In The Grip Of Old Winter Page 15

  “You mean,” Peter remembered a trailer for a vampire film on TV which mum didn’t let him watch, where the vampire sank his teeth into a young woman’s neck, “she drinks their blood?”

  Wulfwyn shrugged. “I do not know the means by which she achieves her change.” He drew his knees up to his chin. “These are tales to frighten children, to stop them wandering away from safety, to make them wary of travellers that are intent on their own dark paths. I cannot say that I believe them to be so.”

  Peter ran his finger and thumb along the seal-amulet’s edge. “I think they might be true. I think this is the spae-wife’s. She wants it back, that’s why she attacked. She needs it to make her magic. The carrier gave it to me, but he made a mistake.”

  The outlaw shifted around the fire and came closer. “Let me see.”

  Peter lifted the chain over his head and handed the seal-amulet across.

  Wulfwyn turned it over and over in his hands. “Is it this that you used to fend off the carrier and the dog?”

  Peter watched as Wulfwyn ran his finger across the seal-amulet’s surface. “Yes - I think so. It happened after I put the chain over my head. All these silver marks appeared and - and somehow I saw two of them in my head. One over the carrier and one over the barghest...”

  The outlaw glanced up. “The barghest?”

  Peter nodded. “The black dog.”

  Wulfwyn resumed his fingertip rotation, though his eyes stayed on Peter. “Is it possible? This name is known to those who suffer fearful night visions. It is not of flesh and blood.” He peered harder. “Have you summoned forth creatures of folktale and made them walk?” He held up the seal-amulet. “Is it this you use?”

  Peter shook his head. “No, I told you. The carrier gave it to me by accident. He meant to give it to the spae-wife and now she’s trying to get it back. I don’t know why the barghest is with them; perhaps the spae-wife controls it in some way.”

  Wulfwyn flung the seal-amulet back and it landed in Peter’s lap. “Why did the carrier pass this to you?”

  “I don’t know.” Frustration and anxiety made Peter’s eyes water, but he swallowed hard to hold back the tears. “He told me to give it to the one who is waiting. I don’t know who that is and nobody wants it when I ask.” He squeezed his eyes tight shut to clear his blurred vision. “I know it’s not you, because you haven’t even seen it before.”

  The log shifted in the fire and a cloud of sparks erupted and scattered over the hollow’s shallow lip.

  “And yet,” said Wulfwyn, “you used this to hold off the carrier and the - the barghest?”

  Peter wiped his anorak sleeve over his face. “I didn’t know what to do. I told you, I don’t know how it works. I just reacted as fast as possible and copied the marks,” he held his hands up, “that appeared in my head. I - I don’t know how that big explosion happened.”

  Wulfwyn hunched over the fire. “This is a curious token that draws upon dark visions and makes them appear in life. I fear it and wonder that a boy, who comes as if from the sky, works the charms that strength with sword and shield cannot match. It is not to be trusted, for it diminishes men’s skills and mocks their valour.”

  Peter slipped the chain over his head. “It saved your life.”

  Wulfwyn stared into the fire. “We must sleep.” He rose and unhooked two furs from their pegs. He tossed one to Peter and the strong scent of some animal and the sharp tang of new leather made him recoil.

  The outlaw spread his out, fur side up, lay upon it and rolled over twice so that he looked like a caterpillar in its cocoon. Peter did the same. His body warmed and he fell fast asleep.

  ***

  When Peter woke, he lay in the fur and listened to Wulfwyn as he moved around. An aroma, that he thought he recognised but found impossible to name, gave the air a fresh and invigorating scent and, after a while, he opened his eyes.

  An iron pot, like the one in the outlaw’s glade though smaller, hung from a chain over the fire. Steam rose as water bubbled. Wulfwyn stood over the pot and sprinkled into it a shower of dried leaves. The scent thickened as the outlaw stirred the pot with a long thin stick.

  Peter unrolled from his fur and sat up. He’d never slept in his clothes before, nor failed to brush his teeth on his way to bed and he thought that he ought to have a bath or a wash and rinse out his mouth. No central heating or running hot water allowed for such used-to luxuries. When did Wulfwyn wash? Perhaps he didn’t. He smelt as if he didn’t.

