Shadowland (9 page)

As they approached, one of the men looked up and
waved to them, then spoke to someone they couldn’t see on the other side of the
wall. They stopped where they were and a woman came out wiping her hands on a
large cloth. Smiling, she beckoned them over.

‘Come in, ’
t’aint
nothing
to be feared of here in Witney, not for children that is, anyhow. Come… come.’

Usher bit back the retort that they weren’t all children
and pushed the others forward.

‘Let’s go in, she seems friendly enough,’ he
muttered. As they walked forward, he offered a smile to the woman and raised
his voice. ‘We were told by Meryn Link to come here, and then to ask for Egan
Dale. We…’ He didn’t get a chance to finish as the woman came forward and
gathered the small group of children into her arms; the girls immediately began
sobbing again.

‘Oh, you poor little things, where did you come
from?’ She looked up at Usher. ‘I’m Bell Dale, wife to Egan Dale and I know
Meryn Link well enough; too well, I’m afraid. Where is the old rogue?’ Without
waiting for an answer, she started into the village past the workers, guiding
the girls protectively in front of her. ‘We can speak once we have some food
inside you, but for now, welcome to Witney.’

Chapter Five – Witney
.

‘
Nooooo
!
No… no… please,
it hurts!’

‘Oh, keep still, boy! You act like you’ve never
suffered a haircut before!’ Bell Dale pushed the bowl back onto Cal’s head and continued
cutting at the hair sprouting out at the sides.

Witney had offered the security they needed and now,
after three days, they were rested and well fed. Bell had stitched the tear that the wolf had
made in Usher’s trousers, and offered a replacement for his tunic. They were
now comfortable enough with the Dale family that Bell had insisted on them bathing and having
haircuts. The bathing had been cold but fun as the boys splashed about in the
river, rubbing off the worst of the dirt that covered them with handfuls of
fine sand. The haircut was the last of her demands.

‘Keep it washed and short and you’ll attract fewer
lice,’ she had advised them, and they felt obliged to comply. It was too dark
in the longhouse to cut hair, so they had all trooped outside where there was
plenty of light. As the stool was placed ready and the knives sharpened, the
people of the village realised there was entertainment to be had, and a large
group began to gather, eager to witness the spectacle, and of course to offer
advice and comments.

‘
Owwww
!’ Cal
tried to pull away again but Bell
placed a firm grip on his shoulder to restrain him. He turned around and glared
at her and then across at Usher as he sat grinning close-by. ‘It isn’t even a
sharp knife,’ he moaned. ‘
Owww
, that hurts,
Bell!’

‘Spirits, boy, you complain worse than anyone I’ve
ever met. Hold still and it will be over… all the… quicker… there!’ She pulled
the bowl away from Cal’s
head and stood back to regard her handiwork. ‘A good straight line all round,
and now your hair won’t bother your eyes none… next!’ Cal leapt from the stool and smiled as a
slightly less cheerful Usher shuffled forward.

‘That knife will be all the blunter now,’ muttered Cal, with a grin. ‘It’s
going to hurt worse than a sore tooth!’ Usher sat on the stool and watched
nervously as Bell
drew nearer with the bowl, then brightened at the sound of voices approaching.

‘Well, it looks like that old rascal Meryn Link has
finally found his way out of the forest,’ said Bell, peering between the huts. Usher leapt
up, knocking the bowl to the floor, and followed by an angry shout from Bell, dashed towards the
old archer who had just appeared accompanied by Eden Dale.

‘Meryn! You made it out of the forest. What
happened? Did you get the Picts? Are they chasing you? Are you… ’

‘Slow down, boy, give yourself a chance to draw
breath and me the chance to greet my friends.’ Meryn ruffled Usher’s untidy mop
of hair, unaware it had just been granted a temporary reprieve from Bell’s bowl and knife.
‘Ah, and there she is, one of my dearest friends, Goodwife Bell. Why, Bell, you look younger
than ever. One day you shall have to tell us what spirit you keep trapped in
your pocket that grants you… ’

‘Oh, be still with that chatter, you old fool,’
chided Bell.
‘Bring yourself inside and we’ll try and put some meat on those sorry bones…
and you,’ she wagged a finger at Usher, ‘don’t you think you’ve missed out on a
haircut. We’ll be getting round to you soon enough.’ They all trailed inside
the longhouse with Cal
shaking his head at the luck of Usher’s escape.

