Wolfbane (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) (47 page)

‘We’ve done it Dominic,’ he whispered, as his eyes welled. ‘We have crossed the sea and found my brother and niece, and hopefully Wyn is nearby.’

Dominic hugged him then, as the strain and tension of the last few weeks—the worry that his brothers and niece could be dead— finally voided from Flint. Now he sobbed, unable to contain himself, such was the flood of relief and emotion that engulfed him.

‘Go to them. Let them know you have travelled the earth to get them back,’ Dominic said, smiling through his own tears.

Flint stood and waded through the bracken until he was clear of its snagging grasp. The slope ran down before him to the pond. He looked to Dominic, his face now beaming. Unable to speak, such was his joy, he turned and began to run down the slope. ‘Aiden! … Elowen!’ His tears came again as Mule and Elowen looked up towards him. ‘I’ve come for you!’ he shouted. ‘We are going home!’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Fincath gnawed on his nails as he peered from the ringfort’s gates. A day and night had passed since he had dispatched Latchna to follow the Britons. To determine their route was Latchna’s mission—to confirm if the Britons had been true to their word. Either way, Latchna should have been back by now. After all, hadn’t he ordered him to spend just one day on the task. He would personally whip the man to the bone if he had tarried needlessly.

He turned, as Fróech and Colman (both mounted) approached him. Behind them, ten other men sat astride ponies, ready for the chase.

‘Don’t run the horses into the ground,’ fussed Fincath as he held onto the noseband of Fróech’s pony. He peered up at his son. ‘You have all day … and this evening should see you at the docks.
’
Fróec
h
rolled his eyes to Colman as if to sa
y
,
The old bastard’s telling us how to do our jobs again.

Fincath pointed to the man directly behind Colman, as he continued to address Fróech. ‘Eion’s almost as good a scout as that lingering bastard, Latchna. Have him watch for any deviation from the trail. If so, send five men with Colman to investigate.
You
continue to the docks. It must be determined whether the Britons have left as they said they would.’

Fróech heeled his pony into a walk through the gates. Fincath walked beside him, still holding the pony’s noseband as he peered up at Fróech.

‘Their heads … I want their heads,’ he hissed. ‘If they are still on this island, whatever the reason, you are to bring me back their heads.’

Fróech patted the blade at his side. ‘Sharpened this morning to a very keen edge … sharpened for that very reason.’

Finally, Fincath let go of Fróech’s pony, allowing him to jab it into a trot down the hill.

‘And if you see Latchna!’ shouted Fincath, ‘tell him to get himself back to me at once.
He
has some explaining to do!’

The twelve men continued down the track until they approached the trading post at mid-afternoon.

Colman rode at the head of the assembly with Fróech. ‘We’ll look in on Daman and hear his news,’ he said. ‘Maybe he’s seen the Britons pass by.’

‘Daman’s got a helper now,’ said Fróech. ‘Remember that drunken shit, Odhran, who spilled a goblet of wine on father … you
know
… the one who’s lucky to be alive still.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Fróech as it dawned on him. ‘Father punched him around the hall. Knocked his teeth out and broke his nose; kicked him so hard he probably ruined his manhood too.’

‘Well,’ said Fróech as he dismounted, ‘we’re about to be reacquainted with him.’ He pushed through the door into the dim room. ‘Daman,’ he shouted. ‘Daman, have you seen …‘

He voice faded when he saw Daman and Odhran, both comatose, lying before him. Snoring loudly, they lay under the storage shelves. Beside them lay two upturned and empty flagons of Fincath’s prized Gaul wine. Fróech’s face was a picture of astonishment as he took in the scene
.

Daman
,
a cord of elastic spittle hanging from his lower lip, had stirred and opened one blurry eye to look at Fróech. He frowned as the gravity of his situation slowly penetrated his brain.He sat up, banging his head on the storage shelf
.
It was Fróech! . . . oh help! . . . oh shit! . . . it was Fróech standing over him!
Fróech grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Hardly able to stand, Daman wobbled before him.

