“I’ve watched you, boy,” old Steffa had said. “You have something rare. One day you’ll find someone to teach you the skills to match your warrior’s soul. Then you’ll be one to fear indeed. You’ll not be one to hide in a barn while mere wolves stroll unhindered about the village.”
Now it was all coming to pass. The warrior had chosen him, and they were to go together to fulfil an errand. But what was their task? Wistan had not made it clear, saying only that his king, far away in the fenland, was even now waiting to hear of its conclusion. And why travel with these two elderly Britons who required rest at each turn of the road?
Edwin gazed down at them. They were now discussing something earnestly with the warrior. The old woman had given up trying to talk him down, and all three were now watching the soldiers on the bridge from behind the cover of two giant pines. From his own vantage point, Edwin could see the rider had remounted and was gesticulating into the air. Then the three soldiers appeared to move away from him, and the rider turned his horse and set off at a gallop away from the bridge, back down the mountain.
Edwin had wondered earlier why the warrior had been so reluctant to stay on the main mountain road, insisting on the steep cut up the valleyside; now it was obvious he had wished to avoid riders such as the one they had just seen. But there now seemed no way to proceed with their journey without going down onto the road and crossing the bridge past the waterfall, and the soldiers were still there. Had Wistan been able to see from down where he was that the rider had departed? Edwin wanted to alert him to this development, but felt he should not shout from the tree in case the soldiers somehow caught the sound. He would have to climb down and tell Wistan. Perhaps, while there had been four potential opponents, the warrior had been hesitant about a confrontation, but now with only three at the bridge, he would consider the odds in his favour. Had it just been Edwin and the warrior, they would surely have gone down to face the soldiers long ago, but the presence of the elderly couple must have made Wistan cautious. No doubt Wistan had brought them along for a good reason, and they had so far been kind to Edwin, but they were frustrating companions all the same.
He remembered again his aunt’s contorted features. She had started to shriek a curse at him, but none of that mattered any more. For he was with the warrior now, and he was travelling, just like his real mother. Who was to say they might not come across her? She would be so proud to see him standing there, side by side with the warrior. And the men with her would tremble.
Chapter Five
After a punishing climb for much of the morning, the party had found its way obstructed by a fast-flowing river. So they had made a partial descent through shrouded woodlands in search of the main mountain road, along which, they reasoned, there would surely be a bridge across the water.
They had been right about the bridge, but on spotting the soldiers there, had decided to rest amidst the pine trees until the men had gone. For at first the soldiers had not appeared to be stationed there, but merely refreshing themselves and their horses at the waterfall. But time had passed and the soldiers had shown no signs of moving on. They would take turns getting onto their bellies, reaching down from the bridge and splashing themselves; or sit with their backs against the timber rails, playing dice. Then a fourth man had arrived on horseback, bringing the men to their feet, and had issued instructions to them.
Though they did not have as good a view as Edwin’s high in his tree, Axl, Beatrice and the warrior had observed well enough all that had passed from behind their cover of greenery, and once the horseman had ridden off again, exchanged questioning looks.
“They may remain a long time yet,” Wistan said. “And you’re both anxious to reach the monastery.”
“It’s desirable we do so by nightfall, sir,” said Axl. “We hear the she-dragon Querig roams that country, and only fools would be abroad there in the dark. What manner of soldiers do you suppose them to be?”
“Not easy at this distance, sir, and I’ve little knowledge of local dress. But I’d suppose them Britons, and ones loyal to Lord Brennus. Perhaps Mistress Beatrice will correct me.”
“It’s far for my old eyes,” Beatrice said, “but I’d suppose you right, Master Wistan. They have the dark uniforms I’ve often seen on Lord Brennus’s men.”
“We’ve nothing to hide from them,” Axl said. “If we explain ourselves, they’ll let us go by in peace.”
“I’m sure that’s so,” the warrior said, then fell silent for a moment, gazing down at the bridge. The soldiers had seated themselves again and seemed to be resuming their game. “Even so,” he went on, “if we’re to cross the bridge under their gazes, let me propose this much. Master Axl, you and Mistress Beatrice will lead the way and talk wisely to the men. The boy can bring the mare behind you, and I’ll walk beside him, my jaw slack like a fool’s, my eyes wandering loosely. You must tell the soldiers I’m a mute and a half-wit, and the boy and I are brothers lent you in place of debts owed you. I’ll hide this sword and belt deep in the horse’s pack. Should they find it, you must claim it as your own.”
“Is such a play really necessary, Master Wistan?” Beatrice asked. “These soldiers may often show coarse manners, but we’ve met many before without incident.”
“No doubt, mistress. But men with arms, far from their commanders, aren’t easy to trust. And here I am, a stranger who they may think good sport to mock and challenge. So let’s call the boy down off the tree and do as I propose.”
They emerged from the woods still some way from the bridge, but the soldiers saw them immediately and rose to their feet.
“Master Wistan,” Beatrice said quietly, “I fear this will not go well. There remains something about you that proclaims you a warrior, no matter what foolish look you wear.”
“I’m no skilled player, mistress. If you can help improve my disguise, I’d hear it gladly.”
“It’s your stride, sir,” Beatrice said. “You have a warrior’s way of walking. Take instead small steps followed by a large one, the way you might stumble any moment.”
“That’s good advice, thank you, mistress. Now I should say no more, or they may see I’m no mute. Master Axl, talk us wisely past these fellows.”
As they came closer to the bridge, the noise of the water rushing down the rocks and under the feet of the three awaiting soldiers grew more intense, and to Axl had something ominous about it. He led the way, listening to the horse’s steps behind him on the mossy ground, and brought them to a halt when they were within hailing distance of the men.
They wore no chainmail or helmets, but their identical dark tunics, with straps crossing from right shoulder to left hip, declared clearly their trade. Their swords were for now sheathed, though two of them were waiting with hands on the hilts. One was small, stocky and muscular; the other, a youth not much older than Edwin, was also short in stature. Both had closely cropped hair. In contrast, the third soldier was tall, with long grey hair, carefully groomed, that touched his shoulders and was held back by a dark string encircling his skull. Not only his appearance, but his manner differed noticeably from that of his companions; for while the latter were standing stiffly to bar the way across the bridge, he had remained several paces behind, leaning languidly against one of the bridge posts, arms folded before him as though listening to a tale beside a night fire.