  Wulfwyn nodded at him. “It is dawn. I have made mint to drink.” He picked up a round wooden cup with no handle and held it up as an invitation for Peter to accept the offer.

  Mint, of course. “Yes please.”

  The outlaw gripped the cup’s lip, scooped some liquid out of the pot and handed it across.

  Colourless, the cup’s contents might be boiled water dotted with tiny brown leaves. He took a sip and the mint’s strong tang made him splutter, though its freshness made his head buzz. His stomach growled with hunger. He placed the cup down and reached for his backpack. He’d just three sandwiches left. He wanted to eat them all, but chose the top one and wrapped up the others before temptation made putting them back too difficult.

  He took a bite. Ham and cheese. The bread had stiffened around the edges, but that didn’t matter. What about Wulfwyn? He must need something to eat. He had no choice but to ask. “Do you want a sandwich?”

  The outlaw stood with his hands cupped around his drink. “Sandwich? I will cut meat,” and he pointed to the animal leg that hung above them. “I will cut some for you.”

  “Thank you,” said Peter, though he wondered if he’d like the taste. What was the animal? He guessed deer and he’d never eaten that before.

  Wulfwyn put his cup down. “We cannot stay here another night. We will move after we have eaten.” He took hold of a rope and unwound it from its peg.

  Peter took long slow chews to make the sandwich last longer. “Where will we go?”

  Hand over hand, Wulfwyn lowered the animal leg. The leg’s skin, blotched black and red, didn’t look appetising.

  “We will go as you wish it, to Eorl Bosa’s.” The leg dangled in front of Wulfwyn’s face and he wound the rope back round the peg. “This is right, for Eorl Oswald’s and Leonor’s sake.” He drew his knife and cut into the meat. “We cannot leave them when chance may offer a different fate.” He handed a thin piece of meat, ragged around the edges, to Peter. “Even though we are only two,” he cut into the meat again, “the talisman you wear beckons with a strange hope.” He held up the slice he’d cut and dropped it into his mouth.

  Peter held his half-eaten sandwich in one hand and the meat in the other. He laid the sandwich on his lap, lifted off the bread and placed the meat on top of the ham and cheese. He covered it with the bread and, determined not to think about how bad the meat looked, took a bite.

  Soft and tender, with an aftertaste of burnt wood, the meat melted in his mouth. Not an obvious flavour, like beef or lamb, more delicate and it went well with the ham.

  Wulfwyn cut another slice. “There are many shelters within the trees where we may hide.” He passed the meat across. “Our paths must be covered and often and our tracks mislead to hide our scent.” He cut more meat and gazed into the fire as he chewed. “I thought to hide from Eorl Bosa’s men. I did not know that others walked abroad. Their intent is unclear to me, though it is full of malice and so our movements must be secret and wary.”

  Peter ate the last of his sandwich and crammed the meat into his mouth at the same time. When he’d finished, he picked up his cup and sipped at the mint tea. “How far away is Eorl Bosa’s?”

  Wulfwyn rose and unwound the rope. “Not far, as the crow flies.” He hoisted the leg back up and secured the rope. “What do you see from the talisman’s signs?”

  Peter held the seal-amulet in his palm. “It’s not red.” None of the silver marks gleamed. “I don’t think the spae-wife is nearby.” It flared, he decided, wh
en she came close, like Bear said. Her will over it, even after so many centuries, must still be so strong.

  “Then let us set out now.” The outlaw wiped his knife on some dry moss and guided it into the scabbard on his belt. “I lost my sword in the fight with Eorl Bosa’s men. I am hoping that an unwary guard strays too far from the Eorl’s walls that I may replace it.” He emptied the pot over the fire and the embers hissed. A cloud of steam rolled up towards the gap far above and the mint aroma sharpened.

  Wulfwyn took hold of the lower rungs cut into the tree’s trunk and began to climb. “Follow.”

