In The Grip Of Old Winter (24 page)

Snowflakes floated through
the branches. The harder Peter stared into the trees, the deeper the shadows.
If the barghest watched, it stayed very still.

Oswald said, “What do you
see?”

Peter shook his head. “Nothing.”
The seal-amulet lay cold and black against his chest.

Wulfwyn crouched and peered
at the man’s neck, studied the ground close to where he fell. Then he knelt,
leaned forward and closed the man’s eyes.

Godwine picked up the sword
and returned to Oswald and Peter.

“Ah! A weapon at last,” said
Oswald and took the proffered hilt.

“Is there a dagger?” asked
Peter.

Godwine didn’t reply, but
returned to Wulfwyn who, bent double as he peered at the ground, stepped away
from the dead man.

“Godwine cannot speak,” said
Oswald. “The Normans captured him after the battle with Harold and ripped out
his tongue.”

Peter swallowed. “Why?” The
thought made him hot, angry and sick all at the same time.

“It is the way when blood
lust runs high. In war, the victor’s triumph overflows even when the battle is
won.” Oswald strode down the bank and took several swings with his new sword
against a fallen branch. The wood cracked and broke and splinters flew in all
directions. “This will serve.”

Wulfwyn climbed halfway up
the bank behind them and as he climbed, he studied the forest floor. Then he stood,
sheathed his knife and ran back down. “The barghest makes its tracks away from
this place. We cannot stay, for I do not know its purpose.”

Oswald said, “This is the
beast of which the boy speaks?”

Wulfwyn strode past them.
“Has Godwine some other shelter?”

“I cannot leave Leonor,” said
Oswald. He glanced at the dead man. “What has happened here that a knight lies
dead? You tell strange tales that babes hear as fancy, but which you speak of
as true. This man ran from Bosa’s manor, his dying, clear to my eyes, of others
who are dead or fled from whatever assails that homestead. I must see, for good
or ill, or I will never rest. Leonor lives, for as long as I breathe I will not
believe any other claim, not until her body is laid at my feet.” He swiped his
sword through a mound of brown and brittle leaves and some of them flew through
the air and fell to the ground faster than the falling snow. “Let me go alone
to Bosa’s manor. I cannot hide like some thief in the night. I have delayed too
long.”

“My Eorl, Leonor’s safe
return is my wish also,” said Wulfwyn. “Consider that we are too few to fight.
It is far worse to waste our lives...”

Oswald pointed his sword at
the dead man. “All the knights might have perished, Bosa too. The meaning of
how this has come to pass must be found and that we cannot know when we hide
like moles in the ground. This chance might be given and we must take it, or
live to regret our weakness until the end of our days.”

Peter glanced at Godwine, but
his face betrayed no hint of what he thought. Wulfwyn’s jaw tightened. “You are
my Eorl and have my allegiance.”

Oswald grunted, turned and
strode away. Godwine followed.

Wulfwyn watched and then he
said, “Come.”

Peter walked fast to keep up
with his pace. “Oswald does know about the barghest, because it attacked him -
and the seal-amulet worked and I chased it away - or he would have died.”

Wulfwyn drew his knife. “You
know when the passing of a man’s life is upon him - how?” He studied the ground
as he walked.

“Because -.”
Bear told me.
“Because the barghest frightened Oswald’s horse. It reared - Oswald didn’t
stand a chance if he fell off.”

“Our Eorl does not acquaint
an attack from a black dog and the guise of the barghest as one,” said Wulfwyn.
“Why need he, when the barghest is told of in old tales from old ways? That it
walks and breathes as well as you and I is not an easy truth.”

No. And Oswald never did
know the truth, because he died. That he lives now is new. A different strand
weaves its way through time. And no one knows how it will end.

Peter’s stomach clenched.
Fear and danger threatened, even death. He didn’t know how to fight a knight.
And if the spae-wife attacked and the seal-amulet didn’t work...

Wulfwyn halted and placed a
hand on Peter’s shoulder. Ahead, Oswald and Godwine slowed. Two dead knights
lay to their right. Godwine approached the corpses, stooped and picked up a
long black knife. Oswald hurried back to Wulfwyn and Godwine followed.

