Our guides, Hugh and Paul, who were now our firm friends, left us soon after our arrival at the edge of the hilly ridge known as the Poldens. They hurried off at an easy, loping trot, bound for an island village called Chad’s Isle which was a half-day’s travel towards the Severn Sea and our northern coast. The sun was already well past its highest and they thought they wouldn’t arrive until after dark. We agreed to keep in contact and they would send us news, hopefully of their safety and that of their family’s as soon as they could.
Edmund and I, intending to rest for just a short while, made a comfortable camp under the low-sweeping branches of an ancient beech tree where we spread out our meagre belongings to dry. The modest, crackling fire was the most consoling thing I had seen since leaving our lodging at Bevan’s. It was difficult to realise that we had been travelling now for nearly three days and we should have arrived at Athelney by this morning. As I settled down to rest I idly wondered if there would be any sort of alert, perhaps a search party.
The chill dampness of early morning had folded around us when I opened my eyes. I must have been in a deep sleep.
But something had woken me. My mind was as bright as cold steel and, without moving, I strained my ears for any unusual sound that may have woken me. The fire was long out and, although I could still smell the fragrance of the wood-smoke, it was merely a ring of grey-white ash in those last shadows of night before the dawn.
The countryside seemed unusually silent, even for night-time. I could hear Edmund’s shallow breathing. I wondered if he had been snoring, I couldn’t remember what sound had brought me awake.
I held my breath. There was a definite shuffling sound in the undergrowth beyond the sweeping branches of our tree. Perhaps it was an animal, maybe a deer or an angry old boar. Trying hard not to move, I peered into the gloom to see if I could spot the beast.
There it was again, a scraping shuffle. Closer, and this time, from almost directly behind me. It was moving about. Or maybe there was more than one.
Slowly I reached out my hand towards the dark shape to my left,
‘Edmund.’ I hissed quietly. ‘Wake-up.’
‘What is it?’ he asked lifting his head, an edge of annoyance in his voice.
‘There’s something...’
There was a rushing sound and a soft thump. The sudden gush of hot pain in my arm halted my voice and left me choking for breath.
Fascinated, I gazed in horror at the still quivering shaft with its fletching of snow white goose feathers that had pinioned my arm to the ground.
The pale, grey-violet mist of dawn seemed full of hunched and darkly scurrying figures. A slow, honey-thick, trickle of dark blood dribbled down my hand. Out of the failing gloom came a harsh voice.
‘Be still, or the next shaft will take your miserable life.’
My heart sunk,
‘The sheriff and his men, how can it be ?’ I whispered hoarsely. Edmund didn’t answer. I could sense his eyes straining into the pre-dawn light.
My left hand was growing numb.
Heavily cloaked and hooded figures gathered around us, their polished blades threatening. Ghostly plumes of white breath showed on the chilled air giving them an ethereal appearance. A hand reached down from behind me and gripped the arrow,
‘Good shooting, Eric.’ a voice chuckled.
Without warning, the hand ripped the arrow out. My whole arm felt as though it had been pierced by a red hot iron. A scream escaped my clenched teeth and I carefully cradled my arm and wrist with my right hand.
‘He is naught but a boy. Leave him be !’ Edmund’s voice was a snarl.
‘Silence, pig!’ a heavy, armoured glove slashed downwards across his face and blood started from a cut below Edmund’s eye. ‘The boy can watch your performance with the rope before his own turn. So teach him well.’
The educated, aristocratic voice had come from within the cowl of a fine woollen cloak that was distinguished from its dark, heavy brothers by its quality and almost startling shade of pale cream. The Lordly figure made an almost imperceptible gesture and a sturdy rope was thrown over a bough of a neighbouring oak. A heavy noose swayed menacingly in the morning’s gathering light.
My head swam, surely all this had to be a nightmare. I made to sit up but the stab of pain from my arm made me gasp. Edmund reached across and gingerly, lifted the edge of my now sodden tunic sleeve.
‘Put up your sword.’ Edmund shrugged aside the threatening edge that was poised by his belly and rose to his knees. ‘The lad needs to have his wound bound to staunch the flow of blood.’
‘The wound is of no consequence, you will both be beyond this world before full daybreak.’ The leader glanced towards the pale grey of the eastern sky and pushed Edmund off balance with his boot. ‘Bring him.’ he ordered, moving to one side.
The look in Edmund’s face reminded me of the expression I had seen on the other side of the marshes. He was winding himself into a violent fury. Two pairs of hands grabbed his shoulders through his heavy travelling cloak in which he’d wrapped himself for the night. With a whirl of lightning movement, Edmund shrugged out of the heavy garment and rolled towards the group’s leader. His foot caught the tall mans leg at knee height and brought him neatly down into his waiting embrace. The short stabbing knife was already drawn, the point threatening the Nobleman’s white throat as his hood fell back to show shoulder length blond hair. With his free hand, Edmund twisted the man’s arm behind his arched back and hauled him to his feet.
