The next morning arrived with the fury of a charging boar. The fragrant atmosphere of my lodgings must have had a deepening effect on my sleep, for the sunlight was already streaming through the chinks in the shuttered window when I woke.
It would seem that Edmund had not had the evening that I imagined and he’d been up since dawn. The first that I knew of it, was a loud shriek and a string of colourful curses from the other side of my rough door.
It soon transpired that my burly protector had grown impatient and had come to find me. Reaching the upper passage, he had started his search by opening each door that he came to. Unfortunately my door was not the first in his quest and he had a string of noisily upset occupants chasing him.
In the draped and shuttered gloom and his irritable haste, Edmund stood on the fingers of my sentry and it was her shrill stream of expletive-laced venom that had jarred my senses back to life.
Without ceremony or any semblance of servility, my escort barged the door aside and, gripping my mattress he tipped me onto the floor. With disappointment in his eyes, he glanced at my nakedness.
‘Lesson number one, little warrior. Always sleep in your clothes when outside your own Halls.’ he paused to throw my breeches at me, and to open the shutters. ‘Lesson two. Never keep me waiting.’ he shook his head angrily. ‘Be swift, young warrior. I had thought that I was to arrange our guide across the marshes, but it seems that your most illustrious father has already asked the local Sheriff to organise it.’
I thought he was going to continue his lecture but he simply turned and stalked down the passage to the staircase. A bad tempered scowl silenced all but the bravest female protest.
‘Our guide is waiting for us, and we must be away before the tide turns.’ he called from the head of the stairs.
I struggled to pull on breeches and tunic as fast as I could. Normally an easy task, but with the staring eyes of some pretty, half naked girls watching me from my open doorway, my embarrassment was acute and I fumbled.
I pulled at the heavy, wooden soled boots with their web of lacings. How I preferred the barefoot freedom of my lately departed childhood. Struggling with the knot, I managed to thread my ring onto the leather cord with my iron crucifix. I’d not be gagged again.
Apologetically, I made my way into the slowly clearing passage. Sulya, her face still pale with temper, snatched her clothing and blanket away to one side as if she feared contamination. The air was sharp with hostility and it made the small hairs on my neck prickle.
All at once I felt angry, indignant, wronged and for the first time in my life, a pang of homesickness. Confused and with the hotness of tears in my throat I made my way through the unfamiliar house and down to the rear entrance.
Squatting in the yard, drawing crude maps in the dust, was Edmund and an older, intense looking man with a bushy red beard.
Probably a fisherman I thought, looking at his clothing of short tattered trousers and coarse heavy coat. They both looked up as I approached.
‘Is this the young man?’ asked the stranger, a questioning frown creased his forehead as he stood.
‘Yes.’ said Edmund. ‘Ranulf, this is Dilwyn, he’s going to take us across the marsh.’
I nodded to the man and muttered. ‘Hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long sir.’
‘No, no...I’ve only just arrived, but I see that you’re all packed and ready to go, so by your leave gentlemen, we’ll hoist all sail and cast off.’
I nodded, and fell in beside Edmund as we followed Dilwyn through the gate and into the narrow lane to begin the next leg of our journey.
‘Sorry about all the fuss just now, but the wretch in the kitchen refused to call you.’ Edmund said. ‘Afraid I can be a bit short first-thing. The wretched girl said something about you being an important visitor.’ he chuckled.
My ears only half heard the big man’s apology, I was much more concerned with the rumbling that was coming from my stomach. The night before, I had eaten as well as my weary body had allowed and had done justice to the jug of fine ale, but now it sounded as though someone were rattling a stick against my ribs. Either Edmund heard the empty clattering or he read my mind, for he rummaged in one of the pony’s bags and produced some salt pork and a couple of flat loaves of bread.
‘We eat on the road this morning.’ he said, giving me a share of the food. ‘There’s a leather bottle of watered wine up there when you want it.’ he added, gesturing towards the animal’s loaded rump as he strode off to offer Dilwyn a share.
