Traveller Inceptio

They woke to find the irritating drizzle that had plagued the previous day’s journey had ceased. A pre-dawn mist muffled all sound and the pearly haze outlined the trees as mysteries, silhouetted as they were against a dreamlike, silver backdrop. Irminric blew on the coals to coax a reluctant fire to dispel the chill. Michael had already noticed Desmond and Edyt’s two lads’ attitudes had sharpened. They were quick to follow his commands and roused swiftly while their sisters continued to snuggle together in the warmth of their woollen cloaks. The night watch had gone well enough, though Michael had checked on each of them. Irminric had been particularly relieved at his company as Michael suspected he was a little afraid of the dark. He was, after all, only a young lad of about fifteen.

They were all young lads.

The morning started as it always did for Michael, with training. Hengist and Irminric joined Eadric in basic exercises, despite their complaints of aching feet and muscles. They obviously thought him a little odd as they performed their squats and pushups, but as they giggled and worked, he explained the importance of fitness and in keeping their bodies warm, limber and healthy.

Next came basic unarmed combat skills, which they loved. “A warrior is to be strong and must never prey on the weak. You must be strong in your body and your mind. Yes, you must have focus,” Michael emphasised as Hengist was swept from his feet to hit the ground with a thump that made him gasp. Despite the distractions, Michael instilled a few skills he wanted the lads to practice throughout the day. It was vital they learn quickly.

The young girls collected berries for breakfast while the young men used weighted and dulled practice swords to exercise some basics of sword craft. Eadric and Hengist engaged in mock combat against Michael while Desmond demonstrated some of his tricks in using the sword. All, including the monks, were shown how to use a spear and were told to practice. Brother Oeric looked aghast that he should consider killing another, but knew better than to object when he saw how serious Michael had become.

“Brothers, you practiced on the way to Snot and you thought it unnecessary, but this is about defending yourself and the little ones,” emphasised Michael. When the monks appeared unconvinced, he added, “And you have the safety of the holy relics to consider. So after your prayers, practice!”

Michael knew they would find their new role as keepers of the relics challenging. While every young Saxon man spent their childhood engaged in one form of combat play or another, now the monks, Edyt, and the girls had to become familiar with handling a spear.

It was no longer a game.

Next came a morning wash in a chilly stream to reinforce Michael’s lessons of care for self and their gear. None dared complain. While all, especially the monks, considered Michael’s mania on cleanliness as excessive, they followed his instructions and Desmond approved of his attitude to discipline.

Michael watched them grimly. Something in him told him they didn’t have much time. He was trying to convey his years of professional training in an abridged form to instil the iron-hard mental toughness of the Special Forces into each of the young men. Care for self, wash regularly, improve hygiene, look after clothes and footwear. Even chewing the little twigs Tatae provided to take care of their teeth all became part of the warrior’s way.

“Aye, lads,” growled Desmond over their breakfast of soaked stale bread and berries, “Michael knows. I’ve seen many a good man brought down because of sickness or a simple injury.”

“So are you going to be a part of this as well then?” asked Hengist, feeling somewhat chastened. Normally unbeatable in traditional wrestling, Eadric’s abilities in Michael’s new ways had seen his cousin triumph far too often.

Desmond paused, raised his eyebrows and sighed as he looked to Edyt for support. She only smiled, so he grunted, “Of course lad, of course.”

Later, as they hitched the wagon to Plod, Edyt ran an appreciating hand over her husband’s newly washed face. “It’s nice, all clean.” She smiled and Desmond blushed as Edyt playfully gave her husband a hug and a flurry of featherlike kisses.

The silver mist still lay in the valley like a pool from which only the treetops protruded while they continued their journey on a road that was little more than a track. The travellers were in better spirits, for the day warmed and the damp, woollen cloaks steamed as they were spread to dry in the morning sun. The party made better time and hardly paused as they passed through another small village. They then stopped briefly at Deor-lean to pay their respects to Ricbert, but only found Brother Sigberct with a few women and old men. “Nay, Lord Michael, Lord Ricbert is gone,” said the priest. He paused as he sighed sadly. “He journeys to meet with the Vikings and swear allegiance.”

