The three men put down their packs of twine-bound driftwood and peered at the body that lay half-in and half-out of the small surf of the cove. The tallest of the trio stooped over the sodden figure and rolled him over onto his back.
‘Are he one o’we?’ said Bert, the short dumpy one nervously and he took a step back, adding. ‘I don’t want no truck wi’ them heathen.’
‘I dunno, Bert. He’s not got the wild red hair of them there Viking’s. And look at that pretty sword, with its jewels and bright metal.’ said the tall man.
‘Ah...Then he must be somthin a bit special then Des’. Look at the size o’that ring...That’s gold, that is.’ said Bert moving forward and pointing to the white fingers of the man’s hand that were clutched tightly around a small cask.
‘Out of the way you two.’ said the third, a wiry young man who was the son of the local verger. ‘The important thing, surely, is to find out if the poor wretch is alive and give him our help.’
‘Get out, Dan. Anyone can see he’s done for.’ sneered the tall Des.
‘My name is Daniel, as you well know Desmond.’ he said quietly, kneeling by the man’s side.
Daniel lifted the man’s eyelids and held his cheek against the man’s mouth.
‘He’s still breathing.’ Daniel said excitedly. ‘Quick, give me a hand to pull him out of the water. We must warm him.’
‘Let’s take ‘im to the Inn. Set ‘im in front of the fire.’ said Bert, thinking more about the ale that might be had, than the health of the half-drowned survivor.
‘That’s a good idea Albert.’ said Daniel. ‘Especially from you. But most of all because I heard father say that the King’s man would be there today to collect the hidage. And if anyone will, he’ll know what to do.’
Desmond cut away the barrel that had been tied to the man.
‘Hey, there’s somat in it.’ he said, giving it a shake.
‘Well, best bring it along then.’ said Daniel. ‘It must be something important to the poor fellow.’
With one of the friends at each shoulder and Bert, a leg under each arm, coming along behind, they made their slow way up to the village and into the smoky parlour of the Cove Inn.
‘Make way there.’ Daniel called to the few customers that were sheltering from the dying storm. And amidst the curious eyes, they set down their burden on the scorched and greasy hearth rug.
‘Kick some life into that smoking pile of ash, will you Albert.’ said Daniel.
‘What have we here then young Dan?’ asked Greg, the landlord.
He was a short bald man with bandy legs and a body shape that had come from the too regular sampling of his brew.
Quickly, Daniel told him the story while he threw some more logs onto the flickering fire. Most of the customers gathered around to see the survivor, but one man remained in the shadows of his settle to the side of the hearth. A sleeve hung emptily at his side and his face, partially hidden in the blue shadows, was deformed by scarring that had blinded one eye and left him with a grotesque, twisted expression.
The stranger on the floor groaned and shivered violently. He snapped open his eyes and gazed fearfully about at the sea of curious faces. The response was as unexpected as it was unpredictable. He hunched his knees and pushed himself away from the crowding faces. With his back against a wall, he gained his footing and, wobbling slightly, waved the sword that seemed to have suddenly appeared in his hand.
‘Oh dear me no. Now, good sir.’ soothed the landlord. ‘We’ll have none of that in here. You must have had a nasty knock, but you’ll soon be right.’
‘You’re British.’ the stranger croaked painfully.
‘Aye that we are. Put up your blade, you’re among friends here.’
‘Aye friends that he betrayed.’ came a stern, voice from the shadows of the settle. ‘I know who ye are, you traitorous whelp. You’re Ranulf son of Odda. What ran off with the heathen. You are no friend of mine or any other loyal Britain.’ noisily, he spat at Ranulf’s feet.
‘Come now, Eli.’ said the Landlord sternly. ‘Your one eye isn’t the best and, on times, it has been known to dream.’
‘Oh I’d know ‘im anywhere. Fought alongside him at the battle of Combwich Pill didn’t I.’ Eli painfully stood up and shuffled to the centre of the room. ‘Well, don’t take my word for it. Ask ‘im. Go on Greg, ask ‘im.’ Eli gasped and fell to coughing.
