Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) by F J Atkinson Page B
Authors: F J Atkinson
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stronger and can stay with me for the rest of your days if you wish.’
Murdoc’s eyes moistened as he listened to Dominic. After some moments, he dragged the sleeve of his tunic across them. ‘Thank-you,’ he said. ‘I thought Britannia had gone bad for ever, but now I know that good men still exist.’ He was thoughtful for a while. ‘You say your base is by an old track. Could it be the trail that runs westward? The one I was looking for?’
‘Yes, the track is ancient and does run to the west,’ said Dominic, ‘although I found it the hard way, through the marshes. Why do you seek it?’
‘I thought it may be an easier way through the forest and away from the trouble.’
‘You’re right, it is an easier way through, but it’s pretty overgrown now. I travelled down it for three days westwards and still the woods surrounded me. If you want to go that way you need to get strong again. For now, though, we need to keep our eyes peeled. Tomorrow should be safe enough to take you back.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Days earlier, Egbert and a war band of thirty-eight men had ridden out of the devastated village and onto a faint track that ran westwards into the forest. Osric had provided a string of extra ponies, and these brought up the rear of the group. They journeyed through the forest on a rough but distinct track, making steady progress through the thinner tree cover of the forest edge.
At dusk, their night fire burned beside a burbling stream. Tomas fed and watered the ponies, then prepared the evening meal.
After they had eaten, Egbert addressed the men. ‘It seems there’s to be no rest for anyone who displeases Osric. But we’ll get this done quickly, because I for one intend to spend the winter mounting whores in Camulodunum. I can also plan strategy in the taverns alongside our leader.’ There was laughter from some of the men at his slight towards Osric. ‘So it’s hard days ahead, at full pelt with shit food’—Tomas shivered with dread as Egbert adopted a mocking expression and turned his stare upon him—‘but no-one must upset him ; it seems Osric’s taken a shine to him. Maybe he plans to wed him.’
More sniggering ensued as Egbert walked over to Tomas and cupped the boy’s face in his hand. He gave it a series of gentle slaps—his mocking tone mirroring his expression. ‘You must tell me young master how you’d prefer your ale. Mulled … maybe?’
Tomas’ smile was nervy and uncomfortable. As ever, Egbert’s genial tone had fallen short of his bleak eyes. He prepared himself for the inevitable slap, but before it landed Withred snatched Egbert’s hand from his face.
Exasperated, he faced Egbert. ‘Does nothing Osric say sink into your boar’s head, you fat bastard? The boy is not to BE HARMED! If I find one bruise on him I’ll kick your balls to pulp, do you hear me!’
Egbert’s face was a mask of disdain as he looked to the men for support. ‘Oh, listen will you to Osric’s little puppy?’ He let go of Tomas. ‘There … does that satisfy you. Don’t shit yourself over him, he’ll return in one piece, don’t worry.’ He pointed a threatening finger at Withred, ‘And don’t tell me how I should have my sport.’
There was a sneer in Withred’s smile as he coldly eyed Egbert. ‘Maybe I should tell you. For I’ve seen you have your sport and even by our standards it makes my flesh crawl.’
Egbert walked to his sleeping place. Wheezing as he lowered his bulk into position and unable to resist having the last word, he flicked his head dismissively at Withred. ‘If you’ve no stomach for the hunt then maybe you should scuttle off back to your master.’
Withred did not deign to reply. Instead, he laughed softly and incredulously before shaking his head and turning away.
The next morning, Tomas had the ponies ready and waiting for an early start. Withred received his pony from him. ‘Come now, lad,’ he advised, ‘try to keep up with us as we start
Murdoc’s eyes moistened as he listened to Dominic. After some moments, he dragged the sleeve of his tunic across them. ‘Thank-you,’ he said. ‘I thought Britannia had gone bad for ever, but now I know that good men still exist.’ He was thoughtful for a while. ‘You say your base is by an old track. Could it be the trail that runs westward? The one I was looking for?’
‘Yes, the track is ancient and does run to the west,’ said Dominic, ‘although I found it the hard way, through the marshes. Why do you seek it?’
‘I thought it may be an easier way through the forest and away from the trouble.’
‘You’re right, it is an easier way through, but it’s pretty overgrown now. I travelled down it for three days westwards and still the woods surrounded me. If you want to go that way you need to get strong again. For now, though, we need to keep our eyes peeled. Tomorrow should be safe enough to take you back.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Days earlier, Egbert and a war band of thirty-eight men had ridden out of the devastated village and onto a faint track that ran westwards into the forest. Osric had provided a string of extra ponies, and these brought up the rear of the group. They journeyed through the forest on a rough but distinct track, making steady progress through the thinner tree cover of the forest edge.
At dusk, their night fire burned beside a burbling stream. Tomas fed and watered the ponies, then prepared the evening meal.
After they had eaten, Egbert addressed the men. ‘It seems there’s to be no rest for anyone who displeases Osric. But we’ll get this done quickly, because I for one intend to spend the winter mounting whores in Camulodunum. I can also plan strategy in the taverns alongside our leader.’ There was laughter from some of the men at his slight towards Osric. ‘So it’s hard days ahead, at full pelt with shit food’—Tomas shivered with dread as Egbert adopted a mocking expression and turned his stare upon him—‘but no-one must upset him ; it seems Osric’s taken a shine to him. Maybe he plans to wed him.’
More sniggering ensued as Egbert walked over to Tomas and cupped the boy’s face in his hand. He gave it a series of gentle slaps—his mocking tone mirroring his expression. ‘You must tell me young master how you’d prefer your ale. Mulled … maybe?’
Tomas’ smile was nervy and uncomfortable. As ever, Egbert’s genial tone had fallen short of his bleak eyes. He prepared himself for the inevitable slap, but before it landed Withred snatched Egbert’s hand from his face.
Exasperated, he faced Egbert. ‘Does nothing Osric say sink into your boar’s head, you fat bastard? The boy is not to BE HARMED! If I find one bruise on him I’ll kick your balls to pulp, do you hear me!’
Egbert’s face was a mask of disdain as he looked to the men for support. ‘Oh, listen will you to Osric’s little puppy?’ He let go of Tomas. ‘There … does that satisfy you. Don’t shit yourself over him, he’ll return in one piece, don’t worry.’ He pointed a threatening finger at Withred, ‘And don’t tell me how I should have my sport.’
There was a sneer in Withred’s smile as he coldly eyed Egbert. ‘Maybe I should tell you. For I’ve seen you have your sport and even by our standards it makes my flesh crawl.’
Egbert walked to his sleeping place. Wheezing as he lowered his bulk into position and unable to resist having the last word, he flicked his head dismissively at Withred. ‘If you’ve no stomach for the hunt then maybe you should scuttle off back to your master.’
Withred did not deign to reply. Instead, he laughed softly and incredulously before shaking his head and turning away.
The next morning, Tomas had the ponies ready and waiting for an early start. Withred received his pony from him. ‘Come now, lad,’ he advised, ‘try to keep up with us as we start
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