Traveller Inceptio

As the day progressed, the sun slid behind thick, leaden clouds and rain again threatened while a gusty, chill wind blew. Michael was thankful that the weather had been kind so far. Despite the danger, he still appreciated the beauty of their surroundings and was mildly surprised to see a creek they followed had a beaver dam on it. How the land would change in only one thousand years, he mused.

As trained, he observed and evaluated the members of his group for signs of weakness or injury. The children travelled well, and though young Berethun was becoming a little cranky at times, his naturally friendly nature shone through. He was a favourite of Alric, who was determined to walk normally. Michael would not yet permit Alric to engage in their robust daily training, as it was too soon after the savage blow to his head. His sister, Aedgyd, also walked with grim determination, though she never left the side of the cart and had spoken not a word. Having seen only a little of what the poor girl had suffered, Michael thought it would be some time before she could experience anything even as remotely normal.

Michael stopped. He smelled smoke.

It was only a faint whiff of wood smoke, so he and Desmond quickly gathered the group to discuss how to proceed. Smoke could mean a campfire or something worse.

“’Tis Nether Haddon, my Lord,” Horsa reminded. “As you’ll recall, they have but a few homes and a hunting lodge ahead.”

Michael nodded, but his nerves jangled and he feared the smoke might not be as innocent as a cooking fire. He looked to Desmond and Eadric. Both were cautious and alert. Aedgyd was wide-eyed and terrified, but the twins smoothed her hair and cooed quiet words of comfort. The young girls placed the seax they now wore, formerly owned by rapists and murderers, at their fingertips. Michael’s heart lifted in sudden fondness and pride at how the members of the group carried themselves at this time of potential danger and he saw the same feelings mirrored in Desmond’s eyes. With a quick glance and a nod, they slowly moved forward.

Those at point kept to cover, while the cart inched along as Desmond kept a firm grip on Plod’s bridle. The path was narrow, barely allowing the cart access. Brushing some leaves aside as he crouched by the path, Michael saw what he most feared. Smoke curled from the remains of the homes of the few inhabitants of Nether Haddon. It was only days past when they had spoken to the fishermen while pretty girls had flirted with young Eadric. Now they were gone. He and Hengist scanned the burned area to determine if anything was alive, or if Vikings or other raiders were around. They had learned danger did not reside exclusively with Vikings, as rogue elements of their own Saxon populace could and would loot, rape and murder.

When they saw no movement, they ran forward as taught, crouched low and running in short bursts, alternating as one kept watch from cover.

Hengist found the first body. A young boy, barely ten years old, had his head split as if struck from behind with an axe as he fled. The remains of his small body lay partially in one of the burned buildings. The smell was unforgettable: of burned timber, wet, and charcoaled flesh upon which the flies settled and feasted. Hengist paled, turned a little green and promptly turned away, traumatised.

Their reconnaissance showed no marauders, so Michael jogged back and gestured that the family remain watchful and under cover at the forest edge. While Alric and the monks stayed with the cart, Eadric, Desmond, and Irminric also searched the village.

They soon found more residents. A man lay with his face obliterated by an axe and a naked, middle-aged woman lay disembowelled, her mauve and yellow entrails strewn around her. Worse were the small children, their blonde hair fanned against the sombre earth of their former home, their pitifully small bodies lying as if they slept, the spear wounds in their backs showing they had been struck down as they fled. Michael could only imagine their terror and confusion as grown men killed their parents and then chased them for sport.

Six residents had been killed. Michael hoped the others had found safety. He murmured quietly, “Their bodies are stiff, so they were probably murdered only the morning before, most likely attacked in the early hours as they rose from their slumber. This could have been a family group caught as they passed through the abandoned village or residents who delayed their departure until too late.”

Desmond frowned. “How do ye know this, my Lord?” he asked breathlessly.

Eadric shrugged, and green-faced, answered before Michael could. “He just does,” he said, as if that was answer enough.

Desmond growled, “I ha’ never seen such as this. I’ve seen death, but not of the wee ones.” He looked back to his family at the cart, his desperate concern plain on his scarred face.

“We must spare them of this,” suggested Michael, nodding to the cart. “Move the cart along the path and away.” As Desmond moved off, he signalled to the lads. “Come, let’s bury them.”