There was a small gasp from Brother Oeric and Brother Horsa, but Brother Sigberct shrugged. “Brothers, judge ye not harshly. What could he do? The fate of his villagers lies in his hands. He believes our people will never be victorious against the Vikings, for is not God’s anger turned against us for the wrongs and terrible murders upon the Danes?”

“Did all warriors go with him?” asked Michael, for the once bustling village appeared almost deserted.

Brother Sigberct shook his head sadly. “Nay, my Lord, many have fled for shelter in the great forest, while some of the warriors begged for their thegn’s blessing to fight against the marauders.”

“But won’t the Vikings sack the village?” asked Desmond. The big man looked fearful of a similar fate for his lost home in Snotengaham.

Brother Sigberct again shrugged. “’Tis in the hands of the Lord. While our thegn hopes the time has come for peace, our hearts are troubled. There is great sorrow and weeping from the women and children of the village, for their men left only two days hence.”

There was precious little food for the family group to buy, so after the monks exchanged blessings, they went on their way.

Some of the villagers still worked the fields and they stopped to chat with one farmer who sold them a hefty pile of leeks. “Aye, I know they come. They always come, these Danes.” He paused as he thoughtfully scratched his balls. “They’re never interested in the like o’ us, just the larger village folks, they are. They just want to loot some churches, kill a few, and be on their way. They still wanta eat, so they leave us simple folk alone.”

“Have ye a place to hide then?” asked Desmond.

“Oh, aye, we do, but not for long. The Danes never stay. Like ah say, what would they want with the likes o’ us?” He smiled and shrugged and waved off their advice with good-natured dismissal as he wished them God’s blessing.

Michael soon established a formation that would offer the best defence in the event of an attack. Two of the armed men or lads led at point some ten metres ahead of the cart, an armed man walked with Plod, then came the cart and passengers, then the monks and two more armed men at the rear. Michael made them practice defensive manoeuvres, giving an alarm call and compelling them to treat it seriously while they practiced possible scenarios. Edyt and the three children hid under the cart, the monks would defend the cart with their staves, and the men and youths practised strategies. The children treated it as a game and they all became very proficient. Though it slowed their journey, Michael felt practice necessary, and none complained, though only after extensive practice was he satisfied. Already the younger lads showed great promise at becoming good soldiers, as they had exceptionally good instincts, something Saxons seemed to develop naturally.

Michael and Eadric walked at point when, in mid-conversation, Michael paused and they both stopped to listen, heads up in alarm, and then dashed to the cover of trackside bushes. Michael was sure he’d heard or felt something, but had to make sure it wasn’t his imagination. Experience taught him to heed his gut feeling. Again, a faint cry—he was certain it was human—from the forest to the side of the road. He held up his hand to halt the cart and was gratified to note all immediately took up a defensive position, the men and lads drawing around the cart as the children and Edyt hid beneath.

Desmond remained at the cart as Michael and Eadric crept cautiously into the forest, alert and watchful. Undergrowth prevented them from seeing far ahead, but within moments, they identified the still form of a man lying under low bushes. Michael squatted to see if he was alive. On checking his neck, he found a weak pulse. His bleeding head showed the lad had been struck from behind, probably after having been forced to walk into the forest, as there were no drag marks. He looked to be a villager, a young man not much older than Eadric. His blonde hair was soaked in blood.

Michael nodded forwards and they soon saw movement, so immediately dropped into a crouch in the dense cover. He saw men, facing away as if engaged in some activity, and heard another cry of distress, as from a child or young girl. The men laughed and one of them spoke roughly. Michael looked at Eadric and nodded toward the men. Wary of ambush, they used the cover of the trees and bushes to get a better look.

Two men stood, relaxed and unguarded. An older, bearded man held a bloodstained cudgel while a younger man, possibly his son, leaned on his spear. They had the scruffy look of locals. Michael pointed to the bodies of an older man and woman that lay in the small clearing. The man’s head faced toward them and they could see he had been severely bashed on the top of the head, for there was a large dent in his skull and bone fragments visible in the blood, clear fluid, and grey brain matter. They couldn’t see the woman properly, but she could have been stabbed with a spear. They looked like simple farmers or villagers. Michael moved to get a better look at what was happening.

