A soft warm light filtered through the trees, blessing the morning mist with an
ethereal quality as the woodland birds welcomed the dawn with their chorus of
celebration. It was cold. A breeze rustled through the leaves overhead,
whispering a promise of rain later in the day, but for now, dawn had brought a
sunrise. Down on the path, two boys plodded onwards, noticing little of the new
day awakening as they dragged along confusion, despair and tired minds in an
exhausted daze.
The tracks weren't hard to follow. The Picts travelled the main path without
any fear of pursuit and had made their way through the woods and on into the
lowlands; brazenly marking the trail with items they had looted, inspected and
finally discarded. Each item serving as a stabbing reminder to the boys of the
horrors visited the night before.
'What are we going to do if we catch up with them?' Cal asked. He kicked a
stone and it bounced along the dry rutted path. It was the first thing either of
them had said in some time and it brought Usher up with a start.
'What?' Usher's mind had been unconsciously reliving the terrible scenes of
the previous night, leaving his feet to find their own direction as he tried to
ignore the pain in his leg from the wolf bite. The wound wasn't too bad, they had
managed to clean it in a stream and had bound it in torn cloth, but it still hurt and
made him limp. He glanced about, surprised to find they had passed through the
meadows and low brook and had now re-entered the woods.
He turned to look at Cal. 'It's when we catch up with them, not if and I'm not
going to forget what the horseman looked like, and when we catch up with
him…' he stopped for a moment, wondering what they would actually do when
they caught up with the Picts. Neither of them had killed anything bigger than a
deer, and they hadn't done that many times.
'We're not warriors,' broke in Cal. 'We can't fight those Picts, even if we do
catch up with them.' He slumped down at the side of the path and lay back in a
clump of bracken. 'What are we going to do?'
Usher looked down at his friend's face, and saw misery and fear staring back
at him.
'We have each other, Cal, and when we catch up with the Picts we're going to
find Nineve, and maybe some others from the village, and then…then we're
going to get them to safety, somehow. After that… I don't know. We'll have to
trust in the spirits and see what they offer us.'
They continued to walk until late afternoon, emerging once again from the
trees of the Weald, the great rambling forest that stretched across the width of
Britain. They must have been walking uphill for some time because the view that
presented itself as they passed through the last few elm and beech trees was from
high on a hill and breathtaking in the afternoon light. Grassland spread across a
valley in a pattern of hedged cultivated fields, appearing before them like some
huge sleeping-mat thrown down by a giant of legend. It wasn't a site they had
seen before. The small fields planted by their village had been hard won from
the forest and nothing compared to the scale of this area of sectioned and worked
land. Usher took it all in, studying the small communities that dotted the valley.
A Roman road ran straight and true from one end to the other, and smaller, local
paths snaked between the settlements. He studied the road and surrounding land,
eager for any sight of the Pict raiders, but could see little movement of any kind,
and certainly no column of marching warriors. For Cal's sake, he suppressed his
feelings of disappointment.
What looked like a Roman villa was dominating the far end of the valley and
the closest settlement of tribal huts was just a short walk further down the path.
Smoke trailed up from a group of familiar round dwellings and they could just
make out a few cows grazing, with chickens pecking the ground round their legs.
By the largest building was an old man was chopping wood, a halo of long grey
hair billowing in the breeze as he raised and dropped his axe. The sound of each
strike only reaching them up the hill as the axe lifted to the top of each stroke.
With a sigh, they shouldered their packs and walked down into the valley.
The path from the forest was well trodden and led directly past the nearest
settlement. It was only as they got closer that someone noticed them. 'Get away,
leave my chickens alone!' The cries of a woman broke through the calm of the
day as they neared the first hut. She was running towards them with skirts flying,
bringing the boys up short, confused as to why she was screaming at them. A
clod of mud landed close to Cal and they watched in amazement as she stooped
to gather more stones and lumps of mud to throw at them.
