The stocky soldier took a step towards them, so it was to him Axl addressed his words. “Good day, sirs. We mean no harm and wish only to proceed in peace.”
The stocky soldier gave no reply. Uncertainty was crossing his face, and he glared at Axl with a mixture of panic and contempt. He cast a glance back to the young soldier behind him, then finding nothing to enlighten him, returned his gaze to Axl.
It occurred to Axl there had been some confusion: that the soldiers had been expecting another party altogether, and had yet to realise their mistake. So he said: “We’re just simple farmers, sir, on our way to our son’s village.”
The stocky soldier, now collecting himself, replied to Axl in an unnecessarily loud voice. “Who are these you travel with, farmer? Saxons by the look of them.”
“Two brothers just come under our care who we must do our best to train. Though as you see, one’s still a child, and the other a slow-witted mute, so the relief they bring us may be slender.”
As Axl said this, the tall grey-haired soldier, as though suddenly reminded of something, took his weight from the bridge post, his head tilting in concentration. Meanwhile, the stocky soldier was staring angrily beyond both Axl and Beatrice. Then, his hand still on the hilt of his sword, he strode past to scrutinise the others. Edwin was holding the mare, and watched the oncoming soldier with expressionless eyes. Wistan, though, was giggling loudly to himself, his eyes roving, mouth wide open.
The stocky soldier looked from one to the other as though for a clue. Then his frustration seemed to get the better of him. Grabbing Wistan’s hair, he tugged it in a rage. “No one cut your hair, Saxon?” he shouted into the warrior’s ear, then tugged again as though to bring Wistan to his knees. Wistan stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet, letting out pitiful whimpers.
“He doesn’t speak, sir,” Beatrice said. “As you see, he’s simple. He doesn’t mind rough treatment, but he’s known for a temper we’ve yet to tame.”
As his wife spoke, a small movement made Axl turn back to the soldiers still on the bridge. He saw then that the tall grey-haired man had raised an arm; his fingers all but formed a pointing shape before softening and collapsing in an aimless gesture. Finally he let his arm fall altogether, though his eyes went on watching with disapproval. Observing this, Axl suddenly had the feeling he understood, even recognised, what the grey-haired soldier had just gone through: an angry reprimand had all but shaped itself on his lips, but he had remembered in time that he lacked any formal authority over his stocky colleague. Axl was sure he had once had an almost identical experience himself somewhere, but he forced away the thought, and said in a conciliatory tone:
“You must be busy with your duties, gentlemen, and we’re sorry to distract you. If you’d let us pass, we’ll soon be out of your way.”
But the stocky soldier was still tormenting Wistan. “He’d be unwise to lose his temper with me!” he bellowed. “Let him do so and taste his price!”
Then finally he let go of Wistan and strode back to take up his position again on the bridge. He said nothing, looking like an angry man who had completely forgotten why he was angry.
The noise of the rushing water seemed only to add to the tense mood, and Axl wondered how the soldiers would react were he to turn and lead the party back towards the woods. But just at that moment, the grey-haired soldier came forward until he was level with the other two and spoke for the first time.
“This bridge has a few planks broken, uncle. Maybe that’s why we’re standing here, to warn good people like yourselves to cross with care or be down the mountainside tumbling with the tide.” “That’s kind of you, sir. We’ll go then with caution.”
“Your horse there, uncle. I thought I saw it limping coming towards us.”
“She has a hurt foot, sir, but we hope it’s no serious thing, though we don’t mount her, as you see.”
“Those boards are rotted with the spray, and that’s why we’re here, though my comrades think there was some further errand must have brought us. So I’ll ask you, uncle, if you and your good wife have seen any strangers on your travels.”
“We’re strangers here ourselves, sir,” Beatrice said, “so wouldn’t quickly know another. Though on two days’ journey we’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary.”
Noticing Beatrice, the grey-haired soldier’s eyes seemed to soften and smile. “A long walk for a woman of your years to make to a son’s village, mistress. Wouldn’t you rather be living there with him where he can see to your comforts each day, instead of having you walk like this, unsheltered from the road’s dangers?”
“I wish it right enough, sir, and when we see him, my husband and I will talk to him of it. But then it’s a long time since we saw him and we can’t help wonder how he’ll receive us.”
The grey-haired soldier went on regarding her gently. “It may be, mistress,” he said, “you’ve not a thing to worry about. I’m myself far from my mother and father, and not seen them in a long while. Perhaps harsh words were said once, who knows? But if they came to find me tomorrow, having walked hard distances as you’re doing now, do you doubt I’d receive them with my heart breaking with joy? I don’t know the kind of man your son is, mistress, but I’d wager he’s not so different to me, and there’ll be happy tears no sooner than he first sees you.”
“You’re kind to say so, sir,” said Beatrice. “I suppose you’re right, and my husband and I have often said as much, but it’s a comfort to hear it said, and from a son far from home at that.”
“Go on your journey in peace, mistress. And if by chance you come upon my own mother and father on the road, coming the other way, speak gently to them and tell them to press on, for their journey won’t be a wasted one.” The grey-haired soldier stood aside to let them pass. “And please remember the unsteady boards. Uncle, you’d best lead that mare over yourself. It’s no task for children or God’s fools.”
The stocky soldier, who had been watching with a disgruntled air, seemed nevertheless to yield to the natural authority of his colleague. Turning his back to them all, he leaned sulkily over the rail to look at the water. The young soldier hesitated, then came to stand beside the grey-haired man, and they both nodded politely as Axl, thanking them a last time, led the mare over the bridge, shielding her eyes from the drop.
Once the soldiers and the bridge were no longer in sight, Wistan stopped and suggested they leave the main road to follow a narrow path rising up into the woods.
“I’ve always had an instinct for my way through a forest,” he said. “And I feel sure this path will allow us to cut a large corner. Besides, we’ll be much safer away from a road such as this, well travelled by soldiers and bandits.”
For a while after that, it was the warrior who led the party, beating back brambles and bushes with a stick he had found. Edwin, holding the mare by her muzzle, often whispering to her, followed closely behind, so that by the time Axl and Beatrice came in their wake, the path had been made much easier. Even so, the short cut — if short cut it was — became increasingly arduous: the trees deepened around them, tangled roots and thistles obliging them to attend to each step. As was the custom, they conversed little as they went, but at one point, when Axl and Beatrice had fallen some way behind, Beatrice called back: “Are you still there, Axl?”
“Still here, princess.” Indeed, Axl was just a few paces behind. “Don’t worry, these woods aren’t known for special dangers, and a good way from the Great Plain.”