fire in the entrance to the tree shelter waiting for the attack which we knew would come. But the wolves appeared to be in no hurry. Goody stood directly behind the fire, feeding it from time to time, as sparingly as she could, from the dwindling pile of firewood, and standing ready with the poniard. The wolves were now running back and forward across the clearing in front of the fire, staying well clear of our clubs, and the fire, but coming nearer with each crossing. Occasionally one would run towards us, a little probing run within yards of us, loping closer and closer, until we reacted and stepped out to swipe at the beast with the club. Then the animal would dodge, and angle away into the darkness. They seemed to be testing us, trying our strength, perhaps trying to scare us into running away from our shelter and the safety of the fire. But we had nowhere to run to and, with the hollow tree at our backs and the fire between us, Bernard and I were in the best positions we could imagine in the circumstances.
But I admit that I was scared. If they got in among us, those great beasts could tear us to bloody ribbons in a snarling instant. I tried not to think what those pointed white teeth would feel like plunging into my flesh, ripping, tearing me open. But if I was frightened by the wolves, they showed little fear of us. The probing runs continued, the animals always staying just out of danger and then when Bernard and I had grown thoroughly weary of this game, one beast came sauntering towards me and then suddenly made a great leap for my throat.
He almost caught me unawares; I had been so lulled by dozens of similar advances, which had always ended in a swift retreat, that I was unprepared for the assault when it came. But, thank God, I reacted just in time as the huge grey shape launched itself at me. I stepped back a pace and swung the club in a short vicious arc, catching the beast full on the side of the snout while it was in the air. He tumbled sideways, yelping in pain, but, landing like a cat, he simply slunk round behind the mass of his brothers, licking at his nose and seeming more embarrassed than hurt. That first move, however, had broken the deadlock.
Another wolf was coming at me fast, lolloping forward and then leaping up towards my face, a blur of snarling malice, and yet another was trotting up behind him; and out of the corner of my eye I saw a big grey form leaping at Bernard at the same time. I swatted hard and caught the first beast on the body with a crunch of ribs. Reversing the swing I caught the second wolf a glancing blow on the shoulder, and they both scrabbled yowling away out of range. Bernard had his wolf’s teeth fixed into the tree branch, which he was holding like a quarterstaff, horizontally in both hands. The
They were not daunted for long. I saw a big black wolf circling behind him as he whirled and swiped ineffectually at its pack brothers, but then I too leapt out beyond the protection of the fire, took three paces to reach the animal, and smashed Ralph’s club down on to the centre of its spine. There was a sickening crack and the dark beast, back legs paralysed and howling in rage and agony, pulled itself out of the circle of firelight on its front paws. Bernard and I retreated quickly back to our positions either side of the fire, and as we did so the animals returned, only slightly chastened, and resumed prowling on the edge of the circle of firelight — which I suddenly noticed had grown appreciably smaller.
‘Please don’t do that again,’ said Goody from behind us. ‘Please don’t leave me here alone to be eaten by them.’
I looked back at her and then at Bernard. He was breathless after his mad rampage and laughing silently to himself. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet,’ he gasped. ‘We are all in this together, I believe. If they get one of us they get us all.’ I frowned. I did not consider Bernard’s remarks to be helpful. ‘Not long till dawn, Goody,’ I said. ‘And remember, they are just as frightened of us as we are of them.’ It was a ludicrous thing to say and, in the midst of our terror and exhaustion, we all began to laugh. Bernard was leaning on a half-burnt branch-club, tears streaming down his face as he hooted and screamed with mirth. The wolves truly seemed to be unnerved by the strange noises their prey were making and moved uneasily in and out of the firelight. But not for long. And soon the attack began once more. This time in earnest.
The same pattern developed as before — the wolves would make little short runs at us, in twos and threes; we would swing and they would dance lightly out of the way of the clubs. It was exhausting. Once in a while, Bernard or I would catch a beast with a satisfying crunch. But rarely, and our arms were growing tired, mortally tired from the constant swinging of the heavy clubs. We had a bigger problem than our near exhaustion, though. Firewood.