The two of them marched along in front of me, chatting and discussing the war. Glancing behind us, I could make out the hazy outline of the hills that I had cheerfully left the day before. My feelings of homesickness were making me morose.
With an effort I dragged my thoughts back to our surroundings. We were moving down the hill towards the site of yesterday’s fair, leaving behind the squalid peasant’s hovels and the merchant’s grand houses. Before me, across the now quiet green, was the castle gate, open and apparently untended. I could see the military mind of Edmund begin to prickle, fortunately for the absent guards, we didn’t have time to rearrange their futures. But I thought it strange that nobody was there.
The hillside that spread itself before the gate had been blackened by the overzealous sentries of the previous afternoon. The group of sick and dying people were nowhere to be seen, but I had the feeling that they were watching us. The track continued eastward, away from the castle’s palisades, and wound its way to the top of a narrow ridge. As we marched along, the track slowly degenerated to become little more than a rough path. It rolled on, following the top of what had become a slim promontory, pointing like a finger into the rippling waves of reeds that crested the mires and hid the intricate, myriad of waterways from our view.
Close by, on the northern side of this slender finger of land was a cluster of fishermen’s huts. They were pressed to the very edge of the marsh by the steepness of the ground and, because the area was liable to regular flooding, each of the little dwellings had been placed on a sturdy arrangement of wooden stilts. Greasy-grey smoke bubbled from several small wooden curing sheds and now and then the wind brought snatches of the pungent aroma.
Away in the distance I could see the sunlight glinting on a large expanse of water and beyond that, the hazy, blue shadowed outline of soft hills. Above everything was the high dome of a blue summer sky, silent and quite empty, except for the mewing of the wheeling and diving seabirds. The air, after the stench of the town, was fresh and clean. My spirits rose with every stride until I was almost bouncing along, eager to reach Athelney and to start my scholarly tasks.
Abruptly, Dilwyn turned from the main path to lead us down the flanks of the now shallow ridge and towards the brown wall of reeds on our right. The pony moved cautiously across the broken slope and I became separated from the other two.
Without warning, the reed wall beside us was shattered by an eruption as three heavily cloaked and hooded figures burst upon us. The nearest one made a shrieking grab at our pony’s bridle. He was so close I could smell the sickly, stale odour of mead on his breath. For all his eager courage, he was obviously no horseman. His sudden appearance and startling noise, threw the animal into a panic. The frightened beast lashed out with its sharp little feet as she whirled about me on the leading rein. One jabbing thrust caught the attacker on the knee with a sickening snapping sound. He screamed and swore as he sank gasping towards the ground. The little mare’s next plunging kick finished the ruffian’s days, with a noise like chopping wood the iron shoe bit into the back of his head. A gushing pool of red sprayed across the ground around him as the pony’s hooves stamped and trampled the pink mud. Eventually, I managed to calm the poor animal enough to stop it plunging and kicking. It was only then that I saw the amazing battle going on in front of me.
Edmund, his shining steel blade whistling as it swooped, cut so deeply into one of the men that it all but severed him at the waist. The other, the last of the trio, looked about him for an escape route. Finding none he grabbed our guide and, using him as a human shield rushed at my protector. Edmund’s burly legs and shoulders braced themselves as, at the last minute, he brought the sword point up from the ground in an angle towards their charge. Both of the men were impaled by the strength of the attack. Dilwyn through the groin and the last brigand through the stomach. Even as he shuddered his last breath the attacker looked surprised.
Edmund placed a boot on Dilwyn’s rope belt and with all his strength pulled the blade from the suction of the bloody mess at his feet. With a warrior’s cry to the old pagan gods he again lifted the blade and severed the head of our guide from his shuddering body.
I looked on in horror and breathlessly shouted. ‘What have you done. You’ve murdered our friend, our guide. An innocent man.’
I shook my head in disbelief as I watched the man I had long admired take up one of the assailant’s staff, impale the wretched head and jam the staff into the soft ground.
‘He was no friend, nor was he an innocent. Ranulf my lad.’ said Edmund pointing to the bloody body in front of me. ‘That man was more honourable, as an honest thief, than this....this traitor.’
