Traveller Manifesto

Aengland – 11th Century.

They remained at Beormingahām for four days, for many of the villagers and the people who lived around the settlement desired Tatae’s assistance for numerous afflictions. Naturally, this had her happily engaged in doing what she did best.

Beormingahām seemed to be less a village than a scattered community of farmhouses. Many of the women gathered by the hall each day to spin their wool by hand, their worn hands greasy with lanolin. Thegn Conrad showed himself to be a reasonable and hospitable man, though he continually radiated a slow throb of anger at the injustice of being mutilated for what seemed an insignificant matter. He was known to indulge in hunting in the forests, having two handsome hounds that sniffed around Latis with interest. Though Latis was not ready for pups, she kept her tail firmly tucked between her legs and, like her master, maintained a wary eye. Michael especially didn’t want her injured in a fight. Yffi had often told him of tales where dogs could easily turn on a strange dog, where it could be quickly torn to pieces if the owner was not watchful.

But Latis quickly gained the local dogs’ approval. Despite her being larger than the others, her abject grovelling and piddling to the dominant male saw her safely accepted. But the local pack bitch had Michael worried. If Latis was to come into heat, and Yffi had warned that was soon to happen, there was every chance that she could be injured either by the jealous female or the uncaring attentions of the males.

Michael and Wasdewy were invited to a hunt with the thegn and ten of his fyrdmen. While the scop showed himself to be unsuitable to the role of hunter, Michael and Latis were eagerly accepted as valuable additions to the party. Many of the other dogs huffed and snuffed about Latis until she savagely lashed out at another male that seemed too eager to sniff under her tail. The hunt bagged a pair of beautiful, healthy doe, but Michael continued to be concerned for his hunting dog. Something seemed to be happening that had the other hounds interested and she could be so easily injured. Unlike Giolgrave, the hunters of Beormingahām also used longbows; tall, strong weapons made from yew. The deer kept a greater distance and the hunting dogs were mainly used to herd the prey within range.

That night, they feasted and celebrated, but Latis remained nervously close. Rather than rest by the fire, she followed Michael everywhere, even when he wandered from the fire to urinate.

Yes, it was time to go.

The village women wept as they bid Tatae a fond farewell. She had protected one of the women through a difficult childbirth and became loved by all. As they gathered their possessions, Thegn Conrad wandered over to give a grunt of farewell. As was his habit when venturing out of doors, he wore a scarf over his face to hide his deformity and save the orifice from dust or pollen. It gave him the appearance of a bandit.

“So, Lord Michael, are you heading to Worcester and the court of King Cnut?” he asked. “With our Wasdewy, you would be welcomed, I’m sure,” he growled in his usual husky voice.

“No, Thegn Conrad, we will go to Wasdewy’s home, toward the mountains of Weala.” He smiled and nodded to Tatae. “My lovely wife seeks a new home and our scop friend tells us no place is finer.”

“You can stay here, of course,” invited the thegn. “You would be an addition to our family that all would welcome.”

Michael looked to the thegn and, for a second, seriously considered his options. Here, the people were welcoming and would integrate Michael and Tatae into their community in no time. Yet he had the impression that they had not yet found their new home. Tatae was eager to escape into the forests and mountains of Weala, but it was wise not to tell the thegn as much. Some of the local talk indicated a hostility to the people of the mountains and hills of old Wales. “Our humble thanks for your gracious hospitality, Thegn Conrad, but we wish to visit the home of our scop. It seems our monk has decided to stay, though,” he added with a nod to Brother Bertwald, who watched their preparations quietly.

“Oh, aye, he has at that,” conceded the thegn. “We welcome any addition to our community and another monk is always useful. Like you told me earlier, he looks to be a funny one, but the other monks seem to be pleased at another Brother. So there you are.”

Tatae finished her farewells and wiped her tears, while Wasdewy danced a jig and sang a ditty that had all laugh and cheer.

“Well, time to go,” concluded Michael as he shrugged into his pack. The villagers had been generous in their gifts of food and each of them carried considerably more than when they arrived. This was relief, for Michael was concerned about the availability of food on their future path.

They clasped arms and Thegn Conrad leaned forward. “Beware of the road, my friend. There are bandits about. Most are silly young men or those left over from the wars, but they can still kill and,” and he looked to Tatae, “not treat your woman kindly.”

Michael’s heart momentarily constricted at the news, but merely looked into the thegn’s angry blue eyes and nodded in gratitude.

They journeyed west for two days. The weather took a turn for the worse and they were compelled to build a shelter and rest for the most of the second day. Genovefa had become a little cranky, wishing not to be carried but to be freed to crawl about and stretch her legs. Tatae had carried her on a harness that was not unlike that which many modern mothers use, so the babe could stare out at the world and watch what passed by.