The fire was growing low and I looked back at Goody in reproach. It was her job to keep the blaze high. But she just mutely pointed at the woodpile and I saw our death in the pathetic handful of sticks that were left. ‘Not long till dawn,’ said Bernard. We had been saying that to each other for several hours now. But what difference dawn would make, I knew not.
The last of the wood went on to the fire: we looked at each other. Goody was clutching my poniard and crouching at the back of the shelter. The wolves were attacking in relays almost continuously by now. As one would make a run, we would swing at it, but while we were engaged with the first animal another was snapping at our legs. Swing at that one and another was leaping, biting at your face. We rarely hit our targets. It was like a game, a deadly game, of charging beast and flashing jaws and the sweep of the heavy club; and the fire settled lower and lower. Our arms grew weaker and weaker and yet there could be no respite. I knew that if I lowered my guard for a second, a wolf would be through the gap and ripping into Goody’s flesh, followed by a wave of snarling, snapping ferocity that would tear us all to bloody ribbons. One animal, leaner than the rest, was skulking by the right side of the tree wall. I could see it from the corner of my eye and, when the other animals gave me a moment’s pause, I jabbed the club at it, forcing the beast back into the shadows. But then a grey shape launched at me from the front and, as I bashed it hard on the hindquarters, the second animal leapt back out of the shadows and sank its teeth into my right forearm. I shrieked in horror and pain; I could feel the animal’s dreadful weight dragging me down, down to the floor where I knew I would be immediately overrun by the pack. But almost at once, Goody — beautiful, brave Goody — was at my side and she lunged with the poniard at the beast’s body. It squealed as the point scored its side and released my arm and, on my knees, with my blood streaming through the frozen air, I swung the club left-handed at another grey form that was flying at my head. By God’s mercy, the pack pulled back then and I could see half a dozen still forms on the snow as I clambered back to my feet, panting, fingers dripping blood.
The fire was almost out now but a greyness had began to fill the clearing. But as I leaned on my club, breathless, exhausted, I saw that there were still fifteen or so animals slavering in a half ring around the tree. Was this my end? Was my fate to be worn down by these monsters, and then torn apart and devoured? I lifted the club with great difficulty and swung feebly at one of the beasts as he feinted towards me. His brothers did not move. Their great pink tongues lolled from their jaws and they seemed to be laughing at our feeble attempts to fight them off. Goody was wrapping a piece of torn shirt about my wounded arm when, as if by a silent signal, all the wolves advanced together. I waved my club, biting my lip from the searing pain in my arm. Bernard managed to hit one great wolf a smart crack on the skull and the animal howled and scuttled out of range. And then, suddenly, all together, the animals froze and turned to face the far end of the clearing. It was almost comical: the animals, for an instant, all absolutely still in the attitudes of attack as if they had been turned to stone. I turned to look in the direction they were all staring and my heart leapt as, out of the treeline, raced the two biggest dogs I have ever seen. As big as bull calves, coats red and grey, with massive square heads and terrible jaws that could bite through a grown man’s leg, two huge hounds came bounding across the clearing. Crossing it in a couple of heartbeats, they piled straight into the wolves. Though they were outnumbered nearly eight to one, it was no contest. One of the huge hounds seized a young wolf’s head in its massive jaws and crunched straight through into its skull. The other ducked and plunged its fangs into a wolf belly and ripped out a trail of red and yellow intestines before turning to snap gorily at another cringing grey form. Men were spilling into the clearing, too. Some on horseback, some on foot. The wolves were now in full retreat, tearing away across the snow, pursued by the two giant hounds. One horseman, holding a strung war bow, galloped into view, leapt from his mount and, without pausing for breath, drew and loosed an arrow that skewered a running wolf through the body and left it kicking and yelping in the snow. It was Robin, I saw, with a surge of joy. And beside him was Tuck, firing arrow after arrow at the disappearing pack, and the huge shape of Little John and half a dozen other much-missed
