uncover his ear. There was another shout, followed by the unmistakable ringing sound of steel on steel.
While Alan wore no armour, like all men of station he carried a sword hanging at his hip. The path ahead curved to the left and Alan spurred Odin into a gallop, bending low in the saddle to avoid the branches whipping by overhead. The sound of galloping hooves behind indicated that his Saxon companions were following.
After riding around the curve the path broadened, with the trees and undergrowth falling back to a distance of some ten paces on either side. Alan sat upright in his saddle and drew his sword Blue Fire, a well-balanced and superbly forged and acid-etched one-and-a-half-hand masterpiece some thirty-one inches in length, which he had literally picked up at Caldbec Hill.
Thirty yards ahead an unpleasant vignette was being played out. About a dozen roughly-dressed men were standing in a small clearing perhaps thirty yards across; several other people, including two women, were lying on the ground. Six horses were milling around in confusion, threatening to trample people underfoot as they cavorted and reared.
As Alan watched, one on the roughly-dressed men used a long knife to slit the throat of a man who was lying helpless on the ground. Two other men lay crumpled and still near the pathway, each with several arrows protruding from their chests. Two men were near each of the two women lying on the ground.
One woman wearing rich clothes was lying unmoving like a broken doll, while the men rifled through her clothing for valuables and removed the rings from her fingers. The other, by her clothing a maid, had her dress ripped open at the bodice and also pulled up to her waist. One man, with his pants around his ankles, was thrusting himself between her legs, with another awaiting his turn.
A man armed with a spear stood on the roadway just ahead of Alan. Rather than paying attention to his duties as a look-out, he had turned to face the clearing- obviously looking forward to his turn with the women. Before the man could gather his wits, Odin swerved towards him without any command by Alan. The horse smashed his massive chest into the bandit, throwing the man backwards onto the pathway. Odin paid particular attention to stamp each of his steel-shod feet on the body below him as he swept over, making sure to give a parting backwards kick which caught the man full on the head, smashing it open with a sound like a ripe melon bursting.
Another man ran in front of them, brandishing a rusty sword. Odin reared onto his hind-legs, making Alan to have to lean forward to maintain his seat as the horse lashed out with its iron-shod fore-hooves. The man’s face disappeared in a spray of blood as he reeled backwards and again the horse rode him down.
The slight pause had given Alan’s Saxon companions a chance to catch up, and after having felt a little like a passenger for the last few moments Alan took Odin in hand with a wrench of the reins, directing him towards the two men who were near the inert body of the noblewoman.
The two bandits started to rise to their feet, abandoning their preoccupation with robbery, with fear written clearly on their faces. As Alan reined Odin to an abrupt halt, the horse was almost standing on the woman. Without needing instruction, and with surprising adroitness and control, the animal carefully placed his feet so as not to crush the woman.
Alan gave a backhanded slash with his sword at the bandit to his right. The blade cleaved through the man’s right shoulder next to neck while the man was still fumbling with his own sword and trying to come to grips with the rapidly changed situation. The almost horizontal cut nearly severed the man’s head and he dropped in a shower of blood from severed arteries with a look of surprise still on his face.
Alan twitched Odin’s reins to make him move to the right and then launched himself out of the saddle towards the bandit on the left, who by now had recovered from his surprise sufficiently to draw his own sword from its scabbard and raise it to an ‘en garde’ position. Alan stumbled on landing and his opponent sought to take advantage by making a wild swing with the sword at his head. Alan immediately performed a passata-sotto, dropping down with his left hand to the ground and lowering his body below his opponent’s blade as it whistled overhead. Springing upright Alan performed an advance and a simple riposte lunge, running six inches of steel into his opponent’s chest before the latter could recover his balance. Remembering his teaching that ‘the damage is done by the first three inches of the blade, not the last three’ he was able to easily withdraw his blade as his opponent toppled over backwards.