Edmund spat on the ground towards the horror that he had created.
‘And how do you know this?’ I asked, my throat dry and a foul metallic taste in my mouth.
‘The oaf that lies beneath him called him by name when he saw things had begun to go against them.’ Edmund said as he wiped his sword with the tunic of the headless corpse. ‘As simple as that Ranny.’ he added as he collected the discarded weapons.
‘I think I would rather that you didn’t call me that. Not now.’ I said after a moment, staring at him, my mind a confused turmoil.
I had seen Edmund’s face as he had killed the two men. He had enjoyed it. It was a side of the man that I knew nothing of and it had shocked me more than the sight of the deed.
My mind soon overcame the shock of the vivid events and, returning to its more usual rational state, I was both surprised and alarmed at my own thoughts and attitude. I had not been conscious of any actual enjoyment of the slaughter, but had felt more like a detached and enthralled spectator.
Perhaps I thought, that was how our early Roman ancestors may have felt when witnessing the devious executions of their Christian and political prisoners. The mental detachment, somehow absolving the participant of his responsibilities in the savagery of the moment. Or, more simply, maybe the illusion of a personal detachment was the basis for a corporeal courage.
With a remarkable clarity, I knew then, that I wouldn’t make the standard as a fearsome warrior. Unlike Edmund, I had not enjoyed the feeling of being out of control of my actions, but paradoxically, I also knew that I was not lacking in courage or determination.
Edmund’s voice seemed to come to me like the echo from the back of a deep cave, so lost in thought was I.
Patiently he repeated his words. ‘The day is wearing away. We must make a move or it will be dark before we can hire a real guide to take us across this dreadful place.’ he gripped my shoulder and the pony’s bridle and led us both back up the slope to find the worn gully of the pathway.
‘It’s not a good business killing men.’ he said, looking carefully at my face. ‘They had to go. It was a case of us or them. You do understand don’t you, lad.’
I nodded woodenly. ‘What did they want from us? Do you think they knew who we were?’ I asked.
From behind us I could already hear the aggressive calling and frantic fluttering of crows. I didn’t look, but I knew what would be happening.
‘They were well armed, dressed in rags to put suspicion on the wretches of the Leper colony. So they weren’t starving and in need of our supplies.’ said Edmund and patted the pony’s rump. ‘They would have been after the bags and, almost definitely because they knew who we were, would have expected some rich pickings.’ Edmund looked thoughtful. ‘Someone at Bevan’s house must have mentioned us to a friend, or to a customer of course.’
We marched along the spine of land, retracing our earlier route. The smell of wood smoke came fleetingly to my nostrils, and I was reminded of the little village with its fish smoking sheds.
‘Perhaps we could hire a guide amongst the fishermen.’ I suggested, gesturing to the now visible wisps of smoke.
Cautiously, we followed a branch off the main pathway that appeared to run in the right direction. After a short while we descended into the curious looking village to find it, apparently, deserted.
‘They are here, I feel them watching.’ said Edmund. ‘They must be frightened, and for good reason it seems. We will go to that central hut and wait.’ he said, pointing to the largest one.
We didn’t have long to wait before the chestnut coloured leather door was pushed aside and an even darker leathery-brown face peered down at us with sharp mousy eyes and slim pointed nose. His long hair was matted and tied tightly behind his head, it was almost the same colour as the smoke from the fish-smokers.
It was some little while before the rest of the elderly person appeared. He stood, motionless beneath a small porch roof just looking at us. With a careful furtive glance I looked around at the other huts, nothing stirred.
It was very unnerving. Then it occurred to me that this was exactly what it was all about. The old fellow was attempting to gain the mental upper hand should there be any bargaining in the offing. Edmund must have experienced this sort of tactic before, because he also stood perfectly still and looked coolly and impassively ahead. It was all I could do to stop myself fidgeting, I wanted to look around and I desperately needed to scratch my ear.