Inside, as the boys pushed past the door-skin, a
large group of villagers were already settling themselves about the central
fire, eager to hear Meryn’s news. Bell
passed Meryn a hunk of rough bread and set a bowl of barley porridge in front
of him. The porridge had been cooking for some time and was thick and steaming.
Everyone in the room heard Meryn’s stomach growling as he cupped the bowl in
his hands, closed his eyes, and savoured the heavy aroma appreciatively. There
was a respectful silence as the old archer dipped in his bread and used it to
scoop some of the mixture into his mouth. Then he smiled his thanks at Bell who merely nodded and
took her place next to her husband.

‘Well, I led them Picts a merry dance,’ began Meryn,
after a few moments and a second mouthful of porridge. ‘Killed two others, but
there’s still a few of them out there. Don’t think they’ll be coming this way
though.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and belched softly. ‘I
led them south.’ He glanced over at Eden.
‘The lads told you what happened to their village, and about the Picts, didn’t
they?’

Eden
nodded. ‘Aye, they did, but
they had no idea why any of it took place. Do you?’

Meryn shook his head, his mouth too full to answer.
‘What news do you have of Vortigern?’ he asked eventually. ‘Is it true he’s
gathering the tribes to keep back the invaders?’ He quickly scooped up more
porridge as the village reeve glanced across at Usher and Cal.

‘Before I go into news of Vortigern, maybe I should
ask our young friends if they know anything of what’s happening in our land. I
suppose you know that the Romans have all but gone?’

Usher nodded. ‘We rarely saw Romans in our village,
it was too remote, but we heard they were leaving. Then we saw signs of
deserted buildings close to where Meryn was living, but we don’t really know
much of what’s happening.’

‘I can’t say anyone really knows much,’ said Eden, ‘except that the
Romans have been slowly leaving for years. They’ve been keeping their local
governors in place as long as they can, but the last Roman troops marched out
of this area around the time we were sowing crops and celebrating the Beltane
festival. Since then we’ve been hearing of Saxon raiding parties attacking the
coastal villages. Word is that they’re daring to come further inland.’ He
nodded towards the door. ‘That’s why we’ve been building the wall; just in case
they take a fancy to raiding Witney.’

‘They’ll not get in here,’ said someone from the
back. Other comments followed and Eden
had to stand after a few moments to appeal for quiet.

‘Anyhow, we have the Saxons, and now it would appear
Picts as well, troubling our people.’ He turned his attention back to the boys.
‘For many years, our leader under the Romans was King Constantine. Constantine was a good
and fair man, that, word has it, was murdered by a Pict assassin.’

Usher and Cal exchanged glances at the mention of another
murdering Pict, and there were more angry comments thrown about in the room. Eden raised a hand in
another appeal for quiet before continuing.

‘In the place of King Constantine, Vortigern took
power in the name of Constantine’s sons, which many thought a little strange
seeing as the druids were accusing him at the time of arranging poor
Constantine’s death. Anyhow, as a king, Vortigern is neither liked nor trusted,
and most that go to join him do so for our land, not for the man claiming to be
it’s ruler.’

‘What of others with more of a right to be called
king?’ Cal
asked, and Eden Dale smiled.

‘A good question, young Cal, and that honour would go to King
Constantine’s son, Ambrosius. He would have grown to be a man now, but the
druids spirited him away just as Vortigern took the throne. We know not where
he is, nor if he would ever come to lead us. In the absence of Ambrosius, most
agree that Vortigern is leader of the tribes, and however reluctantly, it is to
him that we must rally if we want to rid our land of the Saxons.’

The discussion continued until long after dark. The
current problems were presented and debated, and opinions discussed on
everything from the possible locations of Ambrosius, to the truth behind the
reports of invasion and, of course, the murderous nature of Picts was
considered and what they were doing so far south.