With a quick glance around to make sure he was momentarily clear of further attack, Alan then kicked the his victim’s blade clear of his twitching hand. Looking around he saw that the thegns had finished off the two men who had been ravaging the maid. One, now a headless corpse, still lay on her, drenching her with his blood. One thegn was approaching the last bandit still standing in the clearing. Alan could see movement in the trees as two or three survivors fled into the forest.
“Hold on! We want a prisoner!” shouted Alan- unfortunately just too late as the thegn performed a beat- parry, striking the bandit’s incoming blade aside before using a thrust to the throat. “Ah, well! Too late! Alric, get one of the men to catch the horses then help me. Edward, you and a couple of the servants stand guard in case those vermin return. Ketel, can you look to the maid?” The last was in response to the hysterical screams coming from underneath the headless corpse. “Edwold, check the bodies of both sides. See if any are still breathing.”
As Ketel heaved to one side the corpse atop the maid, the screams from the blood-drenched woman subsided into heart-rending sobs. After carefully wiping his blade clean on the filthy and ragged clothes of one the bandits and then sliding it back into its leather scabbard, Alan hurried over to the still motionless form of the well- dressed woman lying near the pathway.
He turned her head and checked her tongue to ensure she would not choke and gave her a cursory examination. He knelt at her right side, while Alric knelt on her left, his face looking anxious. “Do you know her?” asked Alan. Alric shook his head, his long blonde hair swinging from side to side. “Definitely a broken leg,” continued Alan. “This is a nasty cut to the thigh, and…” gently sounding her ribs with his fingertips, “I think some broken ribs. There’s no way we can put her on a horse and this path is too narrow for a cart or wagon. Get a couple of cloaks from her dead retainers and cover her while I check the others.”
Edwold had found that one of the retainers was still breathing and had rolled him onto his back. Alan knelt beside them and noted the blood from a wound to the chest and the pink frothy blood on the man’s lips. Edwold, who had seen enough killing wounds to know what that meant, pulled a wry face to Alan and shook his head sadly.
Alan gave a slight nod of agreement. “We can’t put him on a horse either. Alresford is your demesne isn’t it? Right! Come with me and we’ll get some more horses and get some litters made. We are, what… two miles away?” Raising his voice he continued, calling to the eldest of the thegns. “Alric! Edwold and I will be back in about an hour. Keep these two warm. Don’t move them. And keep a watch out, as there may be other bandits.”
Three men rode back to Alresford, Alan, Edwold and the falconer Benoic, who had retrieved all four of the birds that the party had been flying and had extracted a promise from Edwold to be able to place them in his mews until the excitement was over. Alan saw Benoic’s devotion to the birds, in the face of the calamity they had come across, as being if not quite humorous at least interestingly single-minded. The man had his job, his job was hawks and that was all he was interested in.
As they rode towards Alresford at a brisk canter Alan issued instructions to Edwold. “The injured are about half a mile into the forest. We’ll need stretchers or litters to bring them out. It’ll probably be easier to carry them out by hand rather than using litters. Can you have a light cart brought to the edge of the forest so we can get them here as soon as possible? Fortunately they’re both unconscious at the moment.”
Edwold largely ignored the flow of ideas and words from Alan’s lips. He knew perfectly well how to make a litter and didn’t need any instruction, least of all from an outlander. As they rode though the gate of the palisade that surrounded his Hall Edwold was shouting for attention. Within minutes stretchers were being made, horses brought, a cart requisitioned and provided with a draft horse, and the village Wise Woman sought (she was not immediately available, being out in the forest picking herbs, but a boy was left on her doorstep with instructions to bring her to the Hall the moment she returned).
It was more than two hours later that they returned to the clearing in the forest with a multitude of helpers and horses. All of the dead, including the bandits, were thrown onto the back of packhorses, two or three to a horse. As they were loaded the horses sidled nervously, eyes wide and nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. There had been little change in the condition of the wounded man and woman. If anything the man was breathing more clearly than Alan would have expected. Placing his ear against his chest he could hear the rattle of air being drawn through blood. Alan grimaced as he sat back, well aware that the unidentified servant was slowly drowning in his own blood and there was nothing anybody could do about it other than pray for his immortal soul.