“It is as before.” Oswald
drew his finger across his throat.

“Cut by a knife or torn by
teeth?” asked Wulfwyn.

Godwine shaped his fingers to
look like talons and gripped his own throat.

Wulfwyn nodded. “As before.
Though these two died before the other, if I read the marks of that one’s trail
aright.”

Oswald peered back over his
shoulder. “We are close to the manor.”

Peter stood in silence as
they all listened. Snowflakes fell, some fast, some slow. He rubbed the
seal-amulet between his finger and thumb.

Oswald said, “There is no
clash of arms, no cries. We must proceed with care.” He glanced at the two dead
men. “Armour and weapons hold little protection, or so it seems.”

Godwine held out the knife,
hilt first, for Peter to take.

“Oh, wow! Thanks.” He turned
the knife over and over. The black blade tapered to paper-thin sharpness along
either side and the edges gleamed as they caught the light. He didn’t know how
to use a knife, hoped that he needn’t have to fight, though gripped tight in
his palm, some of his fear receded. “Thanks.”

“Stay close,” said Wulfwyn.
“Follow.”

As they approached the manor,
the trees grew farther apart. Wulfwyn crouched and scuttled from trunk to
trunk. Peter copied and so did Godwine. Oswald bent double and came last.

A wide space separated the
last line of trees from Eorl Bosa’s homestead and the moat that circled its
high earthen banks and wooden wall. A manor twice the size of Oswald’s, with many
smaller buildings clustered close together, so many it might be a village. A
bridge spanned the moat. In the middle of the bridge, the carrier crouched.

***

Oswald whispered. “What
manner of man is he that he still draws breath when death threatened his life
and maimed his body?”

Wulfwyn lay flat and wriggled
out from behind the tree. Godwine crouched, sword in hand.

Peter held up the seal-amulet
and whispered to Oswald. “He gave me this. He said to give it ‘to the one who
is waiting.’ He didn’t mean to give it to me and now he’s trying to take it
back.”

Oswald took the seal-amulet
between his finger and thumb. “It is dull and cold. What charm do you speak to
make the silver shapes show?”

“I don’t speak any charm. I
don’t know how it works. I made it work once - no twice, but I don’t know how
to make it work when I want it to.”

Oswald let go of it. “That
the carrier gives this as a gift is curious to my mind. Why did he give it if
he did not mean you to have it?”

“I don’t know.” Peter tried
hard to remember when Bear told him about the seal-amulet’s history, but he
knew that just sounded weird if he attempted to explain the spae-wife’s and the
skin-walkers’ stories.

Wulfwyn wriggled back behind
the tree. “Not one knight walks Eorl Bosa’s walls. No clash of arms or orders
shouted. The carrier waits, untroubled by peril or fear.” He wiped his
forehead. “I cannot know what passes within.”

Oswald rasped in a hoarse
whisper. “It is just the carrier. A cripple and we are four.” He raised his
sword. “He will flee or die.”

Wulfwyn stood. “No. It is not
the carrier alone we will fight.”

Oswald scowled. “A black dog
and - and an old maid?”

Wulfwyn pointed at the
seal-amulet. “Chance saved my life when the silver marks showed clear and the
boy, by curious instinct or a god’s fate, released the charms that beat back
our foes, but it is not his will that gives him mastery.”

“You fear old wives’ tales, nothing
more.” Oswald jerked his thumb towards the manor. “Would I had a bow; one arrow
and an end to fear.” He grabbed the seal-amulet’s chain. “I will take this, if
that is what you choose, and I will know its ways quicker than a child.”

The chain tightened around
Peter’s neck as Oswald yanked it over his head.

“No, my Eorl.” Wulfwyn
gripped Oswald’s arm. “It is not given for you to take. It is the boy’s and his
to keep. The destiny that awaits him is not ours to know.”

Oswald’s hold tightened. “Let
another try if he does not know its ways.”

Peter dropped the knife and
wriggled his fingers under the chain to stop it from choking him.

“My Eorl, the boy cannot
breathe.” Wulfwyn took hold of Oswald’s arm with both hands.

Oswald’s face turned red.
“Release me.” He spluttered with anger. “I will not be denied.”

