed Wlensling and Egbert to gather them for a meeting in the alehouse later that evening.
As darkness fell, the recruits began to arrive at the alehouse, and before long, the small room was full of drinking, laughing men. Darkness had come quickly, necessitating the burning of many brands that exuded a thick oily smoke.
The clamour abated, with only a few isolated coughs breaking the silence, as Osric jumped upon one of the tables and banged his foot on the scarred, oak planking.
‘Listen to me fellows,’ he shouted, ‘I’ve good news for all.’ He studied the group below him, nodding occasionally to familiar faces in the crowd. ‘Most of you have ridden with me before, and know me to be a fair leader. Indeed, many of you have gained a great deal of profit from your association with me.’ He looked round the room at the upturned, grim faces. ‘I see much gold in this room, some of it handed out by me. Now you’ve the chance to have riches beyond compare.’
‘Riches? Where?’ asked Alfred, a Saxon who had spent the autumn in Camulodunum with Osric. ‘Egbert told me that Wlensling found new lands to plunder, but I for one thought the woods ran on for ever in this part of Britannia.’
At Egbert’s name there was covert conversation and some chuckling in the room. Egbert looked around seeking the source of the discourse, but only silence and suppressed smiles, met his glare. Word had it that Osric’s trusted Gedriht had lost his way in the forest and returned without his men, empty handed, and this was a source of mirth amongst the crowd, many who were glad to see him take a fall.
‘No, much of the forest is long gone from this island,’ said Osric, ignoring the distraction. ‘This large tract survives because the clay soil here is too tough for the plough. Renegades hide out in the vast interior. Wlensling and a raiding party found untouched villages days into the forest and ripe for plunder. Much gold is being traded for slaves on the continent, and there are plenty of slaves to be had, as yet unfound.’
‘What of these renegades
?
’ asked Alfred. ‘I hear some resistance was met, and this accounted for several of our warriors. It seems we’ll have an army of angry Britons to face if we follow you.’
‘The story has been exaggerated,’ said Osric, his tone impatient, as he angrily glanced at Egbert. ‘…as is the way when tales are told and retold. Egbert tells me now that most of the men died in accidents—one man killed by a bear, no less.’
‘But some resistance
was
met in the forest, was it not?’ asked Bealdwine, a small, vicious-looking, hooked nosed man, who was renowned for his skilful tracking. ‘Accidents didn’t account for all of the deaths, surely. Many are missing who rode with you last year.’
Osric waved away Bealdwine’s point dismissively.
‘Yes, yes, of course there was some fighting in the woods, but that is usual on every campaign. A small cowardly force hid like women then pounced behind the backs of our brave warriors. They will not trouble a party such as the one that will ride in the spring. You, Bealdwine, are an experienced outrider, and you can scout ahead of the main group to prevent any further ambushes.’
The discussion continued throughout the night, and when morning came, a body of fifty men had agreed to ride with Osric, Wlensling and Egbert into the forest.
Arthur rode his chestnut mare down the grassy knoll towards the thick dry-stone wall that ran in a great, lofty, unbroken loop around his stronghold. The fortification covered a huge, multi bank earthwork, made by the Brython people a millennium earlier. Gherwan, the warrior, stood by the wall talking to an artisan whose task, along with a group of other men, was the ongoing maintenance of the walls and
buildings within the protectorate.
Arthur reined his mount to a halt and deftly dismounted.
‘How goes it Gherwan? Robert?’
‘Usual rotting on the ropes around this timber buttress,’ said Robert. ‘The freeze and the thaw have left us with plenty to do. All finished here now though—this one should be good for another couple of years.’
‘You and your workers do a good job. We owe the safety of this place to you.’
‘It keeps us busy that’s for sure.’ Robert looked along the wall. In the distance, another man was working at the next buttress. ‘I’ll take my leave my lord. There’s more work for me to do before I rest my bones today.’
Arthur bade Robert his leave and turned to Gherwan.
‘How goes it beyond the wall?’
‘Quiet times for now,’ said Gherwan. ‘They know better than to attack Brythonfort or the lands around it.’
Arthur frowned as he mused over recent happenings.