A man was raping a very young woman or child. His breeches were about his ankles and his tunic was pulled up to his chest, so his bare torso humped the girl beneath. She cried out in her pain and anguish as the watchers laughed.

The elder called out, “Hurry up, Wini, I might want to do the bitch again,” and they chuckled together.

The man on the girl paused to heft himself onto his knees and direct a solid punch to her face. Michael winced as the brutal blow connected and her young face flung away with the force. Reeling from the brutality, the barely conscious woman sobbed as the man grasped her ankles and continued while on his knees. She moaned pitifully.

Michael nudged the horrified Eadric and handed him his spear. The lad simply looked on, shocked into immobility. From where they were positioned, behind the watchers, they could see the man’s penetration in its bloody glory. Motioning Eadric forward, Michael stood and walked from cover.

Rape was a weapon, but few, if any of the Special Forces he had met, could witness rape. These men had brutally raped this poor girl and would likely murder her, like they had her family. His ears rang and he was in a blind fury, his lips clenched and bloodless. He walked boldly, for in his terrible clarity of purpose he had no fear at all. It was only when he was close that the older man turned in shock. Without a pause, Michael kicked him a solid, martial arts blow to the jaw that immediately felled him.

The spearman turned in time to receive a savage chop to his neck, just under his scraggly beard. With barely a sound, he fell.

Michael strode forward, grabbed the rapist by his long, greasy hair and pulled him back until he was pulled out of his victim. With his seax, he sliced the rapist’s throat from ear to ear. Blood sprayed onto the woman and the leafy ground in a crimson shower. Without a sound, Michael threw him sideways to the ground where he thrashed out his death rattle. With a cursory glance to make sure the other men were no risk, he knelt by the girl, who lay semi-conscious. He vaguely heard the spearman drum his feet onto the forest floor as he clawed at his throat. Michael leant over the girl and saw blood on her thighs and on her face. She gulped and struggled for breath.

He looked back to Eadric and sharply gestured him forward as he scanned the surrounding forest, which had suddenly become threatening and unfriendly. The choking man continued to thrash, but only weakly. Eadric ran forward, his eyes large as he gazed around in horror. He stared at the man with the slit throat, the man choking, and then to the almost naked body of the girl on the ground. He appeared to not know where to look.

“Go back to the cart and bring Desmond and Hengist!” Michael ordered curtly.

Eadric hesitated, as frightened of Michael as he was of the dead men, but Michael didn’t care. It was time for Eadric to grow up.

“Eadric! Go! Now!” Michael commanded.

The young man promptly stood and ran.

Michael squatted next to the girl and examined her injuries. The brute’s blow had knocked out one of her teeth and it lay in a pool of blood and saliva next to her bruised and broken mouth. Her legs lay spread as they had been left, and Michael noted she had probably been raped a number of times. He checked her for broken bones. But for some bruises on her body, she hadn’t sustained any other injuries: none that he could see. He pulled down her tunic to cover her nakedness and shook his head sadly. How could any young girl recover from such cruelty?

The analytical part of his mind recollected that the shape of the human penis pumps out the semen from a previous event, in this poor girl’s case, previous rapists. There was a chance that, if she lived, she may not have to carry a life-long memento of this horrific experience in the form of a rapist’s unfortunate little bastard child.

Yet, if she lived, she would never be as she was.

Desmond, Hengist and Eadric arrived at a run, their spears ready. At the sight of the men and the girl, Desmond growled while Hengist paled, his face suddenly as bloodless as Eadric’s.

Michael waved Eadric over and bent to the girl, speaking gently to comfort. “Now, now, little one, you’re safe now. We’ll look after you. Those bad men are gone. Come now, we’ll get you away from here.” He touched her head tenderly and she cried out weakly. He made shushing sounds, picked up her tooth, and motioning to Eadric, placed in into his hand. “Scoop some of her spit on the tooth. We may be able to save it for her.”

Eadric looked at Michael as if he had gone mad, but Michael gestured to him. The young man tried vainly to scoop some of her bloody saliva onto the tooth, that been removed roots and all.