'We're not after your chickens,' called Usher. Refusing to be intimidated, he
turned to Cal. 'Maybe we should just move on, she doesn't seem too happy to see
us.' The woman stopped running and began pelting them with anything she could
lay her hands on. Finally, a stone hit Cal on the leg and he gave a cry.
'She's mad!' he yelled, clutching at his leg, but before they could either run
or stop her from throwing anything else, another figure joined the exchange.
'You're not really after them chickens now, are you, boys?' The old
woodcutter came out from between the huts and the woman halted her attack.
Long past his fortieth summer, the man was breathing heavily and sweating from
the exertion of chopping wood. The woman dropped her rocks to the floor and
with a scowl towards Usher and Cal, she moved back to her chickens, apparently
satisfied that another was dealing with the threat. Usher shifted his pack on his
shoulder and tried to decide whether they should just turn and run, but then
swallowed nervously, as he realised that running from the drawn bow that the
old man was now holding wasn't really an option. It was no ordinary rough
hunting bow either. Its dark wood gleamed in the warm afternoon light, hinting
at a weapon built for more than merely hunting deer. Staring at the tip of the
arrow aimed towards him, Usher decided he was as close to death as he had ever
been. The old archer gradually eased the pressure off the bow; the hemp string
singing softly as the strain released and the arrow pointed to the ground. With a
hiss, Usher let go of the breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding.
'Well, you don't look much like raiders.' A slow grin crept across the man's
grubby face. He was old, but not as old as they had first thought. The long grey
hair had been hastily tied back from a heavily lined face; bushy eyebrows were
exposed, drooping down over dark eyes that appeared to lay all the man's inner
feelings bare. From scarcely restrained violence a moment before, they now
reflected amusement. 'I see you wear Iceni colours, but you're not from round
these parts, so where are you from?' He scanned the surrounding hedgerows and,
seeing no others ready to pounce, unstrung the bow with a smooth practised
motion.
'North ways,' said Usher, finding his voice and waving back towards the
woods. 'We were just passing, we didn't mean any harm.' This brought another
smile to the archer's face.
'I believe you didn't, boys. The name's, Meryn Link, and that over there,' he
pointed towards the woman who was now crouched back down clucking at her
chickens, 'that's my neighbour, Bretta. She don't mean no harm neither, just loves
them chickens, is all. This has been a busy road over the last few weeks, an' any
party of raiders that comes past here has seen fit to take a few of them chickens.
Reckon she's just about had enough.' He gave a chuckle. 'Not the brightest of
flames is Bretta, but she means well. Anyhow, tis late in the day and I can at
least offer you shelter for the night, if you want it that is. I try to keep a
traditional hearth of welcome in my home; an' if truth be told, I could do with
the company. So please, be welcome.' He waved them towards the biggest of the
huts then set off with the boys trailing behind.
When they entered, the hut was dark, warm, and clean, smelling of the fresh
hay strewn across the floor and the smoke rising lazily from the low fire in the
centre. It immediately reminded the boys of home and each choked back a
momentary reminder of their loss. Meryn dropped some chopped wood onto the
fire and it was soon crackling merrily, the glowing embers and flames bringing
light into the dark space, showing few possessions, but a neat and tidy home.
The boys slumped down and watched dreamily as the smoke rose, curling
towards the thatched roof before escaping through the centre hole of the thatch
of cut rushes. Usher hadn't realised until entering the warmth how utterly
exhausted he was. The last day and a night without sleep had all but drained him
of energy.
'Please… we're tracking a group of Picts, led by a horseman,' said Usher,
rousing himself. 'They…'
'Picts? This far south?' The old man glanced across, and then smiled kindly
when he saw their anguished expressions. 'Well anyway, there'll likely be plenty
of time for questions and then maybe for answers later. Sit and rest or you'll not
be tracking anything or anyone. You look bone tired, the pair of you.'
