Saxon: The Book of Dreams (Saxon 1) (38 page)

T
HERE
WAS
NO
REARGUARD
, as it turned out. The three of us limped out on to the
main road just as the first glow of sunrise seeped into the sky. In the cold light we found the treasure carts gone. The area around the shepherd’s hut where we had previously camped was
strewn with the usual rubbish left behind by retreating soldiers. The place was abandoned.

Wearily I sat down on a roadside boulder. My knees were sore and bruised and the palms of my hands skinned raw from the number of times I had fallen.

‘Back on your feet!’ Hroudland hissed at me. The gash on the side of his face where the eagle had clawed him was crusted with dried blood. ‘Gerin and the others can’t
have gone far and the Saracen skirmishers will be here soon.’

I rose slowly. Every part of my body ached.

‘Over here!’ Berenger shouted. He had gone across to the shepherd’s hut in search of something to eat.

The count and I joined him. Lying in the dust behind the hut was the Vascon shepherd. His throat had been cut. The front of his wolfskin jacket lay open. Someone had searched the corpse for
anything worth stealing. Our dispirited soldiers had been reduced to corpse robbers.

We heard the clatter of horses’ hooves. Someone was riding at speed down the road from the direction of the pass. Berenger and Hroudland drew their swords and ran to take up positions
where they could defend themselves. With only a dagger in my belt, I considered whether to take refuge inside the hut but thought better of it. I did not want to be accused of cowardice.

The rider came in view. He had a plain red shield on his arm and Hroudland’s roan war stallion on a leading rein. It was Gerin.

‘I thought you might come back,’ he called out. ‘We don’t have much time.’

He tossed the stallion’s reins to Hroudland and leaned down, extending an arm towards me so that I could scramble up behind him.

‘How far ahead are the others?’ Hroudland demanded, settling himself into the saddle of the roan, and then hoisting Berenger up on to the crupper.

‘Five or six miles. Eggihard ordered the carts to move on as soon as the broken wheel was fixed.’

We set off at a canter, the sound of the hooves echoing off steep rocky slopes. Hroudland had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

‘I told you to make him wait for our return.’

Gerin snorted.

‘Carolus sent Count Anselm back to find out what the delay was all about. The king is worried about the gap between the main army and the last of the carts. Anselm accepted
Eggihard’s suggestion that the carters should travel through the night.’

Hroudland cursed both Eggihard and Anselm. The latter was count of the palace and could act with the king’s authority.

‘Where’s Carolus now?’ he called to Gerin.

‘Already through the main pass. He’s taken the main cavalry with him and intends to push on to face the Saxons.’

The road was rising steadily, one bend after the other. I was glad I was no longer on foot. I doubted I had enough strength left to have made the climb. I twisted around, looking back over my
shoulder, trying to recall what I had seen when coming in the opposite direction with Wali Husayn. The rocks and slopes all looked alike, featureless and forbidding.

Only when we reached the treasure carts did I know where we were. Up to my left I recognized the rocky slope on which I had killed the Vascon slinger who had ambushed me.

The four treasure carts were halted at the place where Husayn and his men had stopped to say their noonday prayers. Here the road widened out, and there was enough space for the drivers and
their oxen to pause and rest. Their escort of some thirty heavily armed cavalrymen was standing around, looking bored and impatient, waiting for the journey to continue. I wondered which one of
them had murdered the Vascon shepherd.

Hroudland sprang down from his horse and strode off to confront Eggihard and a tubby, balding man in an expensive-looking war coat of chain mail that extended right down to cover his ample
thighs. I guessed he was Count Anselm.

Hroudland was furious, and his voice carried clearly.

‘Where are the rest of my men? I left fifty of them as guards. I can see barely a score of them now,’ he snarled.

Eggihard shrugged. He seemed to accept that Hroudland had a right to take charge again.