Her head lolled as Michael lifted her into his arms, for she was barely conscious. While she was obviously young and pretty, like many of the Saxon girls could be, it would be some time before her face healed. With the blow, Michael suspected she would have to contend with cheekbone damage. He stood with the girl cradled in his arms and handed her gently to Eadric, who dropped the spears to gather her into his arms. “Take her to the cart and have your aunt and the monks care for her. Tell them what happened, and tell them to be gentle,” stressed Michael.

Eadric nodded and carried her easily, as he was strong and she was so small and light. Michael scooped up the dropped spears and gestured Desmond over. The blacksmith’s face was ugly with fury. “I’m sorry, Desmond; it was a nasty scene. I know I shouldn’t have done that, but I did,” apologised Michael. Sudden tears blurred his vision. He dashed them aside angrily.

Desmond nodded and placed a hard hand on his shoulder. “They got what was coming to them, my Lord,” he nodded, his lop-sided face grim and ugly. “If it was me, there would’ve been much more blood.”

Michael nodded and gestured Hengist over. “We have to check these people, Hengist. It’s an important thing to do. If it becomes too much, just tell me, okay?”

The young man nodded. He nervously glanced at the bodies in the glade as they walked to the first. The young man was still alive. They struggled to lift him and he groaned.

Michael examined the back of his head. As his fingers carefully probed the wound, he was gratified to find that the lad’s skull had not been fractured. Only his scalp was split from the blow. He shook his head. “Thank God this one has a hard head. They must have struck him as he ran away, as the club caught him only a glancing blow.”

Hengist watched, fascinated, and asked, “Will he live, Lord Michael?”

Michael nodded doubtfully. “Well he might, lad, he might. He’ll have a bad headache for a while, but he may be able to tell us what this was all about.”

The lad moaned again as his eyes fluttered and rolled in their sockets.

Michael started to lift him and the young man struggled to get his legs under him. “Hengist, help me take him to the cart. Are you alright to stay a moment, Desmond? I’ll be back in a moment. I saw no others, but that doesn’t mean another might not be around. Be careful.”

Desmond nodded and he hefted his spear with a look that showed he hoped another rapist would appear.

With the semi-conscious youth suspended between them, Hengist and Michael walked slowly to the cart.

The twins had already drawn water from a nearby creek for Edyt to wash the poor girl. As he had been asked, Eadric had kept her tooth. With Edyt and Brother Horsa looking on, Michael gently persuaded the barely conscious girl to open her split and swollen mouth and he inserted the tooth back into its bloody socket. If acted upon promptly, the tooth had a chance to heal and stay in her gum. He explained as much to Brother Horsa, who nodded in understanding.

Edyt applied a damp cloth to the girl’s face and exclaimed in horror, “Oh, Mother Mary, help us!” Her glance to her daughters made her fears clear. The girl’s left eye was blackening and closing as her face began to swell.

“I’ll tell you more on what happened later. The poor, wee lass,” added Michael as he shook his head in pity. “Thank God she’s now in good hands.” He nodded his gratitude to Edyt and Brother Horsa, who knelt beside her. “She was raped, so Edyt, please give care to her womanly parts, as they’ll be bruised and torn.”

She and Brother Horsa gasped. “Who would do such a thing?” Edyt asked tearfully.

Michael shrugged sadly. “Who’s to know? Unsettled times bring out the beast in some men. It’s not just the Vikings we have to fear, it seems.” He nodded to the twins, who stood on hand with a wooden bucket of water ready. “Good girls, but you go nowhere without one of your brothers, understand?”

They chewed their bottom lips and nodded together.

He looked back to Brother Horsa and Edyt. “God himself knows what unseen damage has been done to her heart and her young mind.”

Brother Horsa gathered twigs and leaves to start a small fire and sorted his herbs in a businesslike manner. “I’ll make a brew for the girl and the youth, my Lord.”

Michael clapped the monk on his shoulder, nodded to Edyt, and left Brother Horsa to tell the other monks what was needed, for ingredients would be on hand in the forest.

“The herbs will give comfort and help them to sleep and heal,” the monk added.

The injured young man strong. He struggled to regain consciousness but was unable to stand, so the sturdy Hengist and Irminric helped him to sit against the wheel of the cart while his head drooped forward. Under Brother Horsa’s direction, they placed a pad of moss against his wound to staunch the bleeding.

