In The Grip Of Old Winter Page 21

  “Did you kill Eorl Oswald?” said Peter.

  Bosa’s mouth hung slack as if shocked by the question. “No... no...”

  Peter pressed. “Then how did you escape from the tunnel?”

  Bosa swallowed. “The... the dog... its growl like thunder, startled me awake. I saw it rake Eorl Oswald’s face so that he dropped his sword and blinded, fell. Fear forced me away, though...” Bosa’s fingers twitched at his lips as if they might pluck the words from his mouth. “The carrier and the spae-wife waited above and a mist, cold as tomb air, rose from the ground and wreathed the trees in shadow. Between them lay Leonor and she did not move. They paid me no heed, though I cried out in fear and ran. The mist shielded me from sight.”

  Wulfwyn banged the flat of his hand on the ground. “You forsake Eorl Oswald when countrymen expect honour over common strife when enemies threaten and you leave a maiden, whose love you profess to cherish, to an unknown fate.” He sprang to his feet and paced with short sharp steps, backwards and forwards. “What word, that means not man, can be placed upon your head.”

  Eorl Bosa huddled into a ball. “I am not proud... but who knows fear before it strikes?”

  Wulfwyn stopped pacing. “Where is Leonor to be taken?”

  Bosa wrung his hands. “I did not watch; I did not wait. Men of mine still hold Eorl Oswald’s manor and I hastened to reach them before night, but when the shadows lengthened I... I feared to be alone and hid within this place.”

  Wulfwyn frowned. “It is known to you?”

  Bosa nodded. “Reports of many secret places used by outlaws have long been known.”

  Wulfwyn shut his eyes and stretched his neck until the back of his head rested on his shoulders. “We must eat. Cut us some venison, Godwine.”

  Godwine rose, unwound the rope and lowered the haunch of meat. He cut slices with his sword and laid them before the fire.

  Wulfwyn climbed back up the trunk and when he returned he carried the iron pot filled to the brim with snow. He hung it above the fire, took the meat and handed the slices round. Even Bosa took some and nibbled at the edges.

  Wulfwyn placed a small log onto the fire as wisps of steam rose from the pot. “The spae-wife means to return to Eorl Oswald’s manor with Leonor. I do not know the reasons or the actions that she means to take.” He tore the meat with his teeth and chewed. “Peter is not close and the seal-amulet sleeps. Maybe she knows that we follow, waits for us, even watches as we approach, expects us to fight for Leonor’s release. Without the seal-amulet her will is weak, though who can say that this is always so. Eorl Bosa’s men might fight and force her back. If she waits until we are close, then the seal-amulet will renew her will and the knights will fall as they did at Eorl Bosa’s manor.”

  Peter’s stomach fluttered. So much depended on him. How to make the seal-amulet work? Did it trigger from a thought, an instinct? Once he knew, he didn’t need to fear or doubt his ability and deep down he sensed that elusive perception, though it slipped and slithered just out of reach and he failed to understand its shape or form.

  Wulfwyn took another slice of meat. “If we reach the manor before the spae-wife, Eorl Bosa will be able to command his knights to our aid. A strategy that all will follow must be agreed. That will be decided when we arrive at the manor.” He chewed the meat.

  Peter regarded Eorl Bosa. Such a broken man, not tall and proud as he first saw him when he rode to Eorl Oswald’s to ask for Leonor’s hand in marriage. Why did Wulfwyn trust him? “Eorl Bosa and Leonor might be already joined. Even before the spae-wife attacked Bosa’s manor, because that’s why he took Leonor, isn’t it?”

  Bosa shook his head. “No... no... we are not joined. Fear made her fretful and full of doubts. I despaired to see her so sad and promised to wait until light and beauty shone from her face once more.”

  Wulfwyn snorted. “With you that day might never dawn.”

  “She didn’t love you,” said Peter. “And I don’t think you love her. You want more land, that’s why you pretend to love her. You want more land to prove your loyalty to King William, so that he makes you a knight or one of his lords. You want to use Leonor, not love her.”

  Bosa nibbled at the ragged bit of meat he held. “I longed for our union... as did she... she told me so...”

  “I don’t trust him,” said Peter. “I think he’ll turn his knights against us. Why should he care what happens to outlaws?”