‘F-F-Fróech,’ he attempted, but Fróech, who was having none of it, dragged him to the door and threw him outside.

Fróech followed him, cold and furious. He shoved him to Colman, ‘Hold him there till I come back,’ he said.

Back inside, hands on hips, an icy rage gathering inside him, he towered over the still-snoring Odhran. ‘Too pissed to even hear me,’ he said as he removed his knife.

Outside, Colman had dismounted and grabbed Daman who swayed before him, looking cowed and wretched. Colman’s face was a picture of disgust to rival Fróech’s as he appraised Daman. Daman could only look to the floor in shame.

Colman was about to give Daman a lambasting when Fróech walked from the hut. In his left hand, he held Odhran’s head by its hair; in his right hand, he held his own bloody knife. He tossed the head away and watched it roll across the crusty ground.

‘He’ll sleep forever now,’ said Fróech, as he wiped his knife across a clump of grass, leaving it a mixture of green and streaked crimson. He looked at Daman who continued to look at the ground. ‘Now before I do the same to you, what have you to say?’ He walked to Daman and grabbed his hair, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

‘N-
n
-
nothing,’ my lord,’ said Daman. ‘Except that he …’ Shoulders hunched, he pointed to Odhran’s head. ‘… Except that he pestered me day and night to break into the wine.’

‘And have you no mind of your own, man?’ asked Fróech, his voice laced with disgust.

‘No … I was weak my lord,’ admitted Daman, looking down to his feet again as soon as Fróech let go of his hair.

Fróech pushed Daman towards Colman, then jabbed a thumb behind him towards the hut. ‘Kick him back in there, brother.’

He looked to a rider mounted nearby. ‘Ennis … you stay here with the drunkard, and make sure he tidies the place and himself up before we get back. We need him here … he can live for now, but I’ll let father have the last say on that one.’

Colman returned after kicking Daman back into the hut. He looked down the roadway. ‘Some use that was,’ he said, ‘now we have no idea whether they passed here or not.’

‘Probably did,’ said Fróech. ’Eion has been looking for signs all day, and they’ve not left the main track, he reckons.’

‘Onwards and downwards then,’ said Colman as he heaved himself onto his pony.

When half way to the docks from the trading post, Eion spotted a disturbance in the ground.

He reported to Fróech. ‘Ponies left the track here, my lord … could be carrying the men we look for. It’s a well-used side track and there are a lot of prints but at least three ponies have left fresh prints.’

‘How fresh?’

‘Today or yesterday, without doubt.’

Fróech yearned for Latchna’s guidance, unaware that the scout lay dead alongside Kael fifty paces away. Fróech knew that Latchna would have been more precise—would have known
to the time of day
when the Britons had passed.

‘Looks like we part company here, then,’ Fróech said to Colman. ‘Father said you and five men are to follow any deviating trail we come upon.’

‘A familiar trail, too,’ said Colman. ‘Remember when we went to look for the escaped slaves?’ He nodded towards the narrow path that led into the trees. ‘Well that’s the way we went … leads to the monastery eventually.’

Fróech remembered now. Frowning, he asked Colman, ‘You think
they
may be looking for the slaves? But
why
? And why would they travel to the monastery?’

Colman shrugged. ‘Who knows? Perhaps they gained information from somebody on the way down to the docks. It’s still possible the fugitives could be at the monastery; haven’t we always suspected the monks of hiding them?’

‘But why would the Britons seek them?’ asked Fróech.

‘Makes sense really, doesn’t it? They’ll save their employer, Griff, a lot of gold if they can find them and return them to father. No doubt Griff would repay such an action generously.’

‘If that’s the case, then they should arrive here soon by my reckoning.’

Fróech now seriously considered going with Colman. He looked at Eion, still not fully confident in the man’s abilities.
What if he was wrong
?
What if the Britons had gone to the docks and took sail already
? If so, he could get back to the comforts of the ringfort by tomorrow night and put this thing behind him. Yes, he would go to the docks with the remaining four men and send Colman to follow the trail to the monastery.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mule’s mouth hung open as Flint ran down the hill to him. It looked like his brother, but how could that be. Here he was in a strange land across the sea, and Flint lived on the other side of the sea.