‘Count Anselm brought more soldiers with him. I relieved the others, and they’ve gone ahead.’ He treated Hroudland to a look full of malice. ‘While you were away on your
private escapade, we outstripped any Saracen pursuit by travelling through the night. In a few more miles we’ll be through the pass and back on Frankish soil.’

Hroudland glowered.

I had to get away from the incessant bickering. I slid down from the back of Gerin’s mount and picked my way up the slope and sat down on the exact same spot where I had written up my
notes for Alcuin. The rock was already warm from the sun. It was going to be a hot day.

I sat quietly, gazing toward the plains in Hispania just visible in the distant haze. Somewhere out there was Osric. I wondered whether he would spend the rest of his life in Zaragoza as an
official of the wali’s court or whether he would eventually find his way back to the city of his birth. It was strange that fate allowed him a choice, while I could not return to my own
homeland as long as King Offa ruled. Thinking about Offa reminded me that Gerin had once served the King of Mercia. Looking down towards the road I could see Gerin with his red shield slung on his
back. He was chatting to one of the troopers. Previously I had suspected him of being behind the attempts to have me killed. Now that seemed unlikely. He had been just as quick to get me out of
danger as to extricate Hroudland and Berenger.

My gaze drifted back to the mountain opposite me, on the far side of the road. The slope was a jumble of boulders and broken rock with an occasional ledge and overhang. There were no trees or
shrubs to add a touch of green. Everything was grey, from the darkest shade of slate to the colour of cinders left in a cold hearth. I slid my eyepatch up on my forehead. A speck of grit had worked
its way under it and was lodged in the corner of my eye. It pricked painfully and made my eye water. I rubbed the eye to clear it, and before putting the patch back in place I blinked several times
to clear my vision. Perhaps because I was using both eyes I saw the far hillside much more clearly. A dark shape that I had thought was a boulder was nothing of the sort. It was a man. He was
sitting motionless, his clothing the exact colour of the rocks around him; even his head was swathed in grey material. He was watching the ox carts on the road below him. After I had spotted the
first man, it was much easier to see the others. They were spread out across the slope, waiting and watching, not moving. There must have been a dozen or more. My heart thumped wildly, and I
replaced my eye patch. Slowly I got to my feet and began to descend the slope, careful not to hurry.

‘There are men lying in wait on the slopes above us,’ I said under my breath to Hroudland, forcing myself to act as though everything was normal.

He did not even glance upward.

‘They’ll be the Vascons that Berenger saw earlier. Any idea how many?’

‘At least a dozen, maybe twice that number.’

‘There’ll be many more waiting at whatever place they’ve selected for an ambush,’ he said calmly. He beckoned to Gerin to come to join us.

‘Patch tells me that there are Vascon watchers on the slopes above us,’ he told Gerin. ‘Is there someone who might know where their attack is likely to take place?’

Gerin signalled to one of the guards to join us. The man’s battered face with its broken nose seemed familiar. I recalled him as the Burgundian sergeant I had seen marching at the head of
his troop on the way to Hispania. He had his short-handled axe slung from his belt. I wondered why he was now a mounted soldier and what had happened to the rest of his unit.

‘What’s your name?’ Hroudland asked him.

‘Godomar, my Lord.’

‘You came with Count Anselm?’

‘I did, my lord.’ The man spoke with an unnaturally husky voice and there was the scar of an old wound on his throat.

‘So you’ve travelled this road a couple of times,’ said Hroudland. ‘If you were to set an ambush, where would it be?’

‘About half a mile ahead, my lord,’ the Burgundian replied without hesitation. ‘The road runs through a small ravine, low cliffs on either side. Ideal spot.’

‘Any way we can avoid it?’

Godomar shook his head.

‘Gerin, I’m putting you in charge of the vanguard,’ said Hroudland briskly, ‘with Godomar as your second in command. You’ll have ten men.’ He sounded
purposeful, almost eager. ‘Expect an attack. It’s likely to come from both sides – arrows and slingstones followed by a charge.’

The Burgundian’s eyes flicked to where Anselm stood with Eggihard. He was worried about taking orders directly from Hroudland.