  Wulfwyn stopped chewing and glared at Bosa. “What word can you give that all will believe? Be true,” and he unsheathed his knife. “Or your neck will feel this iron’s sharp edge.”

  Bosa folded his slice of meat over and over between his fingers. “My manor is lost...”

  “It is empty,” said Wulfwyn. “Not lost.”

  “What hope do I have without your aid?” Bosa patted his belt. “I have lost my sword - my men perished - I cannot wish you harm, for we fight against one enemy that will slay us both if we are not united. I do not know what word to give, for I am at your mercy. Is my torment not enough?”

  Wulfwyn flicked his knife from side to side, so that the tip scratched the earth. “Eorl Oswald promised me Leonor’s hand in union. It is wished by us both. A union that keeps the old ways unchanged.”

  Bosa nodded. “Leonor told me this. Her tears revealed the truth of her heart. That she tricked my hopes with her show of love, hurt. That Eorl Oswald weaved webs of deceit to reveal to me that which I wished for, when all the while he meant to bring me down, delivers such mistrust as will stay with me all my days.” He shrugged. “It is to be wished that every man accepts the new king’s rule, or the strife between us all will never cease. I will not oppose Leonor’s union with you, if that is both your wills.” He spread his hands. “Look upon me. All I wish is to live my life by the laws of the land within my hearth stead. What has come to pass between us cannot be undone, though the outcome of certain actions might be different from those we hoped. The glory, the honour, the desire that any man considers, will pass as swift as river water when other actions change those hopes, so that old and long-cherished dreams depart beyond our grasp.”

  Wulfwyn grunted. “Clever words.”

  Peter still didn’t trust him. “You promise to help us?”

  Bosa pressed his palms together as if in prayer. The shredded meat dangled between his fingers like loose skin. “I give my word.”

  The water bubbled in the iron pot and Wulfwyn reached for a small pouch attached to his belt. He sprinkled three pinches of dried leaves into the pot and the smell of mint sharpened the air with its clean scent. He dipped wooden bowls into the water and Peter took one.

  “We shall rest here until dawn,” said Wulfwyn. “It is wise that not all slumber. I shall keep the first part of the night, then Godwine, then Peter.” He rose and picked a fur for each of them.

  Peter wrapped the fur about him and sat with his back against the tree. He cradled the bowl in both hands and sipped at the hot mint water. Bosa curled up into his fur and seemed to sleep at once. Peter’s eyes drooped and with the bowl by his side, he fell fast asleep.

  ***

  Peter awoke from a dreamless sleep when Godwine shook his shoulder. He’d slumped sideways as he slept and his neck ached where it pressed against the tree. The bowl had tipped upside down, the water soaked into the earth. Godwine picked it up and scooped a fresh bowl from the iron pot. Lazy flames flicked in the fire pit.

  Godwine watched as Peter sat up and sipped. The mint tingled on Peter’s tongue and when he swallowed, the sharp aftertaste made him wince. As he drank, blurry sleep evaporated and Godwine, satisfied that Peter might be alert enough to stay awake, rolled into a fur and lay down.

  Wulfwyn lay on his back, his mouth half-open and with each breath he gave a gentle snore. Bosa’s fur covered him from head to toe so that no part of his body showed.

  Outside, through the trunk, Peter heard the stream’s rush and gurgle as it swept past. How long until dawn? He mustn’t fall asleep, though the
fire’s warmth and the fur’s cosiness tempted him to lie down and sink back into a gentle doze. No! Wulfwyn trusted him to keep watch and Peter didn’t want to let him down. He drank again. What plans did Wulfwyn have when daylight came? Don’t think about it. It made his stomach tense. He put down the bowl and pulled out the seal-amulet from under his fur. Hard and black and cold.

  Bosa muttered in his sleep. He made sounds that might be words, but muffled by the fur, Peter didn’t understand any of them. The fur rose and fell as Bosa twisted and turned. Is he having a nightmare? He might wake the others if he shouts too loud.

  Peter reached across to shake Bosa awake. As if aware, Bosa rolled away and the fur slipped from his shoulders. A green light flickered across the Eorl’s face, like a candle flame caught in a draught. A green not of life and growth, but pale as if weak with sick and decay. It flared once and went out and Bosa’s eyes opened. He sat up and gazed ahead as if awake, but unfocused.

  “Do you want a drink?” asked Peter.