Farms gave way to more forest and the path grew narrow. Thegn Conrad’s warning had Michael even more alert, for he could never allow any danger to come to his wife and daughter. For most of the first day, Wasdewy sang as they walked, but as the rain fell, even he eventually fell silent. With the threat of bandits, Michael reminded him of the benefits of silent travel, to which the scop readily agreed. Thankfully they had the keen eyes and ears of Latis to warn them. On occasion she would look to a distant sound or smell prey, but they did not see another human for over two days.

They had walked for most of the third day when Latis froze and stared intently ahead. As trained, they quickly hid in the bushes to see what had caused their hunting dog to take such interest. Michael began to fear that Latis was coming into season and could ill afford any disruptions her raging hormones could instigate. The very first time Latis had come into heat she was barely over a year old and he was compelled to lock her in a hut Yffi had built for that purpose. The village dogs had prowled and fought, but Latis had finally emerged intact. That had been late in the winter, soon after the 21st Century strangers had left. It was now coming into late summer and the timing was about right.

Damn it. Of all things! The last they needed was to travel with a female dog in heat. When they camped that night, she took particular attention to her genitals and sniffed and licked repeatedly.

“Latis, is coming into breeding season,” observed Tatae in her matter-of-fact way.

“I know,” groaned Michael. “Of all the bloody inconvenient things.”

Tatae nodded. “We must keep her tied in the night or she will wander off to visit wolves. They will come. Her smell will be too strong and appealing.”

“Oh, great,” was all he could say. They did not need to attract wolves.

The next two nights, each of the men took turns at keeping watch. On one occasion Michael thought he could feel something in the forest and, after patiently listening, heard the stealthy crunch of leaves. Latis, tied to a log, looked up and growled like thunder, but nothing eventuated.

They passed through windswept fields and into the shelter of another forest when Latis again froze. This time her lips peeled back in threat. After the humans fled for cover, she remained on the path and made a grumble of threat with a snarl that was unlike her. Michael peered through leaves and there, walking toward them, were three men with a hound that had also frozen. Michael stood and waved, but the men did not respond. Latis continued to growl. She was a good dog, her finely-honed instincts to be respected. Michael looked back to Tatae and Wasdewy in the bushes, while Genovefa stayed still and quiet. Somehow, Tatae had instilled into their infant the ability to remain silent. His little daughter looked up at him with her big, blue eyes wide in alarm. Thegn Conrad’s warning again came to mind. He had experienced both welcome and unwelcome travellers on his journeys in Saxon Aengland and his heart began to race. He deftly dropped his pack before he walked forward, his hands outward in peace. “Greetings Brothers,” he called as he waved a friendly greeting, but the others simply watched, ignoring his overtures.

The other dog growled a warning. One of the men muttered a joke and the others laughed.

One of them looked past Michael. He turned to see Tatae and Wasdewy now stood on the path behind Latis. The hunting hound seemed even more uncomfortable as she growled and whined. Tatae placed her hand to her shaggy head, a placatory comfort that was, for once, ignored.

A couple of the men looked to be particularly interested in Tatae. There was another comment and a ribald laugh.

Michael carefully positioned his hands to be seen as harmless, yet he evaluated his options. If they attacked, it was likely to be with their dog, followed up by spear. If they were to be peaceful, his openly non-violent approach would be welcomed. His swords were razor sharp and ready. They were now more in line with the design that fitted well in Saxon Aengland, though a local swordsmith would still find them outstanding. The metal was much more resilient than typical to the era and able to hold a sharpness to the blade. Though he had continued his daily training regimen, since the battle of Giolgrave, he had not used his swords in anger.

He had left his spear by his pack.

The other men chatted together quietly as they watched Michael’s party. He knew they would look to be an easy target, with Wasdewy and his musical instrument cradled in his arms and Tatae with a babe. Neither held a weapon.

There was the familiar rush of adrenalin that surged into Michael’s arms and legs. His heart beat heavily. They were taking too long.

Their hunting dog was a beast. It now looked at him and huffed.

There was a quiet, sharp word.

The dog exploded into action and ran at him. Despite his preparation, it took him far too long to remove his sword. He recalled having a similar experience with the wolves of the forest when he had first arrived in Saxon Aengland. He raised the sword as the beast leapt. He had a flash of panic. He would not be fast enough.

There was a heavy collision of bodies and then a furious assault of snarls and shrieks. Latis had seen the enemy attack and as the dog launched itself at Michael she had leapt to lock her powerful jaws onto the other dog’s throat. There was a shriek and terrible growls, then Latis stood over her victim and shook with all of her might. Her jaws tore as her bunched shoulders tensed.

Blood spattered.

The other dog’s legs thrashed as it shrieked and then fell silent as it stiffened, dead. It all happened so fast!

