Authors: F J Atkinson
Tomas was a native of the island and had been travelling with Egbert’s troop for two years. His, was one of the first villages taken by the raiders, and they spared his life so he could serve them, but he dearly wished they had slaughtered him, along with his friends and family, such was his life with Egbert and his men.
They had treated him harshly at first, before he had learned what tasks they expected of him, and he had lost count of the kicks he had received and the objects he had dodged, until he had grown accustomed to camp routine, from whence life had become more bearable.
Eventually the men had warmed to the boy, in the same way that a man might grow fond of an obedient dog, and indeed sometimes they would reward him with choice cuts of meat and words of encouragement, but they would be just as ready to slap or rebuke him. Although he would play up to them, clowning around when he thought it might amuse them, he nevertheless hated most of them. Yes, camp life was hard for the boy, but he would have accepted a lifetime of kicks and abuse, and considered it a small price to pay for exemption from witnessing the men on their hateful raids.
These we
re the worst times— the days when they rode into defenceless villages and did things that sickened him. He had seen them commit many awful deeds, the first being the sacking of his own village, where they had brutally killed his mother, father and little sister in front of him, and although he had witnessed many raids since, he still felt deep horror on these occasions. He was thankful that his job on the raids was only to round up and tether the ponies. This diverted his attention from the killing, although he hated the subsequent search of the bodies for treasure, which Egbert always insisted he undertook. Sometimes, however, he could not avoid seeing the slaughter, and these images constantly occupied his thoughts and plagued his sleep.
It was during one of the raids that he had attempted his one and only escape. As was usual, after rounding up the ponies, he had walked to the edge of the village with the intention of taking up his customary position; sitting huddled with his back to the savagery until the men called for him. On this occasion, he was unable to listen to the screams of the abused any longer, and had run weeping into a nearby thicket where he had hidden for the rest of the day. He lay hidden until nightfall, unsure of whether to remain in his well-concealed position or to run and risk leaving a trail for the men to follow.
He heard the dreaded sound of alarm, after they noticed his absence as darkness fell. Nevertheless, he managed to remain hidden throughout the night, and in the morning, he had bolted and run across the abandoned fields of the village, having no plan apart from putting as much distance between himself and his tormentors. His efforts were to no avail, and before long he was spotted just as he was about to enter the forest. They quickly caught him and returned him to the furious Egbert.
Withred had stopped Egbert from killing Tomas that day, reasoning that they still needed a slave, as they had spared no one after running completely amok in the village. For days after this, Tomas had still felt the pain from Egbert’s beating and from that day onwards had slept hobbled beside the ponies.
Withred turned to Egbert as he neared. ‘Looks to me like you’ve enjoyed yourself again, swine-gut. Maybe you could find another child to slaughter and complete your day.’ Like Egbert, Withred was one of Osric’s high-ranking Gedriht, so had no fear of reprimand and took great pleasure in taunting him. He also hated him because he knew he took a hideous delight in rape and torture.
Egbert’s eyes clouded at Withred’s slight, but cleared as he joined him.
‘Your day, as ever, is beside the treasure I see; no stomach for the fight eh heron-shanks?
Withred smiled sardonically.
‘Hardly a
fight
Egbert; women, children and poorly armed men . . . no, I’ll fight when there’s a challenge, I’ll leave the
easy
slaughter to you and your weasels.’
‘Not all the women and children, by your leave; many were saved for the slave markets,’ retorted Egbert. ‘So, if it’s a challenge you’re after then ride into the forest; I hear there are creatures in there that would certainly
challenge
you. It’s said that bears roam again in the there—released by their handlers when they grow too big. Anyway, it’s time now to feast and play, although, no doubt, your place will be beside the treasure, as ever.’ He kicked at the pile of trinkets and walked away from Withred towards the hut that contained the women, laughing and unbuckling his tunic as he did so. He looked back at Withred as he neared the hut. ‘As for me heron-shanks I go now to discover the real treasure!’
Simon wept as he lay on the edge of the rise. After witnessing the slaughter, he was now ashamed of his own uselessness and cowardice. He yearned for the courage to walk down to the burning village and offer his old body for slaughter to the raiders. His head whirled as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. His entire life lay in ruins before him. Everyone he knew was probably lying dead and defiled. There was no use for him now in this world. Whatever could he do now? Where could he go? The nearest village was two days walk away, but who was to say it still stood.
His self-pity abruptly ceased
, as he noticed the raiders had started to herd the survivors towards the hut nearest to him. He immediately knew the purpose of their clemency towards the women, and this awareness slowly became his spur to act. He picked up his metal delving tool and approached the hut.
Martha cowed by the back wall and pressed her hands over her ears to reduce the sound of brutal rape occurring outside. Minutes earlier, she had recoiled as a fat man had entered the hut and selected the child, Antonia, whom he had dragged screaming outside. Twelve other women and children were crammed in with Martha—all of them terrified and shocked. A low murmuring of grief and fear filled the hut as the women waited, looking with dread towards the door. Martha despaired as she considered her hopeless destiny. She wished she could die quickly. What reason was there to live when her mother, father and sister were lying butchered and burning outside. A blade would help her end her life if only she could get her hands on one. The men were about to do unspeakable things to her. She would share the fate of Antonia—that she knew.
She jumped as the delving tool severed the mud and rush wall of the hut by her right shoulder. An old, bronzed and gnarled hand pushed through the gap and pulled away a section of the wall. She almost shouted with joy as Simon’s familiar and much loved head appeared through the gap, his finger to his lips in a hushing gesture. Again, he pulled at the wall, and a huge section came away. Martha was quickly through.