  Bosa faced him. “Yes.”

  Peter leaned forward and picked up one of the wooden bowls closest to the fire. Did the stone that hung around Bosa’s neck cast that green light? Why? How? He’d wait for the Eorl to be more awake and then ask.

  Aware that Bosa watched him, he glanced back. The Eorl’s eyes stared, but never blinked and though that made him scary, his face appeared calm and passive, like a child who is content, but not engaged with their surroundings. Perhaps the dream that woke him hadn’t cleared.

  Peter slipped the bowl’s lip into the water and filled it half-full. “Here you are.”

  Bosa took the bowl with both hands. His attention fixed on the water as he rotated the bowl with his fingers. The green stone hung from his neck and, though polished to a high shine, it didn’t glow or flicker.

  Bosa raised his head and stared at Peter. “This is very prettily done.” His voice cracked as it swooped high and then low.

  Peter leaned away. “What?” Asleep or not, or mad, as Wulfwyn thought, Bosa’s oddness frightened. “What do you mean?”

  The corners of Bosa’s lips lifted as if he meant to smile, though his eyes stared with intent into Peter’s. “Give me the seal-amulet.”

  Peter shuffled back, but the fur caught around his legs. He kicked hard, desperate with panic. “Wulfwyn!”

  Bosa swept aside his fur and leapt upright. He threw the bowl at Peter’s head. The bowl missed, but drops of hot water scalded his cheeks. Half-blind, Peter leaned on one hand and tried to wriggle backwards and wipe his face at the same time.

  Bosa’s voice growled like an animal’s. “For the one who is waiting.”

  Peter yelled. “No.”

  Bosa’s hands gripped Peter’s neck and forced him onto his back. Peter lashed out with punches and slaps, but Bosa’s strength and weight crushed the breath out of his lungs. He grabbed the Eorl’s arms to prise his hands free before he choked. The green stone dangled in front of Peter’s face and the pale light shone deep within its core and the swirls of black glared like a lidless eye.

  Bosa’s grip relaxed, as with one hand he clutched a handful of Peter’s hair, pulled his head up and with his other, snatched hold of the seal-amulet’s chain.

  Peter grabbed the seal-amulet to stop Bosa from pulling it over his head. Warmth tingled through his fingers as its surface flared.

  “For the one who is waiting.” The Eorl slammed Peter’s head into the ground.

  Black night pulsed at the edge of Peter’s sight. Strength left his arms and his hands flopped across his chest. He watched, as if from a distance, as Bosa lifted the seal-amulet free and leapt over the fire towards the rough-cut rungs in the tree’s trunk.

  Wulfwyn grabbed at Bosa’s leg, but missed. Godwine rolled out from under his fur, crouched and jumped. Bosa raised his elbow and smashed it into the outlaw’s face. Godwine fell backwards and blood sprayed from his nose.

  Bosa sprang up the rungs fast as a cat, but Wulfwyn caught hold of the Eorl’s ankle and with the fingers of his other hand, gripped a lower rung for support.

  Bosa yelled with fury and with his free foot stamped on Wulfwyn’s knuckles. Wulfwyn screamed, let go, fell and hit the ground with a loud thud.

  Bosa climbed up into the dark and out of sight.

  Wulfwyn’s face grimaced with pain. “The seal-amulet... the spae-wife...” He stood, his hand clasped against his chest. “A trick to find him here and tell us lies.”

  Peter gripped his head with both hands and sat. A sharp ache pulsed backwards and forwards between his ears. “The green stone... it glowed like an eye...”

  Godwine covered his nose with the fur and sat with his head bent forward.

  Wulfwyn shook his hand as if that might relieve the pain. “Green stone?”

  “Around his neck,” said Peter. An elusive thought, of something he’d missed, worried his mind. “It lit up and then went out, but when he attacked me it shone again.” What did he find so hard to remember about the green stone? Of course! “He wasn’t wearing it when we found him by the tunnel.” The pain in his head subsided to a dull ache. “Bosa didn’t have it when we left him with Oswald. The spae-wife must have put it on him after the barghest killed Oswald. That’s why the spae-wife didn’t chase him when he ran away. It must be like a... like CCTV that she can watch through.”

  Wulfwyn stared back, his eyes glazed.

  “She must have another stone,” said Peter. “She can see where Bosa is and who he meets.”