Greg moved towards Ranulf and his dark, piggy eyes focused piercingly on the young strangers face. ‘Well my lad did you hear that? What do you say then.’
‘It’s as he says. Except I’m no traitor. I was taken prisoner and used as a slave.’ Ranulf mumbled, his voice crackling in his dry, salt burned throat.
Eli stopped his hacking cough and supporting himself on a stick he pulled himself upright. He spat into the flames and turned his single bright, bulging eye on the trembling young man. ‘See how he is, why he even carries ‘is own old sword. Whoever ‘eard of that then? A slave what carried a sword and had gems on ‘is fingers.’ Eli said and rounded on Daniel.
‘You’d ‘ave done your country a service young ‘un, if’n you’d left him fur the gulls an’ the fish.’
Once more he doubled up, his body wracked by another fit of coughing.
‘Eli may be right. But it’s not for the likes of us to say. The King’s man is here soon, let him give fair trial.’ said Daniel, his voice squeaking as he struggled to be heard above a tide of angry chatter.
The word had gone round the village like a dose of pox and the Cove Inn was quickly full to bursting. Nearly everyone was there, what with the storm, no one had been out fishing or tending the fields and this event caught everyone’s attention. Everybody knew of someone that had fought at the recent, glorious battle of Eddington and most of them, so they said, had actually fought alongside Alfred himself. So it was with a righteously loyal fever that the folk rushed to see the spectacle that had arrived in the Inn’s parlour.
‘I think you’d best let me have that sword.’ said Greg. He stepped forward and plucked it out of Ranulf’s weak grasp as easy as if he’d taken an apple from a baby.
‘I say we save the King’s man some time and hang him now!’ called an angry voice.
‘Well I say you wait!’ shouted Greg above the din. ‘It’s my house that he’s in and you ruffians must wait for the King’s decision.’
‘Aw, get out of our way old man.’ came a shouted reply from the mob and a scuffle broke out. The Landlord was pushed aside and Ranulf was grabbed by the crowd and dragged outside.
In the confusion a wide eyed Daniel rushed home to fetch his father.
‘There, Gregory. We’re outside your damned house now, so don’t try to stop us.’ wheezed Eli.
A rope appeared and was slung over the bough of a nearby beech tree. Ranulf was half dragged across to it, his shirt and tunic ripped away and the rough noose put over his head and tightened about his throat. Callused hands knotted a cord, tightly about his wrists.
‘Standby to haul him up, you men.’ called the gleeful Eli, and he turned to thrust his face into Ranulf’s. ‘There’ll be no long drop for you, you filthy traitor. Nor the honour of a sword.’
Ranulf gagged on the stink of the man, his breath smelled like an open sewer, and his mind raced for something to say. But he realised that nothing was going to stop events here. Short of a miracle.
The crowd was solid behind the crippled veteran called Eli, and he was not going to be diverted from its purpose.
His throat felt raw, and even though he tried, Ranulf couldn’t raise his voice much above a croaky whisper. He had so much to say. He had to be heard.
‘Give him a drink and let him speak his last words.’ said Greg kindly and handed a mug of ale to the gleeful leader.
Eli took a swig from the mug and dashed the rest into Ranulf’s face. ‘He’s got naught to say that good, honest folks would want to hear.’ he yelled and was given a cheer of approval from the mob.
‘Get on with it.’ came a shout.
‘You’re cacklin’ like a bunch of old women.’ chimed in another voice.
‘Right then men.’ said Eli and dramatically raised his hand in the air. ‘Take up the rope and when I drops my hand heave away smartly till the knot meets the branch.’
The crowd, all their eyes and attention on the tormented victim, was silent. Nobody, except for Daniel and the gangly verger, noticed the arrival of a well dressed soldier on a richly harnessed horse.