Simon pointed to a distant gorse bank.
‘Make for the gorse,’ he whispered hurriedly, ‘crawl inside it as deep as you can and wait for me.’ He sensed Martha’s hesitancy so he pushed her towards her goal. ‘Run like the wind, go now!’ Martha lost no time fleeing the hut, leaving him to usher out the remaining women.
As soon as he
pulled the last of the women from the hut, he ran as fast as his years would allow towards an overgrown ditch, where he crawled, hidden, along its considerable length. As he moved slowly along, he was dismayed to hear screaming as the raiders quickly recaptured the women. Although crestfallen at this realisation, his determination to continue and help Martha escape now became his focus, and he got to the end of the ditch just in time to see her enter the gorse. He ducked quickly out of sight as he heard the sound of the approaching chase.
The coarse shouts of the raiders in the village had stood out in sharp contrast to the morning birdsong as Martha had run in a stumbling gait towards the gorse bank. Thankful that no shouts of alarm yet sounded, she nevertheless knew that the cry would inevitably come. In dread of this, she had continued until reaching a confusion of brambles. She had pushed through this last barrier, oblivious to the scratches and rents inflicted upon her, and jumped into a shallow hollow beside the gorse, grateful for the cover it afforded her.
The gorse now loomed expansively in front of her, and she noticed a formed tunnel at its base. She realised at once that this was the hideaway used by the boys from the villag
e for adventure. Simon’s plea for urgency still rang in her head, but her attention wavered when the cry of alarm came from the village. Her fears were confirmed when she risked a hasty look over the edge of the ditch. The other women had been quickly recaptured after hesitating too long, and Simon was nowhere in sight. The fat raider, who had earlier grabbed her friend, was marshalling the men to conduct a sweeping search. As she watched, two of the men began to run across the open ground towards her.
Knowing it was her only option; she turned and entered the knee-high tunnel to hide. She saw that it continued for some distance before her, and that many side passages led from it. She took a random turn, and another, then another, and became aware she was in an extensive labyrinth. The effort of the escape was beginning to take its toll as her breath escaped her in heaving gasps, so she allowed herself a brief rest, propped on one elbow in the gloom of the maze.
Her breath froze as she heard the guttural sound of men’s voices outside the gorse bank. They were involved in a heated discussion, which
made Martha think they were unsure what to do next. Seizing upon their hesitancy, she started to move down the tunnel, deeper into the gorse outcrop—her intention now to hide within its intricate interior. The thought evaporated when a rustling and cursing coming from the opening to the gorse maze indicated that at least one of the men had entered and was moving towards her.
He turned and shouted at his companion who waited outside the tunnel. The expletive nature of his outburst told her he was having trouble
moving his bulk through the gorse. She recoiled as she caught a glimpse of his foot as he twisted and turned. Her heart now pounded wildly as she fought to stop her breath from escaping in panicky gasps. She realised it would only be a matter of time before he systematically sought her out, and as he started to crawl down the passage towards her she prepared herself for capture.
Her galloping heart jumped to her throat as a hand clamped over her mouth. Managing to turn her head sideways, she looked into Simon’s old, familiar face. His pale, blue eyes were wide open, and looked almost comical, such was their urgency.
As before, he brought his finger to his lips and hissed a slow, steady, ‘shhh.’ When satisfied her self control was stable, he unclamped his hand and beckoned her to follow him.
Martha could see he
had squeezed through a thin gap in the wall of gorse behind her. He went back through it but left his arm trailing to assist her through the tight squeeze. After grasping his forearm, he pulled her through the constriction into a shoulder-high circular chamber. The sounds of the search continued behind them, urging Simon to act quickly
Crouching in the speckled shade, Simon’s voice was low and urgent. ‘This was the lads’ secret den. It serves us well, but we only have seconds. Follow me closely when we get out. It’s going to be tricky, but there is a path near our exit, steep and tangled. It leads down to the valley bottom. Stay close to me and be careful.’
After pushing through several tight but yielding sections of the gorse wall, they emerged into the daylight. They stood on the edge of a steep drop; a deep narrow valley directly below them; the gorse bank rising steeply above them. Simon carefully climbed over the precipice to find footing on a narrow ledge five feet below.
He turned and beckoned Martha to join him. Peering over the edge, they looked down to the distant valley bottom and their only chance of escape.
Martha could see no possible way down, and felt that Simon had misju
dged their situation. The gorse from which they had just emerged completely cut off the edge of the crag from the rest of the forest, and the only way to move appeared to be back through the gorse.
Simon beckoned Martha to follow him, and they carefully made their way along a rocky corridor between the edge of the gorse and the sheer drop into the valley bottom. They halted at a point where the gorse
turned to meet the edge of the cliff, thus barring their way. Simon stopped and lifted the prickly barrier enough for Martha to squeeze underneath. When she had done this, she lifted the gorse for Simon to squeeze through and join her on the other side.
Yet another huge bank of gorse seemed to block their way, but this time Simon urged, ‘Stay very close to me now, the path can be very steep and broken, there are few hand holds.’
As if to emphasise
his urgency, the sound of agitated voices came from where they had stood moments before, warning them that their pursuers had themselves emerged from the main body of the gorse and were only a short distance from them.
Simon looked urgently at Martha, and led her by the hand towards
the next barrier of gorse that blocked their path. On reaching it, he squeezed under like before, but this time climbed down into a deep ditch that ran at a right angle to the cliff edge. Martha followed him, clutching the back of his belt, as he carefully felt his way to the edge of the drop. She was relieved to see that a narrow path existed and ran down the steep walls of the cliff down to the distant valley bottom.