Meryn took his bow and placed it close to the door. As he did, Usher
prodded Cal and motioned for him to look. The bow now leaned against the wall
alongside a spear and sword. The sword was big, half as long again as any
normal blade of the Iceni. They exchanged puzzled frowns and glanced up to see
the archer smiling at their reaction.
'Tha's a warrior's blade.' Meryn went back and picked it up, pulling the blade
from its sheath with a flourish that made them both draw back, suddenly unsure
of their smiling host's intentions. The old man slammed the blade back into its
polished black scabbard then held it up in a beam of sunlight that had found its
way past the door. The sword's half-moon finger guard gleamed yellow as they
all admired the weapon.
'How did you come by it?' Cal asked, in a hushed voice. 'Are you a warrior?'
Meryn sighed and returned the sword to its place by the door, then stooped down
to tend the fire.
'I once fought with a warrior band, yes, and soon I'll probably do so again.
Unfortunately, I don't think my destiny lays in farming as I had hoped. There's an
air of change about our land, causing many a man to pick up his sword. Word is,
a king of the Britons has risen and like many others, I mean to join his army and
fight the Saxon invaders. Fact is I've already delayed here too long.'
As the light of the day began to fade they helped Meryn gather in his
animals and then watched with stomachs grumbling as he prepared a meal over
the fire. While he worked, Usher described what had happened back in their
village and that they were now in pursuit of the Picts and Cal's sister, Nineve.
Meryn had been slowly chopping a turnip while Usher was speaking. Once
the tale had come to an end, he put the knife down and sighed. 'I'm sorry for the
girl's plight, truly I am. What they want with a bunch of children I don't know,
but you don't want to go chasing them Picts. They have a reputation as a cruel
people, and a raiding party this far south would spare little time in killing you
both before moving on. 'Tis a sign of the age we live in, now that our Roman
masters are leaving us. Maybe you boys know, but before the Romans came, the
tribes had a long history as warlike people. We were always fighting amongst
ourselves or protecting our shores from ships filled with warriors that came from
I don't know where. And then the Romans came and we fought them as well,
turned them out a couple of times, so the storytellers have it.' Meryn poked at the
fire and threw on a few more sticks, 'but they kept coming back and then stayed.
A few of us still fought them, and when Boudicca's Iceni finally failed to drive
them out, the land slowly settled and life for the tribes had changed. For over
four hundred years, there has been relative peace in our land. The skirmishes
between the tribes and raids from the Saxons and Angles have almost become a
thing of history, almost. Now as the last of the Roman legions are departing,
some say it's because their empire is crumbling, they leave behind their empty
towns and their houses that no tribesman would wish to live in. Many believe
those stone houses are still occupied by the spirits and ghosts of the past, and it
is true that their stone and tile floors cut all connection to the earth, they just
don't feel right.'
Meryn looked up at the boys again. 'Life is changing, lads. It's going
unnoticed by most in the tribes, but a time of violence is fast returning.' Meryn
spat into the fire as if the mention of the Romans had left a bad taste in his
mouth. It hissed briefly in the hot embers, drawing their attention until he spoke
again.
'They ruled here for a long time and brought much to this land, including
some measure of peace; but that doesn't mean we had to like them. No man
should be the slave of another, and we were all slaves to the Romans. They stole
our lands, they stole hearts and they stole our identity. Well anyhow, now they've
all but gone, and that means there's going to be a struggle for control. So beware
of the Picts and any other warrior band you see. For there'll be more of them in
the next short while, you mark my words.' He picked up the knife and continued
his chopping, throwing the turnip pieces into a large iron pot suspended over the
fire. It was bubbling and beginning to give off a tantalising aroma.
'We mean to catch them, and when we do, we'll free Nineve,' muttered
Usher. 'We don't plan to attack the Picts. We're not fools, but we will get Nineve
away… somehow.'