Elowen confirmed that it was indeed Flint when she ran towards him. ‘Flint,’ she screamed, ‘I knew you would come for us.’

Flint met her and took her into his arms, twirling her round and round as he hugged her.

‘I never would have stopped looking as long as I held breath in my body,’ wept Flint. ‘How could I have done that?’

He stopped twirling as Mule clamped him in his strong grip. Hugging Flint and Elowen at the same time, Mule laid his head against Flint’s shoulder. ‘Our da is dead,’ said Mule. ‘Now you must be our da.’

Flint hugged Mule back, flooded with love for him. ‘Lad … I’ll be whatever you want me to be.’ Now he looked towards the monastery as Maewyn’s absence again dawned upon him.

Elowen, who continued to beam up at him, put his mind at rest. ‘Come, we’ll go to Wyn,’ she said. ‘He’s working in the scriptorium with Donard.’

‘He’s learning his letters,’ added Mule, ‘and he’s real good at it.’

Flint laughed. ‘You lot are impossible. I’ve worried myself sick over you all, and when I get here,you two are having the time of your life, fishing; an
d
Wyn’s becoming a scholar. Whatever am I going— ’

Ingles cry of alarm, had them turn to observe the young monk running down the hill towards them. Between them and Ingle strolled Dominic, who seemed unperturbed as Ingle closed upon him. Ingle held his habit hitched to his knees to aid his movement, his white legs pumping frantically below him.

Dominic held up his hands, palms outwards, as Ingle rushed up to him. ‘Whoa! young fellow, we are friends.’ He pointed to Flint just as Ingle skidded to a halt before him, his hands bunched into bony fists. ‘Does that man look like he’s trying to hurt them?’

Ingle peered downwards towards Flint, squinting and scrunching up his freckly nose as he took in the scene. Reluctantly, he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t appear so.’

‘That’s because he’s the boy’s brother and the girl’s cousin,’ said Dominic.

‘He’s … Flint?’ Ingle knew the name well from the many stories the children had told of him.

‘The very man,’ nodded Dominic. ‘All the way from Britannia with me and another fellow. We crossed the sea to find them.’

Ingle relaxed his fists. ‘Come … I’ll take you to the bishop,’ he said. ‘He’ll be amazed to hear this.’

Flint’s reunion with Maewyn held all the emotion and surprise of his earlier meeting with Mule and Elowen. Maewyn had wept upon seeing Flint as a massive surge of relief and joy engulfed him. The burden of being the one to ensure the safety of Mule and Elowen had gone. Now he had his brother with him—the man they all idolised. No one could hurt them now. Now they were safe.

Later, the four of them walked arms over shoulders into the refectory where Bishop Tassach awaited them. Beside him sat Rodric and Donard. A little way down the table sat Ingle and Dominic.

Tassach smiled as the happy group entered. Spreading his hands, he invited them to sit down. He tipped his head towards Dominic. ‘Our friend Dominic counsels a speedy departure so this meeting must be brief.’ His brow knitted as his expression took on a graver cast. ‘Speedy it must be, because according to Dominic, Fincath or his sons will have given chase by now.’ He looked towards the door as the sound of grunting ponies filtered into the room. ‘Such is the urgency to get to the docks by nightfall that your mounts are ready and await outside.’

Flint looked with concern at the four monks in the room, realising now they had risked their lives (still risked their lives) by taking in the children. ‘But won’t our visit cause you problems with Fincath?’ he asked with this in mind.

Rodric, who had previously spoken at length with Domini
c
about the matter, shook his head dismissively.

‘No doubt we will have a visit from the mac Garrchu people before long but we have our story ready for when they arrive. We’ll say you came looking for the children but to no avail. Then we’ll tell them you left to search the bogland. That should keep them off your tails until you get to your boat.’