Peter staggered between the
two men as they shoved him from side to side.

Wulfwyn’s face grimaced with
effort. “It is the will of the fates that this is given. Look upon his form. He
walks on lands that are changed. He speaks with a tongue that knows our words,
though not our ways. He is delivered to us and that which he wears for a
purpose. That purpose is broken if the two are parted.”

Oswald let go, gave a great
sob and covered his face. “It is for Leonor.”

Peter gasped for air. The
chain, where it pressed through his anorak and into his neck, left his skin
sore.

Oswald’s shoulders heaved as
his voice cracked. “Why must I be thwarted? Is it a father’s council that he
must abandon his child? Danger threatens and I run and hide. I came for her,
but she will never know, forced back as I am like some frightened beast.
Betrayed and forsaken, that will be her memory of the father who promised his
love.”

Godwine stepped between them,
his eyes wide and his finger to his lips. Peter crouched and Wulfwyn dropped to
the ground, grabbed Oswald’s cloak and pulled hard. The Eorl’s arms whirled as
he staggered, lost his balance and slumped onto his hands and knees.

Peter peered over Wulfwyn’s
shoulder. On the bridge, the carrier shifted left and right and then stared in
their direction. The hood that covered his head hid his face in shadow. He’d
attack if he heard the argument. Peter checked the seal-amulet. Still black and
cold. No one moved. Where had the knife dropped? Where was the barghest? If it
followed their trail from the cave, it might be very close, even behind them.
Peter held his breath. Oswald, still on his hands and knees, gulped and
wheezed. The barghest killed the knights and they wore armour. The spae-wife
must be in the manor. Did Eorl Bosa draw his sword to fight her off, or did he
make her welcome?

Then the carrier shuffled
round and faced the cleared way.

Peter wriggled backwards,
found the knife and gripped it tight. The barghest didn’t pounce. If it crouched
nearby, it stayed hidden. Wulfwyn sat up and leaned back against the tree.
Godwine stayed alert and focused on the carrier.

Oswald sat back on his shins.
Tears glistened on his cheeks and he wiped them away. “What must I do? If there
is help, tell me. I am bereft of thought.”

Wulfwyn tapped Godwine’s
shoulder. “Do you know of any hidden way that leads into the manor?”

Godwine nodded and pointed
towards the trees where the slope came down from the ridge.

Wulfwyn said, “Of what manner
is this hidden way?”

Godwine straightened his arm
and rippled it from side to side. Like a fish, thought Peter.

“A tunnel?” said Wulfwyn. He
studied the distant trees. “To flee from the manor when foes threaten.”

Oswald gripped the edges of
his cloak and wrapped them around his chest. “Godwine meant to lead me earlier,
but you came upon us by surprise. Every step I make takes me back. And time
passes...” He pulled the cloak tighter and buried his chin in its folds.

Wulfwyn stood. “Godwine will
take us now, my Eorl. We cannot accomplish any deed here while the carrier
watches. Let us move back into the trees and then trust to Godwine’s skills as
he scouts.” He took Oswald’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Move with care
until the manor is no longer in sight.”

Peter followed Oswald and
Godwine came last. The kept in single file until they reached the edge of a
wide shallow dip where a bramble bush grew. Peter glanced back and though he
looked hard, the forest hid every part of the manor.

Godwine took the lead. They
climbed as the ground rose in a gentle slope and where a hole opened in the
canopy high above, caused by a fallen tree or broken branches, deep snowdrifts
covered the forest floor. Birds sharp claws left trails across the snow’s
surface and sometimes the paw prints of an animal. A fox, thought Peter, or a
badger, though not the barghest, for the dog left massive prints.

He held the knife with the
blade slanted upwards, like Wulfwyn. The blade gleamed black as did the leather
around the hilt. Had the leather been treated or painted to last longer? It
might be tar, he thought. He’d seen tar tipped from a lorry when workmen mended
a road and he’d watched it steam and glisten as they rolled it flat. It smelt
strong too, though he didn’t smell anything when he sniffed the handle. Two
round blobs, like large black beads, stood proud at either end of the bar that
protected his hand from the blade.