Eventually the old man came nimbly down the short ladder from his doorway. His mousy features were accentuated by a nervous twitch in one cheek. The itchy ear was getting worse and I wanted to giggle. With a comical pomp he slowly moved across the rough, spiky grass to stand directly before us. With the slightest of movements, he acknowledged us with a bow of his head.
Edmund returned the dip of the head, making sure his was slightly more pronounced, as was demanded by petty protocols. He maintained his carefully aloof attitude however and waited for the old man to begin speaking.
Everything about this elderly villager had thus far put me in mind of a diminutive rodent, but when he spoke he dispelled that illusion. He sounded like an educated, articulate gentleman of an order that is not normally found very close to things mundane. I was immediately intrigued.
‘Good day to you sir.’ he said to Edmund then looking at me added. ‘And to you young master.’
The tone and manner was obviously as much of a surprise to Edmund. He hesitated before answering, then explained who we were and that we were part of Odda’s household travelling to Athelney on the orders of our Sovereign, King Alfred.
The old gentleman’s sparse eyebrows rose at the mention of the King’s name.
‘I have heard of Odda.’ he said and with another curious little bow announced. ‘I am called Geoffrey.’ he gestured to the village around us. ‘This place is known as Comwick and I’m sure you will be very welcome to its simple hospitalities.’
Although Edmund gave no real outward indication, I sensed that he was beginning to get impatient.
‘We have to travel across the marshes, and need an experienced guide. Our last one hasn’t arrived.’ Edmund glanced around. ‘Would any of these folk be of use to us.’
I followed Edmund’s glance and was surprised to see that perhaps, a dozen villagers had gathered around us. I hadn’t heard a thing and Geoffrey had given no indication of their arrival.
‘ Ah...Indeed, many of our people here are capable of taking you to your destination.’ answered the old man. ‘But what would you offer for this service.’
Edmund pulled his stocky frame as tall as it would go. ‘I am only a poor spearman sir. I own nothing, save the sword that you see here and the shield that lies upon our pony.’
Geoffrey turned to me. ‘And what of you, young Ranulf. Son of Odda, if my memory serves me well.’
My surprise must have been plainly evident. ‘Sir, I have nothing of value.’ I said, ‘How do you know of me sir?’
‘For many, many months, we have supplied your father with information regarding the heathen invaders. I have met with him several times.’
‘If you can help us sir, I would promise to speak to my father and tell him of your kindness.’
Abruptly the proud old man turned away from us and called to several of the young men in the group of villagers. They stood in a huddle to discuss the problem. Edmund bent close to my ear.
‘That was well said.’ he smiled and nodded towards the old man. ‘I know of Sir Geoffrey, he used to be a warrior lord, but became sickened by the bloodiness of battle. Just before Aethelred, the King’s late brother died, he gave him this little community into which he might retire.’
After a moment or two, Geoffrey turned back to us,
‘I have two volunteers. But their service is on the condition that the pony stays, and her load is shared between you.’
Edmund was about to protest, but I interrupted. ‘Might I ask why sir?’
‘Certainly young man, it is after all, your beast. The animal will be well treated, and much used by the village to transport our produce to market. But the main reason for leaving the mare is that she would prove a liability on the soft tracks and impossible for the ferries.’
‘Thank you sir. We are happy to do that, and would be pleased to leave as soon as possible.’ said Edmund. ‘Have you ever heard of a fisherman by the name of Dilwyn?’ he asked.
Geoffrey looked quickly around the villagers many of whom shook their heads. ‘No Edmund, we do not know of a fisherman by the name of Dilwyn.’ the old man’s gaze hardened. ‘But it’s not a common name. Many of us have had experience at the hands of a man of that name.’
‘And who might he be?’ asked Edmund.
‘He is the senior Guard Captain of the Lord Sheriff at the Castle Cynwit. A cruel and cunning man. What would you be wanting with him.’
‘Ranulf and I witnessed the death of a man called Dilwyn.’ Edmund quietly answered. ‘A short fellow with a heavy red beard.’
Geoffrey looked about him and held a finger to his lips. ‘Please...say no more. You must leave us. Quickly now, we will help you unload the pony. You can depart before dusk.’