Dominic stood, restless and eager to leave. ‘Yes, and we really must get going. Withred and Druce await us—hopefully with a ready boat and a helpful tide. It’s vital we set sail tonight.’ He looked out of the narrow slit window of the refectory. ‘We still have half a day of good light if we leave now.’

Flint and the children stood to say their goodbyes to the monks.

Tassach and Donard talked briefly with Dominic, as Rodric embraced Mule and Elowen. 

Maewyn spoke to Ingle. ‘You made me laugh all day and every day and I thank you for that. Above all, you helped me realise that not all the men in this world are evil. For many days after we were taken, we met only awful people and I was beginning to think the world had gone bad forever.’

‘Never think that,’ said Ingle. ‘Remember that the Lord above will repay both good and evil when the day of reckoning comes.’

Maewyn laughed. ‘Well, if he needs a court jester then you’ve got it made.’ Unable to hold back any longer, he hugged Ingle. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said as his eyes moistened. ‘I listened to everything you told me about the Lord
and
everything else, and although sometimes I turned it into a joke I really did listen.’ They hugged for a while longer before Ingle left to say his goodbyes to Elowen and Mule.

Donard approached Maewyn and looked at him fondly. ‘I enjoyed my time in the scriptorium with you,’ he said. ‘Never have I had a more apt pupil than you. Another ten weeks and you would have been reading the Latin script without hesitation.’

Maewyn blushed at the praise. ‘It was not me, but the way you explained it so clearly. And the stories you translated were wondrous. It’s easy when the payment for reading the script is the unfolding of such amazing stories.’

Donard took a step back and raised one enigmatic eyebrow at Maewyn. ‘Maybe we could make a monk of you yet,’ he mused. Then his serious look melted away, ‘But it’s no good preaching at you; you will come to your own conclusion—that we all know.’

‘You know me well, then,’ smiled Maewyn.

‘And we may still meet,’ enthused Donard. ‘Remember, we sail to the north of your country—to Deva—four months from now. Perhaps we could meet you there; I’m sure you’d like to see Ingle again.’

Maewyn looked surprised. ‘Ingle sails with you?’

Donard looked furtively over to Ingle who was now saying goodbye to Dominic. ‘Yes, but don’t tell
him
,’ he whispered. ‘The bishop has decided his tendency towards irreverence could do with a bit of hard travel to blunt its edge.’

Maewyn’s smile was skeptical. ‘
That
, it will never do.’

Three hours later, Dominic, Flint and the children, approached the track leading to the docks. Dominic rode ahead, aware the chase would be well under way by now It would come from the direction of the main track; of that he had no doubt.

Flint knew something was afoot when Dominic returned from up trail filled with a sense of urgency. ‘Get off the track now, six riders head towards us.’

Flint, who carried Elowen on his pony, was quickly into the cover of the broom outcrop beside the track. Mule and Maewyn, sharing the same pony, followed. Dominic was the last to enter. He dismounted and turned to repair the parted shrubbery as best he could.

‘They’re still a fair distance up the track,’ Dominic said as he led his pony into the broom. ‘We have a little time now to get deeper into the cover.’

The ponies pushed further into the scrub until an unyielding entanglement of shrubbery completely halted their progress fifty paces in.

‘Stay here and be silent,’ whispered Dominic to the children. ‘Flint, come with me.’

They crept to the edge of the track. Kneeling in the cover of the broom, they watched as Colman and his five riders made their way towards them. Ready to fight, should things go wrong, Flint’s sword swayed in his grasp. Dominic nocked an arrow into his bowstring. ‘Move back with me, out of sight but within earshot,’ he instructed Flint.

Despite his hurried attempt at repair, Dominic knew they had left a visible trail. A good scout would not fail to see it … he would see it, even in the dark. With heart bounding, he drew his bow to its full tension and prepared to engage the Hibernians.

Colman peered at Eion as he reached him. ‘Why do you stop?’

‘Some activity on the trail, my lord. It looks like they might have halted here.’

‘Well they’ve not passed us, so it must’ve been on the way to the monastery. Maybe they stopped here to rest.’