  In the gloom, Peter hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, stepped around the fire pit and stretched his hand out until his fingers brushed across the coarse grain of the first rung. The ascent needed greater care and effort, for the trunk narrowed the further up he climbed. The light increased as he approached the large crack that split the trunk. His fingers and shins ached as he held on tight and stepped up one rung at a time. Then Wulfwyn reached down and grabbed hold of his backpack and pulled and guided him through the crack and out onto the branch.

  The cold air stung Peter’s cheeks. Large snowflakes drifted past. The tree’s interior, warmed by the fire, made him wish he didn’t have to leave. He straddled the branch as Wulfwyn stepped around him and climbed down to the lower bough.

  “Look where the bark is broken,” said the outlaw. “And the twisted knots left by the tree’s vigour when it lived. They are firm enough to hold a man.”

  Peter shuffled up to the trunk. Wulfwyn stood about a metre below him and the stream appeared even further away, though that might be an illusion, because it moved so fast. It made him dizzy and he focused on the cuts and gouges and odd protuberances in front of his face. For a moment, he feared to slide off the branch and lacked the confidence to trust the decision of where he’d placed his hands and feet, but Wulfwyn showed no concern as he watched and, with his fingers gripped tight against the broken bark’s sharp edges, Peter half-slid, half-fell off the branch and slammed his body hard against the trunk for support.

  “Kick to find a hole,” said Wulfwyn.

  Peter bent his left leg for balance and kicked with his right. His boot found a deep indent and he lowered his weight onto it. He repeated the action and found a lower hold for his left leg. At school, his less than athletic ability in PE aroused no response from the gym master, but this new-found agility increased his confidence as he made his descent.

  He reached the lower bough without Wulfwyn’s help, though the outlaw frowned as if puzzled. Before Peter had a chance to respond, Wulfwyn jumped off, spun in mid-air, circled his left arm around the bough, slowed his fall, and landed in the stream with a splash.

  Peter’s new-found confidence withered. To jump straight down required guts and might be dangerous if he landed and slipped. He rolled onto his stomach and, inch by inch, shuffled backwards until his weight and gravity took over and, though he gripped hold of the bough with all his strength, he fell faster and faster until his boots landed in the water and he staggered backwards. He whirled his arms to keep his balance and managed to stay upright.

  Wulfwyn’s frown deepened. “It is like watching an infant who learns to walk.” He strode to the bank. “Maybe in your land all the trees have fallen.”

  ***

  Peter followed Wulfwyn and they waded through the shallow water and climbed the far bank into the trees. The outlaw crouched. The marks and imprints left by the three who passed in the night made tracking them easy.

  The barghest’s huge paw prints ranged the furthest, but always returned to the crumpled leaves and broken twigs that lay churned up the most. Other imprints appeared as shallow hollows made, Peter guessed, by the carrier. The shape of a foot in the soft soil, even the detail of some of its small bones, revealed the third creature that came this way and Peter swallowed.

  The outlaw rose and stared into the trees. “We will follow, but be wary and hide at my signal.”

  “Is this the way to Eorl Bosa’s?”

  Wulfwyn nodded. “I wonder that our paths follow the same tracks as these.”

  Peter wondered too. “It might be a trick and they’re going to ambush us. The spae-wife wants the seal-amulet.”

  The outlaw pointed. “I see their marks for as far as the shadows allow. They are not close, yet stay quiet.” He set off and walked in the prints and never strayed from their path.

  Peter followed close behind and trod in Wulfwyn’s footsteps. He glanced back; impossible to tell how many people might have come this way. Only the imprints of huge paws proved that a beast of monstrous size walked this land.

  The seal-amulet might have defeated the barghest and the carrier, but it can’t have hurt them, because they recovered to continue the hunt.

  The ground sloped upwards and wider spaces appeared between the oaks. Peter brushed past bracken and fern, their fronds frozen and white. Not much snow, yet that dislodged by those they followed, made their path easy to spot.

  Wulfwyn stopped and Peter almost walked into him. He peered around the outlaw’s back. A steep slope, where not a single tree grew, rose to a ridge. Its edge, where even the ferns and bracken failed to take root, stood out sharp and white against the grey sky.

  Wulfwyn crouched as he stared ahead. “I cannot see if their tracks continue beyond the top of that rise. Clear sight of our approach gives them an easy attack. Let us go east to work our way up.”