  “Then,” said Wulfwyn, “she sees from afar and follows.”

  Peter swallowed. “Yes.” He reached for the seal-amulet and the empty space where it once hung made his heart sink. Without it, none of them stood a chance against the spae-wife and Leonor’s rescue must now be impossible.

  The fire erupted with a burst as violent as an exploding firework. Sparks and hot embers showered down. Peter yelled, ducked and covered his head and the sparks landed on the fur and wisps of smoke puffed as the strands smouldered.

  The fire rolled over the edge of the pit as if it bubbled out of the earth, like lava.

  Wulfwyn leapt for the rungs. “Flee! Flee!” He grimaced as he gripped the first rung with his wounded hand.

  Peter scrambled to his feet. The fire caught the fur’s far corner and it burst into flames. A narrow path around the fire and against the trunk gave him one chance to escape and he darted round. Wulfwyn scrambled up the trunk to give Godwine room to climb.

  Peter’s backpack smoked as the fire flared. The straps ignited before he managed to grab them and the backpack crumpled, collapsed and burned.

  Wulfwyn yelled. “Godwine, catch him.” He climbed higher.

  Godwine reached down and Peter jumped to grab his hand. The outlaw pulled him up as fire covered the ground and blackened the tree’s trunk. Wood cracked and white ash floated in the heat.

  Large flames flicked at him from below as the tree caught light on the inside. Godwine held him steady as Peter fumbled for the rungs. The heat scorched his face and he squinted to stop his eyes from smarting. Godwine let go as Peter climbed.

  The smoke choked the back of his throat and he breathed in shallow gasps to stop from retching. A hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him up to the crack in the trunk. Cold fresh air cooled his cheeks and he breathed deep.

  Outside, Wulfwyn crouched on one side of the bough. Peter squeezed through the crack and Godwine followed.

  Below in the water stood the spae-wife, the carrier and the barghest.

  ***

  The spae-wife, wreathed in grey dust that coiled around her skeletal form, wore the seal-amulet. It hung from the bones that supported her neck and shone a bright crimson.

  Her lidless eyes stared into Peter’s and her teeth clacked as her jaw, more bone than skin, opened and shut, faster and faster. The fingers, shaped like talons that extended to the tips of her twisted nails, rose and fell, curved and plucked, as if she played an invisible musical instrument.

  Fire erupted o
n the bough where Wulfwyn stood. He leapt back and crashed into Godwine who clasped hold of Peter to keep his balance.

  Wulfwyn yelled. “Climb further back.”

  Godwine pushed past Peter. The bough below needed a wide stride or a jump to reach and Godwine leapt upon it, squatted and wobbled until sure of his balance.

  Wulfwyn gripped Peter’s shoulder. “Jump.”

  The barghest prowled around the trunk, its teeth bared, its glare cruel.

  Peter stammered. “It’s... too wide. I daren’t.”

  Wulfwyn grabbed him under the armpits, lifted him up and threw him down to Godwine. Peter’s mouth went dry as Godwine, the bough, the water, the barghest rushed upwards and he whirled his arms as if he tried to fly.

  Godwine caught him in a bear hug that knocked the breath out of Peter.

  The barghest leapt, its mouth wide, ready to snatch and tear and its claws scrabbled on the bark, but however high it jumped, it didn’t reach the bough.

  Godwine pushed Peter back against the trunk and then tensed, half-crouched ready to catch Wulfwyn. Peter dug his fingers into the tree.

  The carrier splashed through the water as he scuttled round from the other side of the trunk and spray flew in all directions.

  He can’t climb. He can’t jump.

  The spae-wife stayed out of view, hidden by the trunk, the sharp clack-clack-clack of her teeth might be the words of some alien language.

  Opposite Peter, on the bank, Bosa lay on his back, his eyes open. Beside him lay Leonor, curled up as if asleep, her head on her arm.

  Wulfwyn jumped and Godwine caught him round the waist as he landed. They shifted left and right, backwards and forwards and neither let go until confident and balanced.

  The fire crackled and a thin finger of flame chased after Wulfwyn as if it saw and followed. Down the trunk it burned towards Peter’s feet and the bark crisped to black. The bough below didn’t need such a big jump and Peter tested if he might be able to reach it. He crouched and stretched his leg until the tip of his boot just scraped the branch.