Unaware that Dominic and Flint stood only ten paces from him, Eion studied the undergrowth. He scrutinised the broom, looking for disturbance, but none was apparent to his eye. He looked at the ground beneath his feet. There had been passage—both up and down the track.

Frowning, he pondered a while, then turned to Colman who waited, impatient, behind him. ‘We keep to the track, my lord. Their marks are strongest straight ahead towards the monastery.’

Flint and Dominic slowly and silently exhaled their relief as the group moved on. After waiting a while, they ventured to the side of the track.

Dominic looked up the trail. ‘Kael killed their best scout when he saw the other fellow off.’ He looked down to the disturbance in the ground. ‘How could he not see
that
? I was ready to fight them; we have been fortunate, Flint.’

‘Then, let’s hope our luck lasts until we’re safely on board the boat,’ replied the other.

Ingle saw Colman’s entourage coming and reported to Tassach at once. Moments passed before Colman dismounted and walked over to the waiting Tassach. ‘Where are they?’ he demanded.

‘Been and gone,’ replied Tassach. ‘Gone to the marshes to look for the children.’

‘Why would they come here first?’ asked Colman, unconvinced. ‘And how did they know to go to the bogs?’

‘They were told by a traveler they met. He told them of the rumour that slaves had escaped and fled to the marshes. The route to the marshes passes us here at the monastery and that is why they stopped a while.’

Colman eyed Tassach. ‘Always you have a good story for us when we come to you; and maybe that’s just what this is—a good story.’

As he held Tassach in his stare, Rodric, who could see his bishop beginning to wilt, stepped in. ‘It’s not a story, my lord, it is the truth.  They stopped here only a little while, then left for the wetlands; they were seeking the children; their purpose to return them to your father, thus saving their own master his losses.’

It confirmed what he, Colman, had worked out for himself earlier, and the concurrence of Rodric’s explanation now suggested he might have been right all along. He looked towards the trail that led away from the monastery.

‘How long since they left?’

‘Half a morning,’ answered Rodric. ‘Their trail is still fresh to see. They held hope they could find the children.’

‘They will not find them, they are already dead,’ said Colman impatiently.

‘Well in that case they will be near the sea by now. We told them of a shortcut that leads from the marshes to the docks should their search prove fruitless.’

‘Then that’s the way
we
will go.’ Colman beckoned tetchily to the monk who held his pony.

To follow the trail to its conclusion and meet up with Fróech at the docks was now Colman’s intention. Without ceremony, he mounted and rode away.

Blowing softly in relief, Rodric turned to Tassach who mirrored his response.
Just as well, we sent three monks to lay a trail again,
he thought
. Now they have something to follow.

Three hours after leaving Dominic and Flint, Withred had arrived at the docks by midday. Druce, who was eager to get back to his life in Britannia, was more than glad to see him. Together, they readied Druce’s boat, Pelagus, for the return journey. By late afternoon, the boat was provisioned and ready to sail.

Withred looked up the hill that led from the docks. ‘This is going to be tight,’ he frowned. ‘Dominic and Flint should be here soon, if everything went smoothly for them.’

‘The tide couldn’t be better so I hope they
do
arrive soon,’ said Druce.

The top of the boat’s sail was just visible beside the wharf. The low tide had the boat bobbing fifteen feet below them, accessible by a hemp ladder. A further fifteen feet of deep water lay beneath the boat. 

Guairá, the harbourmaster, looked down at the boat. ‘Tricky beggar to get into, that’ll be,’ he said. ‘Hope your friends, when they arrive, don’t have anything bulky to load.’

Withred considered the situation as it stood. He knew the time had come to tell Guairá and Druce the reason for visiting Hibernia. If things had gone well, Dominic and Flint would be well on their way to the dock by now. When they arrived, he could not risk a spontaneous bad reaction from the two men before him. It would be better if he dealt with any problems
now
, rather than have complications later. Druce would be no problem, he was quietly confident about that, but Guairá was an enigma. Where his loyalty lay was anybody’s guess. The man seemed affable enough, but for all he knew he could be Fincath’s cousin. If Guairá reacted badly then he would have to take care of him.