Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 29

It took Alwyn and me a lot longer to get out of Angleland than it had to get so deep into it. The country was alive now. Horsemen, not those heavily armed, specifically mounted cavalrymen like Lancelot's knights, but simply armed men on horseback, rode up and down the roads looking for spies. We watched them from the treeline, covered in bushes and always cautious of those who might come to search the woods.

The warriors would dismount and question men, sometimes roughly and I guessed that those who were questioned harshly were those of British origin. I watched with a sickening feeling in my stomach as I saw a familiar looking old man with a beautiful black dog beaten down by men who questioned him. The dog, rushing to defend its master, was stabbed with two spears. The old man seemed to cry harder at that strike than at the blow that had felled him. The dog's yelp pitifully cut over everything though. Beside me, Alwyn growled and made to rise and intervene but I reached out and held him down. 'Don't be a fool.' I hissed at him, all while wanting to draw Caliburn and rush at the Angle warriors.

Without moving we watched the beating stop. The dog was trying to drag itself towards his master, whimpering and the old man crawled towards his dog and rested the hound's head in his lap and held him for long moments. Then I watched him draw a knife and quickly cut his faithful friend's throat to put him from his misery. Blood gushed from the throat, though too much had been lost already for it to strongly spurt. But the old man didn't move, and instead clutched the dog's head tightly in his arms, holding him close as his dog died. Who was this old man? I wondered again, more than his name now I thought of his family. Did he have one? Was his wife alive still? Did he have children? I wondered if that faithful dog was all that he had left and felt my heart break at the thought. Still I did not move from my hiding place, and eventually the old man lifted the dog from his lap and walked away from the body, never looking back.

We no longer needed the Roman roads, the sun and the north star to guide us home. Smoke billowed liked beacons, towering high in the sky to mark where our raiding parties had struck. As we passed through the countryside, we passed by the blackened carcasses of buildings, sometimes still smouldering. Bodies sometimes littered the ground, often picked apart by the birds and beasts. There were not just the bodies of men, but of women and children too. I felt sick walking by them. Worse, I felt responsible. Guilt clung to my soul, and I thought of how angry we had been at the devastation left by the Angles when they had invaded in their attempt to catch Ratae, but here was proof that we were no better.

We eventually were found by Lancelot and his warriors, on their way back to the ford from a raid. His men came charging up behind us in two terrifying lines and for a terrifying moment I feared he would charge us down, and I turned and waved my arms at him, screaming his name, even as I saw the lance points dropped low, aiming at my belly.

At the last second, in a display of horsemanship and skill I was in no mood to appreciate, Lancelot reined in his horse so that it reared up, it's feet nearly hitting me and spinning his lance in his hand so he softly touched my head with the base of its shaft. 'Ah.' He greeted me with a mocking grin. 'The wolf has returned, and all of Angleland trembles in his wake.'

I had no answer for him, I was still trying not to show how scared I had just been, at how my guts felt strangely loose and how in desperate need of a piss I suddenly was. Lancelot was grinning at me as he looked down from his horse, and I was sure he knew how scared I had been. I was certainly appreciating the impact of what heavily armed mounted men could do to people, even just mentally.

We were escorted back towards the fords. We still had to walk, because Lancelot insisted that his knights were heavy enough burden for their horses as it was. I grumbled unenthusiastically about this, but in truth I was happy to continue to walk despite the ache in my legs from almost a fortnight of travel. I didn't like horses, and I had no intention of having to wrap my arms around some horse boy's waist like one of those lovestruck girls who swooned after the cavalrymen. Still, I looked unhappily at the cavalrymen who crossed the fords while Alwyn and I had to wade through the cold and dirty water that reached to our waists, feeling my breath catch as the cold caught my balls, and my clothes clung to my legs, rubbing on my thighs as I tried to walk.