There was an angry cry, for the owners of the attacking dog seemed surprised at what transpired. Their dog lay on its back, feet barely twitching out its death throes. Michael glanced down in surprise at the gory result of Latis’ bloody jaws. She had been ruthless, having savagely torn the throat like it was paper.

The first man swore and then gave an angry scream as he ran at Michael with his spear. The path was so narrow that only one could approach at a time.

Michael swung his sword in a block he had endlessly practiced and the spear was deflected to leave the owner twisted and exposed. But Latis was in no mood to let her master be threatened and she seized the attacker by the waist and yanked him into the bushes where he fell with a sharp yelp of terror. She was immediately onto his face with a savage snarl. One of the others ran at them, to have his spear thrust blocked. Michael swung his sword back to remove the attacker’s fingers.

The second attacker fell to the ground, stunned at the violence and was terrifyingly close to where Latis shook the first attacker like a doll. The snarling was terrible. She then released his face from her immense jaws and turned at the newcomer. Michael called for her to cease, but her muzzle was barely a palm’s width from the injured man, gore dripping onto his face as her muzzle wrinkled to reveal savage, bloodied canines. Those jaws had torn their hound to shreds. God knew what had happened to the first man. She licked her bared teeth as her muzzle wrinkled and she snarled again, causing the young man to wail in mercy as he held out his hands. Blood ran freely down his arms, soaking his tunic.

The other attacker looked on in horror and dropped his spear as he begged for mercy. “Frith, Frith!” he cried as he sued for peace. His look said it all. He was but a young lad and out of his depth, so he held out his hands. He was justifiably terrified.

The man on the ground had stopped screaming and lay, gasping in terror. He had pissed his pants.

Michael sharply called Latis off.

All turned to look at the man off the path. He lay on his back and his face was so torn and bloodied that it was almost removed from his skull. Huge gouges scoured his forehead, removed an eye and tore away a cheek to expose his blood-soaked teeth. Blood still pumped from a gouge in the neck where skin and muscle had been shredded.

Latis sat by her master, her muzzle soaked. Her normally amiable, dopey expression was but a memory as her golden eyes fastened mercilessly onto the wounded man. Michael placed a calming hand on her head and spoke softly, but she gave a thunderous growl and was barely restrained. He felt a pang of concern. His hound had never attacked another dog, nor had she set upon a human. Despite having raised and trained her from a pup, her boundless ferocity in defence of her human pack had surprised and shaken him.

He had to believe she would obey.

Perhaps it was that she was coming into heat? Perhaps now was a time where she was more dangerous than ever. She never once looked to be a danger to Michael and his family, but if she turned to look at them the way she watched the wounded man, he would not hesitate to use his seax on her.

He gritted his teeth as his hand tightened on the furry scruff of Latis’ neck.

“Look to your friend,” gestured Michael and the men nodded fearfully, though they looked doubtfully to Latis as she watched them carefully. “You fools! You started this, so you have to live with it,” he continued angrily.

The uninjured man dropped to his knees and gave a cry at what he saw. He seemed so horrified he could not speak intelligibly. From behind, Tatae gave a shout and handed Genovefa to Wasdewy as she dashed to crouch by the wounded man. “Fools!” she spat at the other men. “We offer peace and now you pay the price. You fight Lord Michael and hope to live? Fools!” she spat again as she crouched to inspect the injured hand, where only a thumb remained. The face of the injured man had paled and his eyelids fluttered as he settled into shock. The uninjured man looked to her in confusion and Michael explained curtly, “She’s a healer! If your friend lives, it will be because of Tatae, and then God, in that order.”

The young man shook his head in his own shock and sorrow. “Ro was …”

“A bloody fool!” interrupted Michael angrily. “You saw I wanted peace.” He looked to Tatae who worked on the injured man. Blood flowed and she tried to place her valuable soft mosses to what remained of his hand. She tied on a bandage and pulled it tight to stop the injured man from bleeding to death.

“Whose dog was that?” he asked angrily as he gestured to the dead beast.

“’Twas of Ro,” stammered the other man. He was but a youth and seemed on the verge of tears.

“Not anymore,” corrected Michael. “So, do you make it a habit to attack lonely travellers?” he demanded angrily. “You saw I have my wife here and there was some comment, wasn’t there? You thought you could kill us and perhaps have a little fun.”

“No!” exclaimed the younger man in horror. “No, it was Ro. He wanted us to. He said for us to …”

Michael, looked to his daughter, who was still in the arms of the scop, and he thought of her left, alone and screaming. His anger boiled over and he spun and punched the young fool in the jaw. The lad simply collapsed in mid-sentence. The injured attacker was barely conscious and gasped in fear as he lay next to Tatae. “Mercy! Mercy. Please don’t kill me!”