  Peter glanced all the way along the ridge, but saw no sign of any movement. “We might not find their footprints again.”

  The outlaw stood. “Eorl Bosa and his manor lie before us. I think they mean to go there.”

  “Why?”

  Wulfwyn pinched his upper lip between his finger and thumb and then said, “I fear for Leonor. The spae-wife is dust and bones, but she knows that Leonor is young and - a woman. If I believe the old tales, she desires the youth bestowed upon all young maids. Eorl Bosa wishes to seal his union with Leonor and swear his life to these lands for William of Normandy.” He swept his hand through his hair. “Leonor cannot know of the spae-wife’s approach, but the forced union that Eorl Bosa desires will be beyond her endurance. We must not leave Leonor to either fate.” He strode through the bracken and back into the trees.

  In the old days, Leonor died. She fell from the tower. Her story is different now and what happens next might be better - or worse.

  Peter ran to catch up. After about a hundred metres, Wulfwyn halted and faced the ridge. “Let us climb now, but be silent and alert and at my sign, keep low.”

  The outlaw took long slow strides that parted the bracken with the slightest rustle. Peter followed and copied his movements. They passed the last oak and the bracken thinned and the snow deepened and the loud crunch of their boots as they broke the crust made Peter wince.

  As they approached the top of the ridge, Wulfwyn crouched and Peter did the same. They travelled the last few metres on their hands and knees. The outlaw glanced left and right and when he reached the top, he lay flat and peered over the edge.

  Peter wriggled up and lay beside him. No sign of the spae-wife, the barghest or the carrier. Below him, the ridge fell away into bracken again and lower still, into another forest of oaks. From this vantage point, Peter saw above and beyond the trees and in the distance, a line, like a grey shadow, showed where the forest ended and rolling countryside began. Snow lay for as far as he could see.

  Wulfwyn nudged his arm and pointed away to their right. Below them, in a clearing, a large manor stood upon a rise of land. Even at this distance, Peter guessed that its size dwarfed Eorl Oswald’s manor. It looked more like a castle from a picture book, for a bridge spanned a wide moat that ran all around the high, thick wall of the manor’s wooden defences. Grey smoke rose from holes cut into the thatched roofs of several smaller buildings.

  Four mounted knights trotted across the bridge and then galloped along a wide track that cut through the trees and headed towards the distant fields
and the countryside beyond.

  “Where’s the spae-wife?” whispered Peter.

  Wulfwyn shook his head. “Crawl until we pick up their tracks.” He jabbed his finger along the ridge. “Keep low and stay on this side. Eorl Bosa’s guards will see us the moment we stand.”

  Peter ducked below the ridge and, still on his hands and knees, followed Wulfwyn.

  Below him, the forest they’d travelled through stretched far away into the distance. Somewhere under the snow-covered boughs stood Eorl Oswald’s manor, but it wasn’t built on a rise like Eorl Bosa’s and no smoke rose above the trees, so he didn’t know where to look.

  With a jolt that made his stomach clench, he remembered dad. Tears watered his eyes. He wanted to know if Farmer Brunt drove his tractor through the snow so that dad might be helped. That mum didn’t need to worry, because dad arrived at the hospital and been given all the care that he needed. He wanted to be back in his own time and the fear that he might never be able to reach the charred branch again, hit his stomach like a punch.

  He sat down with a bump and wiped his eyes with the back of his glove. What was he doing in a time long past, with strange people and a magical amulet that he didn’t understand? Why him? I’m just a boy. Real dangers threatened that might mean being killed and that fear made him feel sick. He wanted to go home.

  Wulfwyn crawled on ahead, unaware that Peter no longer followed. Then he stopped and tensed, raised his hand and pointed.

  Peter scrambled onto his hands and knees and hurried forward.

  A trail of churned up snow crossed the ridge and disappeared into the bracken on the other side. The prints of four huge paws, the outline of foot bones and the smudged dents of one who walked on the stumps of their knees, broke the snow’s crisp surface.

  ***

  Wulfwyn peered over the edge of the ridge. “They must have crossed at night. Hidden from sight of Bosa’s guards, they made their way into the trees.”