‘Yes, quiet times for
now
, but we can’t allow ourselves to believe the threat is over.’
Both men looked around at the formidable wall which was enhanced every two hundred paces by high wooden watchtowers. A great timber hall stood at the highest point of the earthworks. Between the hall and dry stone curtain wall was an assortment of peasant huts,
stables, armories and workshops—these dotted at intervals over the wide grassy slopes.
Most of the peasant inhabitants of Brythonfort had arrived seeking sanctuary from invasion, and some were permanent residents within the protection of the walls. They farmed land around the fort, providing food for its population. A weekly market held outside the gates ensured a steady flow of people and goods to the fort.
The son of a wealthy landowner, Arthur had had the leisure as a youth to become skilled in the use of the sword and saddle. It had been the steady flow of the raiders from across the Mare Germanicum, which had finally led Arthur to offer his services to Rome, so before taking the stewardship of Brythonfort, he had ridden for twenty years with the Romans, first as a tracker and scout, then as a knight, as his formidable performance in battle was recognised. He had come to accept the stability and protection that Rome had given to Britannia, having seen how his folk had lived in peace under their later rule. He had fought many battles beside them since
, and always his opponents were the Anglo Saxon and Jute invaders. In gratitude to his deeds, Rome had bequeathed the mound of Brythonfort and the surrounding lands to him on his discharge from the legions. Along with many of the discharged knights who had rode alongside him, he had immediately set to work to fortify the bastion, further strengthening the formidable buttress. The recent departure of the Romans from Britannia had further increased the importance of the safe haven of Brythonfort.
A force of over two hundred well-armed men now kept the surrounding lands empty of invaders, allowing the farmers to produce grain and meat for themselves and for the tables of Brythonfort.
‘They avoid us and pick easier, softer, options,’ said Arthur, as he averted his gaze from his stronghold. ‘Scouts tell me they head past us northwards to lands undefended.’
‘Yes and even travel through the rough land of the vast eastern forest rather than risk confrontation in the cleared areas,’ said Gherwan. ‘A man I spoke to at the market—a merchant from Aebbeduna, who is visiting his cousin here—told me that great clouds of smoke can be seen rising from the nearby wildwoods as they destroy the cleared homesteads within and take our folk to the slave markets. He feared that his town would not last through the coming summer.’
‘Yes, they leave
us
alone for now,’ said Arthur, ‘but I fear their gaze will fall upon us again as soon as they’ve taken the rest of our land, and at the speed they’re moving that won’t be long. We need to watch them. That’s why I’ve seeked you out today. I’d like you to set forth when the ground dries out.’
‘I’ll be more than glad to get back in the saddle and take a look around our splendid isle again,’ said Gherwan. ‘Is this to be a prolonged campaign?’
‘No, just six men, I thought. Well armed and fleet. We need to know what our enemy is up to; we can’t let ourselves get too comfortable. Take Will—he is a good tracker; also Erec from the academy who works well with him. The other three, I’ll leave to you. Avoid skirmishing with the enemy if you can, this is only a spying mission.’
Gherwan looked towards the east.
‘They stay away from the main tracks and raid where the land is rough. That’s where I’ll look first.’
When the thaw came, Brinley thanked the good sense of his ancestors for building the village on a small hill so that it stood proud of the flood level created by the snowmelt. The flood was extreme and slow to abate due to the impervious, clay strata. Many lakes formed throughout the forest, turning many parts into a swamp from where half-submerged, ancient trees emerged.
Dominic, not wishing the floods to curtail his hunting, had spent many days fashioning a canoe from birch bark, and along with Tomas now paddled into the swampy forest in search of game.
The skilful village carpenter, Gilbert, had made Tomas’ longbow from yew, and he had practiced repeatedly with it until his arms and shoulders had strengthened enough for him to use it with some skill. Dominic’s own bow was unique. An Egyptian auxiliary had become his friend when he was in the employ of the Romans, and had shown him how to make a composite bow from layers of wood and bone, bonded by fish glue. The resulting weapon recurved back on itself resulting in a bow that was smaller but superior in velocity and accuracy to any other weapon on the island.