The Traveller stood over them in fury. Tatae simply looked to her husband and then moved to inspect the mauled man. She said nothing, but slowly stood and gave a small shake of her head, confirming what they already knew.

“This is my wife!” continued Michael. He felt overwhelmed in his fury. “Do you think I wanted my wife to be attacked and raped? And what of my child. My daughter is but a wee baby. Would you have left her to the beasts or would your hound have killed her? And what of my friend here, or me? You were to kill us and rob us I feel, after amusing yourself with my wife?”

They said nothing. They lay together, barely conscious.

“My Lord, you saved us,” plead Tatae quietly as she placed a gentle, restraining hand onto his arm. He still held his sword and he felt to use it. “We are well. Please don’t kill them.”

The youth sat, his brains addled from Michael’s blow, while the injured man moaned and gasped.

He stopped, suddenly reminded that his wife watched. A cool flood of reason flowed over him and the fury subsided as suddenly as it had appeared. He frowned a moment at the men prostrate before him and turned away and blinked, shocked at how easy it would have been to slaughter them. He looked back at the young man who held his face gingerly. Tears ran down his cheeks and into his scruffy beard. He was someone’s son, yet he could have been party to murder those Michael loved. If Tatae had not been there, they would all be dead.

“Get up! Help your friend,” he ordered gruffly. The youth struggled feebly. Michael knelt a moment to inspect the dead man, Ro, and then turned to the dog, a heavily muscled male. Both had been badly mauled. Latis had done her job well. Michael then turned to his hunting-hound and hugged her close. She still had blood around her muzzle and carefully watched as the semi-conscious man helped the wounded man to stand. Yffi had warned Michael that Latis was one of the best pups he had ever bred, but when it came to being a hunter, seemed to be a late-starter.

It was a shame his friend, the finest hunter he had ever known, would never know how right he was.

Now, what to do with these fools?

“You, are you from a village?” asked Michael gruffly.

“Nay Lord,” answered the wounded man as he helped steady his friend who was still groggy from Michael’s blow. They were both in a very bad way. “We work where there is work to be done. As the crops are not yet to be harvested, we have lived and hunted as we will.”

Michael grunted, for the wounded man seemed to have taken some optimism from Tatae’s pleas. Though fearful, there was a glimmer of hope that they might actually live to see another day.

“Go!” he gestured. “Leave us! If I ever see you again, you had best hold your arms high. Approach us not at night, for I will believe you have taken to your evil ways and will want to attack us. Understand?”

The men nodded vigorously. “Aye Lord. Aye. Thanks to you my Lord. May God smile upon you.” He gasped in pain as he hoisted his young friend and looked to their spears, but thought better of it and staggered along the path that Michael and his companions had just travelled.

They quietly watched them go.

Wasdewy coughed gently before he murmured quietly, “Might they find friends and attack us, Lord Michael?”

Michael nodded. “They might. But I hope we’ll be far enough away for them to find that not worth their effort. I hope we scared them enough to stop them from thinking thus.” He shook his head in sorrow, then turned to Tatae. She looked up at him and they embraced as he sighed deeply. Killing was never something he engaged in lightly. He always felt there was something damaging to the soul when one killed another. Some of his fellows in the Special Forces had become almost immune to their killing. After all, it was something they had been trained to do. But it was his anger that concerned him. It was the fury he had felt when he led the family of Desmond the Blacksmith from Snotengaham and caught the rapists. Alric was left for dead, while pretty Aedgyd was being raped almost within arm’s reach of the bodies of her murdered parents. He had simply and efficiently killed two and left one to die, for the rage that filled him was as if it was Tatae who was threatened.

He had tried to tell Tatae of it on a number of occasions, but words failed him. As he held her tightly, he feared what would happen if he lost her. She murmured quiet support and he repressed a quiet sob. Her loving, yellow eyes watched him closely as she gently touched his face.

Michael then nodded and gently took Genovefa from Wasdewy. He held her tight. She gave a grunt and then smiled broadly as she gripped his beard with both chubby hands.

“You well?” he asked the scop. There was a nod, though Wasdewy still looked at Michael with a mix of terror and awe. He could barely resist another glance to the bloodied hound and torn man.

Handing little Genovefa to his wife, Michael stooped to pick up the two spears cast aside by the attackers. One was ruined, the spearhead of poor quality, so he flung the remnants into the bushes. The other he handed to Tatae. She positioned Genovefa into her sling and held the spear with familiarity. Michael had taught her how to use a spear and to fight, so was confident she would know how to handle the weapon if needed. There was little doubt that she would be more effective than the scop.

“What of these?” asked Wasdewy as he gestured to the bodies of the man and the dog.

“What of them?” replied Michael dismissively as he turned to their path.