Michael was relieved that the others took control. Eadric crouched by the young girl, looking like he wanted to help, so he directed Eadric to grab a small spade. “Eadric, come with me. Hengist, Irminric, keep your spears ready. Give a yell if anyone approaches. The monks and your mother and sisters can care for these poor souls.”

Michael and Eadric jogged to the glade where he and Desmond checked the bodies. Eadric stood guard and looked on. Their close inspection confirmed what he already suspected and he pointed out his observations to Desmond and Eadric. “These people look to have been murdered.”

Desmond grunted. “They would ha’ known their killers.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “Why do you think they did it?” he asked.

Desmond shrugged. “To take revenge for a grudge, or simply to rob. Who knows? This was a family fleeing to the forest and were no threat to anyone. Maybe that’s why they were attacked.”

They inspected the attackers. The rapist and the man struck in the neck were both dead, but the older man, possibly the father of the thugs, lay unconscious.

“So this fool lives,” Desmond growled. “Let’s cut his throat and be done with it!” He reached for his seax, but Michael held out his hand.

“Nay, Desmond, this piece of dung lives by God’s hand, not mine.”

“What shall we do with these swine then?”

“Nothing! Leave them to the beasts. If this fool does live, he won’t find life too kind. His jaw is badly broken.”

Desmond grunted. “Let us then pray for his slow and miserable death.”

Michael shrugged. “We must bury these poor souls and be on our way, but leave these dogs to their fate.”

“Aye, but we must search them and take what we can. Something may as yet help us when we need,” grunted Desmond as he searched the body of the unconscious man. They stripped the rapists, took their weapons, and left the injured man defenceless and naked. They then carried the bodies of the man and woman to the path and dug two lonely graves. Brother Oeric, assisted by Brother Tondbert, led a brief service.

With the injured man and girl placed onto the cart, Edyt opted to walk. From their looks, it was obvious that Eadric had told the others what had occurred, but Michael was in no mood for hero worship. The rape had thrown him into a black rage and it shook him that he would lose control like he had. He had seen fellow troops shoot murderers and rapists with barely a blink of the eye, but these were different times and different places. For some reason, the girl reminded him of Tatae, and to have her assaulted brought out his killer instincts.

The cart was loaded and the rest of their ragtag group almost ready to depart.

Desmond took Michael to the side of the road and spoke quietly. “’Twas a good thing you did, Lord Michael. None would judge you harshly. Those dogs deserved what they received.”

Michael nodded, grateful. For some reason, Desmond’s comments made him feel better.

It was time to leave. All wanted to make haste from the terrible place.

***

For the remainder of the day, they travelled slowly. Michael became frustrated by their poor progress, but was encouraged by the young man’s recovery. By the end of the day, he was able to tell of their fate.

He was Alric of the village of Codnor. He, his sister Aedgyd, and parents had travelled to join kin at a camp that was to be their hiding place in the forest. There was a rumour that Danes did not like the deep forests. The family decided to hide away for a few weeks and hoped to return to their village in the cooler months to harvest their valuable crops.

That morning, after the mists had fled, they were attacked from behind and Alric was struck down. That was all he knew.

Desmond gently told him his sister had been injured but was in their care. When informed of the fate of his parents, he simply placed his face in his hands and wept. “Oh, Ma, oh, Da”. His shoulders shook with a weeping that tore at the heart of any who heard. After a few moments, little Berethun placed a small, comforting hand on his shoulder and gently kissed his face. The young man paused in his grief and looked up at Berethun, whose squint-eyed smile with his stuck-out tongue was sympathetic. The lad patted Alric’s face gently. Alric simply held Berethun, buried his face into his shoulder and wept as the small boy stood bravely, hugging the young man close.

Michael’s black fury continued. He could never disregard when he killed anyone, especially in emotion, but never before had he felt such a furious desire to murder someone with his bare hands. He had done just that. As a professional soldier, killing was normally of other professionals, with the only close-in killing he had ever experienced having been of sentries in the Middle East. Today, he felt like he had made the dramatic step into the role of judge, jury and executioner. Though perfectly capable of the role, he had to consider the consequences of his actions, both in history, and in his role as historical researcher in Saxon Aengland. What was he really doing here? Where did he draw the line on involvement with these people? Technically, they had been dead for a thousand years, yet he was drawn to help them. He had to stand by what he saw was right, what was ethical. He had a mission to fulfil. Wasn’t his training to protect the innocent?