Clarise and the other young ones had retired to
their sleeping furs and Cal and Usher were both yawning when Meryn finally
declared his intention to join Vortigern despite believing him the wrong man.

‘His is the only force being formed to push these
invaders back into the sea, and hopefully trying to keep those blue-painted
murderers back behind their wall. I’ll be leaving in the morning to lend my bow
and do what I can.’

‘You could stay here and help defend Witney,’ said Eden, and there were
several calls for him to do exactly that, but Meryn shook his head.

‘The problem is bigger than just Witney. I’ll go to
find Vortigern and take the fight to the Saxons.’

Later, as Usher huddled next to Cal in their pile of sleeping furs, they
listened to the conversations that continued by the fire. The stories of battle
and daring becoming more and more unbelievable as the mead and ale jugs
emptied. The calls of disbelief and laughter that followed each tale got louder
with each telling. They heard several of the men claim they would be leaving
with Meryn to join with Vortigern and it appeared that quite a band would be
heading out the next day.

‘What are
we
going to do, Usher?’ Cal
asked, in a whisper. ‘We could go with Meryn, but what about Clarise?’

‘I’m sure she could stay here with Bell,’ replied Usher. ‘But for us, I agree,
it’s going to be more fun going with Meryn, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah,’ said Cal,
in a sleepy voice, ‘much more fun.’ They continued listening to the men’s
conversation until their dreams placed a blanket on their minds.

****

The
tall Briton walked through the crowd of children, stopping from time to time to
peer down at a frightened snotty face, his expression holding a growing look of
disgust and irritation. He was clutching his long brown robe about him, clearly
concerned that it might become soiled should it touch any of the young
captives.

When he had first entered the large room, several of
the smaller children had seen he was neither Saxon nor Pict, and had run over
to him, wailing and sobbing, begging him to help take them back to their
families. However, as they swarmed forward, the two Saxon warriors who
accompanied him had beaten them back with sticks and the Briton had done
nothing to stop them. The children now realised that this man was as evil as
the others were and they were keeping their distance.

‘No, no, no!’ spat the Briton angrily. ‘None of
these is child to Constantine.
Are you people listening to the descriptions given to you? Are you?’ He stepped
back as the Saxon warrior he had been addressing moved towards him
threateningly. ‘Very well, I’m sure you are… really,’ he blurted hurriedly,
holding a pale hand against the warrior’s chest. ‘Take me to Hengist, this is a
waste of my time and we have plans to discuss. Get rid of them all.’

‘Get rid of them?’ questioned the warrior looking
confused. ‘Kill them, you mean, or let them go?’

For a moment, the Briton appeared almost as puzzled
as the Saxon. ‘I don’t care
what
you
do with them,’ he spat. ‘I don’t want them, do whatever you wish!’ Wrapping his
robes even tighter about him, he pushed past to the door into the blessed
relief of fresh air.

Once outside he took a deep cleansing breath and
walked away from the villa, glad to have the feel of earth beneath his feet
once more.

Walking through overgrown gardens that until
recently would have been lovingly tended by Roman-trained gardeners, he was
escorted away from the buildings towards a hastily erected roundhouse. However,
just as he was about to enter, he was rudely shoved aside as someone from
inside made to leave. A protest for this rough behaviour had just formed on his
tongue, when he saw who had shoved him, and he thought better of it. The
warrior leaving, dressed from head to foot in black, was the unmistakable
figure of Horsa, brother to Hengist the leader of the invading Saxons and a man
whose reputation for violence was enough to cause most men to avoid him.

Laughter from within the building followed the huge
warrior, and Horsa turned back with an angry glare towards those inside. The
Briton stood back and tried to blend in with the scenery.

‘Do not mock me, brother. I round up your children
and bring them in, so this… creature,’ his gaze flicked across to the Briton
then back inside the hut, ‘… can pick them over. Nobody escapes me for long. My
Pict dogs are plentiful and I shall unleash more into the Weald to track down
these puppies, but first, I will find this archer and kill him myself, and then...
then I want to make war, not hunt children. I tire of playing these games.’