Alric joined them to dig a communal grave after which the monks performed the necessary rights. There seemed to have been too many funerals and Brother Tondbert looked horrified as he joined the warriors to drag the pitiful bodies to the pits. The remnants of humble huts smouldered, leaving a pall of smoke and sadness over them. Michael looked at the faces of the four young men who had started the journey as carefree youngsters. Eadric, the thegn’s son, Tondbert, the young monk, and Hengist and Irminric, the sons of a prosperous blacksmith, all had suffered and grown greatly in the past few days. They had seen some of the foulest deeds a man can witness and Michael had taught them as best he could. All were good lads and he felt a close bond with them. He hoped their training was enough. These weren’t professional troops. He had to make sure they made it to Giolgrave safely.

“What are your thoughts on this?” he asked the warriors as they gathered. Eadric, Hengist and Irminric rested on their spears. Alric had not yet recovered from the blow to his head and he left the lads to return to Plod. It seemed he had a gift for horses, for the small pony had immediately taken to him. Desmond returned in time to join in their conversation.

He grunted. “I think Vikings. Our people would not do this.”

“No?” asked Michael. He jerked his head in the direction of Aedgyd, who still bore the disfigurement from her assault and rape. Though grateful she was able to walk and that her tooth remained in her mouth, hers was to be a long journey back to any semblance of health.

Desmond shook his head in response. “Aye, I hear ye, but this wasn’t by the likes of those dogs. These had axes, and there was more than a few. I say Danes did this.”

“What do you think?” asked Michael of the lads, who only shrugged and muttered their embarrassed ignorance. “Lads, it’s alright not to know, but as warriors, we will council each other.” He smiled grimly. “This is what I think, so please tell me if you think otherwise.” He took a deep breath. “Giolgrave is down this path here. It’s the largest village in the area, and because it has a monastery, and monasteries are places the marauders steal much of their plunder, I fear they seek Giolgrave.” He scratched his head in frustration. “It’s no good taking a strike force to find the Vikings as we’ll leave the cart, and the women and children, unprotected, so we have to continue as we are.”

“Strike force?” asked Irminric, but Michael ignored him.

“We have to assume that Giolgrave will manage this threat, but we might find the Vikings are between us and safety,” Michael continued.

Eadric looked fearful. “But Pa, Ma, my family…”

Michael nodded and placed a placating hand on the lad’s sturdy shoulder. “Aye, lad, but your da is a man who knows how to care for his family and village. Let’s hope and pray that they’ve prepared for attack. There are some mighty warriors there, and your Da is no fool. I imagine that some might have fled safely to the village hiding places. My main concern is how we can get to that safety without meeting marauders ourselves.”

He looked at his small squad, three young lads and a seasoned warrior probably well past his ‘best by’ date. They just had to be smart and hope they were also lucky. They would need a lot of luck. “You’ve done well in your training, lads, so be sharp, keep your eyes and ears open, and remember that you are good men and warriors—as good as any Viking.”

Tatae, Michael thought as he held his two amulets. Please be safe!

He strode to the cart and removed his pack. After rummaging inside, he removed a small parcel and walked into the bushes. Desmond watched him go and shrugged, knowing better than to question him.

They crossed the river with difficulty, as the cart had to use the ford that was best suited for individual travellers. Stones were placed to allow a person to jump across without getting wet. Though the ford was shallow, Plod had to be led across with the cart emptied of all passengers. The pony strained and the men pushed and turned the wheels as they sunk into the gravel bottom.

“This won’t help us if we need to flee,” suggested Desmond. Michael looked to the big man and nodded in agreement. The children treated the crossing as a game, skipping across the stones and laughing despite Michael and Desmond’s admonitions for silence.

While the monks, the women and Alric repacked the cart, Michael, Eadric and Hengist decided to scout where the forest met the gravelled banks of the river. After the discovery of Nether Haddon, Michael knew that they could possibly be in pursuit of those who had attacked the village and slaughtered those defenceless people. Above the gravel of the ford, Eadric soon identified hoof prints that showed a horse, possibly a packhorse, had recently travelled that way.

The others had barely repacked the cart and got the children seated when Michael felt the oppressive presence of danger. He looked to Hengist and saw the lad’s head come up as he sniffed the air. Eadric immediately crouched into the bushes. Desmond was settling Berethun into the cart when Alric cried out in alarm as men emerged from the undergrowth. They hadn’t seen Michael and the lads, and they stood smiling cockily.

Michael counted six men, all armed, three with axes and three with spears. Aedgyd screamed and ran to Edyt, who held her close as the young woman buried her face in the older woman’s hair. The twins were in the cart, but Desmond gave a sharp command and they quickly slid off to hide between the wheels as they had oft practised.

The monks all stood very still, terrified and unsure of what had happened to the other warriors. As Michael had taught them, they held their staves ready.