‘You are not Morfann!’ shouted Edmund.
‘And you sir are correct. Indeed I’m not.’ he answered confidently. ‘Take your hands off me this instant.’
Edmund hesitated. The bowman, in one smooth movement, notched another shaft into position and took an elaborately careful aim in my direction. I could feel a tingling sensation at a spot on my chest where I imagined the iron point would strike. I looked from the assured boldness of the archer to the wild appearance of a helpless Edmund.
Slowly, reluctantly Edmund relaxed his grip on the tall gentleman and he moved away. Two of his men quickly stepped forward, disarmed Edmund and held him securely, one at each side.
‘As I have already said. I am not Morfann.’ continued the gentleman, stepping away. ‘He is only a bigger rogue than you two by virtue of his tenuous position.’
Feeling decidedly light-headed, I awkwardly got to my feet and stood shivering, gently cradling the now painfully burning and throbbing arm. If these were not Sheriff’s men then who were they. But more importantly, there must be a case of mistaken identity, for it was impossible that they could have any quarrel with us. The same thoughts were obviously occurring to the commander of this disciplined band.
‘I assume then, that you are fugitives from the wrath of Cynwit’s resident Sheriff.’ using the point of Edmund’s slim bladed poniard, he lifted the warrior’s face toward the brightening dawn sky. ‘You don’t look like the regular run of poacher or deserter.’
‘Deserter !’ sputtered Edmund angrily. A bright wildness returned to the glittering expression in his eyes. ‘My Lord. Think whatever you may. But be assured that I am no cowardly deserter!’ his eyebrows hooded his glare. ‘I am a King’s man and, until we were rudely attacked, we were travelling to Athelney to join his court.’
The tall gentleman looked carefully at each of us in turn,
‘Who are you and from where do you travel?’ he asked.
‘I am Edmund, sent by the Aelderman Odda to bring his son.’ Edmund, still held by his arms, bowed his head in my direction. ‘Ranulf, to the right Royal Court of our King.’
The commander looked towards the bowman, who un-knocked his arrow.
‘Leave him.’ he ordered the two guards holding Edmund. ‘Eric give aid to the lad.’
With a few more curt orders a fire was made, food prepared and the rope, with its dreadful noose, was removed.
‘I am Osric, Aelderman and also the King’s Huntsman, Keeper of these forests. Please accept my apologies.’ Osric bowed and fussily brushed at a patch of dirt on his spotless leather breeches. ‘Would you have any proof of your claim?’ expectantly he glanced from the still smouldering and menacing Edmund to myself.
‘I have sir.’ I answered, my voice trembled, but sounded bolder than I felt. I fumbled at my throat for the golden ring. Beams of early morning sun shone through the branches and glinted on the smooth gold surface as I held it for him to see.
The tall man glanced at the emblem on the crown of the ring and nodded.
‘How is the hand?’ he asked, but looked to his bowman, Eric, for the answer.
‘A clean wound your lordship. It will undoubtedly heal well but I think I should treat it further with some light pitch when we return.’
He lifted my sticky, torn sleeve of my jerkin to display his handiwork. He had placed a pad of some coarse, pale green moss at each side of my arm and bound the area with a strip of grey cloth, a crimson stain was already spreading through the binding.
‘Clean or not. It damned well hurts.’ I brushed irritably at an escaped tear with my good sleeve.
‘An accident that could easily have become a tragedy.’ Osric shook his head thoughtfully. ‘Since yesterday we have been tracking a band of poachers that have regularly been taking the King’s deer. Clever fellows they are. Their tracks led us directly to your camp. We thought we had them at last.’
Looking around, I noticed their weary, lined faces and the muddy boots.
‘Their trail will be cold now, and it’s certain that they will have covered it well after leading us to you.’ he continued, stretching to ease his tired back. ‘We will return with you to Athelney and guide you through the forest.’
A murmur of satisfaction passed around the men at the news. Before the sun was high enough to peep over the hedges in the valley below us, we had packed our belongings and were heading upwards, between the lichen dripping trunks of the majestic, old broad-leaved forest. Birds twittered in the spangles of sunshine and the whole place was immersed in the warm, fertile odour of undisturbed, fecund soil.
‘How do you feel young Ranny ?’ asked Edmund quietly, his eyebrows arched with a worried concern.
‘I’ll be all right.’ I answered. But by now the pain from my arm was beginning to probe across my shoulders and press into a space behind my eyes. I felt far from alright, woodenly, I placed one foot in front of the other, oblivious to my surroundings or progress.
Edmund stayed very close to me and, as we reached the crest of a ridge, he caught my burning body an instant before it hit the root-riven ground.