The count noted his hesitation.

‘Godomar, the king appointed me to command the rearguard,’ he said firmly.

The veteran raised his hand in a salute and was about to leave when Hroudland warned, ‘The Vascons will try to block the road with boulders. Tell your men that they will have to clear away
any obstacle. The treasure carts must get through, at whatever cost.’

As the Burgundian went off to carry out Hroudland’s instruction, Gerin’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile.

‘Cavalry men won’t like getting off their horses in order to roll boulders around.’

‘By the time the Vascons have finished with us, we’ll be lucky if there are enough horses left for anyone to ride,’ retorted Hroudland grimly. He was in his element, issuing
orders. ‘Berenger, I’m putting you and Patch on either side of the carts. I’ll assign five troopers to each of you. The enemy will try to cripple the draught animals. Your job is
to protect the oxen.’

‘Where will you be?’ I asked him. My horse, the bay gelding, was tethered at the tail of a cart. I had left my sword for safekeeping with the carter.

‘At the rear with the rest of the troopers. That’s where the Vascons will concentrate their attack.’

The halt was over. The drovers were fussing around their oxen, getting ready to move off. Godomar was talking quietly to several of the troopers and they were mounting up and taking their
position ahead of the carts.

Eggihard and Anselm sauntered across, making it obvious from their casual manner that they did not care much for Hroudland or his leadership.

Hroudland allowed his irritation to show.

‘It’s time you were mounted up. I’m assigning you to the rearguard,’ he snapped at them. He deliberately turned his back and put a foot into the stirrup of his roan,
ready to climb into the saddle.

Eggihard paused for a moment. Then he observed in a voice loud enough for the nearest soldiers to hear him, ‘I would have despatched a messenger to the king by now.’

Hroudland’s back went rigid. He removed his foot from the stirrup and swung round to glower at Eggihard.

‘A messenger to say what?’ he demanded icily.

‘To ask the army to turn back and assist.’

Two red spots of anger appeared on Hroudland’s cheeks.

‘I have not the slightest intention of running to the king asking for help,’ he snapped.

Eggihard raised an eyebrow insolently.

‘And if we are outnumbered, what then?’

‘We fight our way through. That’s what the king expects of us.’ Hroudland pointedly allowed his gaze to settle on Anselm’s bulging waistline. ‘Unless you and your
companion no longer have the stomach for it.’

Anselm looked as though he would explode with anger.

‘I’ll hold my own against any man who cares to go against me,’ he spluttered.

‘Then I suggest you reserve your fighting prowess for the coming battle,’ snarled Hroudland. Without bothering to put a foot into the stirrup, he vaulted into the saddle. A moment
later he was trotting off, shouting encouragement at the ox drovers, encouraging them to pick up the pace.

*

Riding beside the treasure carts brought back memories of the days when Osric and I had tramped along behind Arnulf’s eel wagon. There was the familiar farmyard smell from
the oxen, and the four heavily laden carts rumbled along at the same sedate walking pace. The road surface was very rough, and their solid wheels juddered and shook as they rolled over small rocks
or dropped into pot holes. Arnulf had handled his well-trained oxen by himself, but here in the mountains each cart needed two men, one walking beside the animals, the other seated on the cart and
armed with a whip to urge the animals on. The axles worn down by months of travel produced a continuous, high-pitched squealing that announced our presence to anyone within half a mile and set
one’s teeth on edge.

It was unnerving to know that the Vascon sentinels were watching our every step. I found myself wondering how often they had tracked the progress of other travellers labouring along the same
narrow road. Perhaps this was how the stone platter and the little chalice had come into their possession, looted from victims of an ambush sometime in the distant past. I had no doubt that the
Vascons knew about the ransom that Wali Husayn had paid. The bags of silver would be sufficient enticement for an attack, and Hroudland’s brutal sack of Pamplona had given the Vascons a
powerful reason to wreak bloody revenge.