Meryn smiled. 'I like your attitude, boy and maybe you will get her away,
but then what? Where will you go? What will you do? Your village is no more,
your…'
'We can only live one day at a time,' broke in Usher, 'and trust in the spirits
to guide us. The one thing we still have at this moment is hope, hope that Nineve
is still alive. When we find her and free her, we'll seek a new direction. The
spirits will guide us.' He glared at Meryn as if challenging him to find fault in his
logic, but the old archer merely continued to smile, which Usher was beginning
to find annoying.
'Well spoken, lad. It would seem you have a determination and strength
beyond your years.'
They sat quietly, staring into the flickering flames for some time; each lost in
his own thoughts. Finally, Meryn broke the silence. 'Do you know why they
were after the children?' The boys shook their heads. 'Well, I was planning to
leave for the west in another week or two, but maybe I'll leave a little earlier.' He
stabbed the knife down into a log. 'A Pict warrior party did move through here
late yesterday.' Usher glanced across to see Cal sit up and offer him the flicker of
a smile before staring at the old man, willing him to go on.
'Did a horseman lead them? Tall? Dressed in black?' Cal asked, barely able
to suppress his eagerness. Meryn looked up and seemed to study them both
before answering.
'Aye, I believe there was a horseman.' He leaned forward and threw another
log on the fire as he gathered his thoughts. 'They were keeping to the edge of the
forest, but I saw them and marked their progress around the west side of the
valley. Maybe we can help each other. I'll help you with your quest; maybe stop
you from getting yourselves killed…but in turn you will be beholden to me. Do
we have an agreement?'
'Yes!' agreed Cal readily, but Usher held up his hand and frowned at Meryn.
'What do you mean by beholden? What would you have of us?'
The old man's smile returned. 'Good question, young friend, a good question
that deserves a good answer, and as soon as I have one to give, that answer shall
be yours, but right now let me see that wound on your leg. We will clean and
dress it and then it should be time to eat. A bite from a wolf can be a nasty thing
if it isn't tended regular and properly… this is going to hurt.'
* * *
'Meryn was a good man,' said Calvador Craen breaking into the story. 'Was it
really luck that we met him? He trained us well.' He looked at the villagers as if
only just noticing them again, and then back to the seated figure of the
storyteller. 'I seem to remember getting a few cracks on the head when we
travelled with Meryn. We learned the sword, the spear, and the bow; and none of
them were easy lessons.'
Usher nodded, and then searched the faces around him. 'May I get another of
your excellent ales?' he asked, finding the face he was looking for and passing
his empty tankard towards the innkeeper. The man beckoned for one of the
serving girls to come and take it.
'Did you rescue Nineve?' asked a girl sitting close to his side.
'We may well have done, you shall have to wait and see,' he said with a smile
'… you know, she would have been about your age at that time. Although for all
the world, she seemed filled with a spirit far older than just those eight summers.
She was a very special little girl; we just didn't know it at that time.
Can you imagine how she must have felt? A poor broken thing; seeing her
family murdered, her village burned, and then she was dragged away by the
Picts, they were all terrified when we finally tracked them down.' He turned to
Calvador Craen. 'My friend Calvador here was very brave that day, as I
remember; risking his life more than once trying to spirit his sister away.' He
looked at Cal but his old friend had returned to staring at the fire, content to sup
his mulled wine and allow the memories to wash over him. 'We'd been on their
trail for almost a month, Meryn, Cal and I, and had practised weapons with
Meryn almost every step of the way, not that we were very proficient at that
point, but we knew which end of the sword to hold, and how to draw the
longbow. We hunted a little on the way and scavenged some food when we came
across a settlement or village. I remember always feeling cold and wet, and of
course hungry. It was a miserable time.
'It was raining the night we caught up with them. A full moon was breaking
through the clouds, and I remember how it was turning bitterly cold and we were
so hungry… so hungry that we tried to catch fish .