As they travelled, he found Edyt by his side and they walked together. Michael hadn’t had any close association with Desmond’s lovely wife and she proved to be a font of wisdom. “I grew up in the same village as Desmond and Godric, and we were friends before Desmond took me for wife,” she explained quietly. “We’ve not seen Godric since the dark days when the men had to fight for their homes.” She smiled, misty-eyed, as she looked with obvious pride to her daughters and then her sons. “It must be hard to be a man: to kill for those you love.” She watched her feet as she walked. “Did you know Godric saved his younger brother’s life? Oh, aye, poor Desmond had been struck in the face. In saving his brother, Godric caught the attention of King Aethelred as a mighty warrior. He was made a thegn. We know he shocked many when he claimed a Dane as his wife and then settled in his choice of far-off Giolgrave. Aye, because of Hilda, Godric chose to stay hidden in the forests, far from Saxon society, rather than claiming his right to be a mighty ruler.”

Michael realised in Saxon England there was no comfort in waiting for genteel legal processing. Here the process wasn’t through the barrel of a gun, but on the blade of a knife. Men had to do what they could and sometimes bravery was recognised and respected, but mostly bravery was about doing what one felt was right for those one loved. He thanked Edyt and hugged her close, his arm around her shoulders as they walked.

That afternoon they stopped where a brook ran gaily over rounded stones and an old, hollow oak offered shelter.

As they unloaded the cart, Edyt quietly expressed her concern to Desmond and Michael. “We must do something soon or we’ll have no food to eat. We can’t just live on herbs and berries.” She looked across at the twins who busily rummaged in the undergrowth, the spear-wielding Irminric in close attendance.

Michael nodded. “Leave it to me. I need a moment to think anyway. Eadric!” he called. The thegn’s son looked up, and as Michael strung his bow, he grabbed his spear and they headed off in search of game.

A cranky and territorial badger, or brock, as Eadric called it, was noisily killed by Eadric’s spear and they had to be content with that for their night’s meat. They carried the hefty badger between them, slung on the spear, and Michael pondered on the events of the day. The positives were that the young men, especially Eadric, had responded admirably and Michael found himself gradually slipping from his black mood.

Aided by her sons, who showed themselves to be competent butchers, Edyt cooked a delicious stew with forest mushrooms. As a treat, the girls had gathered lots and lots of wild berries.

Alric had little appetite but ate some of the stew before he collapsed into sleep. Michael’s assessment was serious concussion. It was best to leave the lad’s care in the capable hands of Horsa and Edyt. He could’ve died, but it seemed Saxons simply had rock-hard heads.

Aedgyd was another matter. She lay huddled, battered and abused. Her face had swollen on her left side and her eye was shut. Edyt gently coaxed the girl to drink one of Horsa’s herbal concoctions, a tea of herbs, willow bark, and some juice crushed from berries. She only drank a little before falling fast asleep again. The twin girls, Linette and Torctgyd, took it upon themselves to be carers for the injured and spent much of their evening holding a damp cloth to Aedgyd’s face or gently stroking her hair as they murmured sweet words of comfort and support.

After their hearty meal, Michael played to raise their flagging spirits and felt his own mood further lighten. He sang a few old Irish ballads that tugged at the heart and most sat and simply stared into the campfire flames. He was forced to concede that, if faced with the same situation, he would do it again. He knew his camera had recorded everything, and by now the vision would be in the possession of the research team. He shrugged, resigned to his role; what could he do? Leave the poor girl to her fate? Every other member of Saxon Traveller would react as he had. They told him in the final briefing that he had to do whatever he could to survive. Shoving those thoughts aside, he decided to concentrate on more operational matters. More than ever, it was vital they return safely to Giolgrave with the news of the Viking incursion.

As the evening settled in, they covered the fire with ash and Michael posted sentries, but this time there were to be two awake at a time. None even thought to question his decision.

That night he dreamt of Tatae, her smooth skin and her radiant smile, but most of all, he dreamt of her amber eyes as they smiled and wished him home.