‘We must make haste,’ she said. ‘We are losing the light, and I believe we are no longer alone.’
He turned and scanned the woodland around them. Two of the other men noticed and did the same. They quickened their pace as they worked to secure the boar’s trotters to the poles with plaited reed bindings. At last they were ready. Rufus, Bryn and two of the older boys took a pole end each, hoisting them up to rest upon their shoulders. The path was narrow, so that it would be slow progress walking two abreast, but the boar was too heavy for two men to carry. Rhiannon and the other boys walked ahead, with Taran at her side. Tudor and the remainder of the party walked at the rear. All were alert to sounds or movement. They had not been walking more than ten minutes before Glyn let out a shout.
‘Wolf!’
‘Where is it?’ Dafydd held his spear ready, spinning round.
Tudor had his sword drawn and stepped back to defend against attack from behind.
‘There!’ Ifan pointed to their left and all eyes turned to see the fleeting movement of dark brown fur amongthe drab winter undergrowth. Just as they did so Taran growled, eyes fixed forwards, while at the same moment, Tudor alerted them to more danger.
‘There’s another! Only strides behind us.’
‘We must keep going!’ Rufus said, wobbling beneath the weight of the boar as he tried to twist this way and that to watch for the wolves.
‘No,’ Rhiannon came back to speak to the others, drawing the boys into the group with her. ‘We have become the hunted. To continue now would leave us vulnerable.’
‘Rhiannon is right,’ Tudor agreed. ‘We make our stand here. Set the pig down. Dafydd, to the left. Ifan, Dai, stay close to your queen.’
If the men were surprised at Tudor taking command and giving orders they showed no sign of it. Rhiannon believed they were grateful for his skills and ready to follow his instructions. After all, aside from two of them they were not soldiers, nor even experienced hunters. His talents could give them their best chance.
She talked to him softly but urgently. ‘How many have you seen?’
‘Two, and heard a third. We must assume that is the smallest number we face.’
‘So many! They are drawn by the blood of the boar.’ As she spoke a wolf broke cover, running towardsthem before turning at the last moment. It was not an attack but a feint, meant to draw them out, for a wolf pack kills its prey one at a time. ‘Stand your ground!’ she shouted. ‘Do not leave the group!’ All obeyed her. All save the most loyal and most brave, for with a single great bound, Taran set off after the wolf. ‘Taran, no!’ she cried, but he would not be stopped.
With her protector drawn away, a second wolf made its charge, running directly for the boy standing nearest the boar. It was Glyn, the smallest of them all, standing guard over his precious kill. He braced himself with his spear pointed out, the tip of it still coated in the blood of the fallen animal. He knew better than to turn and run and let out his loudest battle cry. Even so, the wolf leapt at him. Rufus roared at it and threw his axe but his aim was off. Tudor ran towards the boy as the wolf jumped past the spear, teeth bared. Glyn fell backwards, the weapon knocked from his hands, his arm thrown up in a futile attempt to protect himself. As all those close to him raced to the boy’s aid, the second wolf made its move. Rhiannon sensed rather than heard it running. In one swift, seamless movement, without so much as seeing her target, she swung around, her bow loaded, string pulled, and loosed the arrow. The wolf was in mid leap, so that the arrow found its throat before it fell on top of her. She felt the force of itscharge and the weight of its body as it connected with her, sending her crashing backwards onto the frozen ground, knocking the wind from her as it fell dead, its hot blood covering her, its teeth, bared in a dying snarl flashing past her face as they collapsed together. From where she lay she could see that Glyn’s arm had been bitten. Rufus held the boy safe while Tudor had run at the wolf, slicing at it with his sword. He had not succeeded in cutting it, but his attack had been sufficient to frighten it off. As Rhiannon struggled to free herself Taran and the third wolf came tumbling through the clearing, a frenzied tangle of fur and teeth. It was impossible to see which animal had the advantage. ‘Taran!’ she shouted. ‘Tudor, help him…’
But no one dared throw a knife or lunge at the wolf for fear of hitting the hound. They could do nothing. She heard her beloved dog yelp and knew he had been injured. If he was weakened by a lucky bite the wolf could finish him in moments. She kicked and fought to get out from the gory corpse of the wolf, her frustration and desperation mounting. As she struggled she became aware of a force building up inside of herself. She thought of how she had been able to pull down the mist to evade the king’s soldiers. She knew she had to do something, and this was not the time for thoughtful incantations or focussed spell casting. But what couldshe do? Even as she staggered to her knees, free at last, she was uncertain of how she could save Taran. The wolf had turned him over and now had his jaws only a hand’s breadth above the hound’s throat. She saw Tudor take out his knife and draw back his arm to throw it. Her heart skipped a beat for fear of where it would find its mark, but she herself was too indecisive, too inexperienced, too slow to act. The knife cut through the air and then cut through the wolf’s flesh. It let out a pitiful scream, falling to the ground, struggling to right itself for a brief moment before lying silent and still. Taran clambered to his feet and ran to Rhiannon. She threw her arms around his neck and let him help her to get up.
‘There, boy. You did well, and you are safe now. There,’ she murmured, closing her eyes as she hugged him. She hurried over to Glyn who was white with shock but devoid of tears. The bite was deep but was not bleeding dangerously.
‘You are the bravest of boys,’ she told him.
Dafydd shook his head. ‘Do not call him boy,’ he said. ‘He has this day become a man.’
‘Indeed he has,’ Tudor agreed, tearing a strip from his own shirt for Rhiannon to use as a bandage.
‘We must get you home and let Mamgi see to your arm. Do not be afraid.’
‘I am not,’ he said, though his lip quivered as he spoke. His eyes widened. ‘Will Mamgi have something for the wolf’s poison?’ he asked, for everyone knew the bite of a wolf carried death not only in the tear of its teeth.
‘She will. And when you have a warm place to rest and a belly full of roast pork you will be right as rain with a story to tell your friends over and over on the long winter nights. Come now, Rufus will carry you.’ When he started to protest she silenced him with a smile. ‘Man or not, you are in my charge, and I say you will be carried. Besides, if you are weak when you arrive home I will have a furious Mamgi to answer to, and you know,’ she gave a little laugh, ‘I would rather face another wolf!’
The wolves were gutted and strapped to poles. Some had protested only the pelts were worth having, so they should skin them to save carrying the carcasses home. Rhiannon had pointed out that the wolf meat could be kept in the snowy ground and would feed Taran and the other dogs for some time to come. The men agreed to this, as she knew they would. The unspoken thought they all shared was that if times became hard enough, that meat could feed the villagers too. Nobody would have chosen to dine on wolf ordinarily, but these were not ordinary times. Rhiannon’s task was to sustain thecommunity through the long dark months at the bottom of the year. If their fortunes improved, they might one day be able to come out of hiding, and even return to their homes. She could not control the tides of affairs of men of power. She could ensure her people did not starve.
Rufus hitched Glyn up onto his back. The others took a pole end each to transport their kills. Taran was wounded, but not badly, and was able to lope alongside his mistress. Rhiannon would walk ahead, with Tudor at the rear of the party, all alert for signs of the other wolf returning.
By the time they left the woodland they had lost the last of the daylight. Rhiannon was glad of the stars and a bright moon. She knew the paths well, as did her friends, but there were rocks and rabbit holes to catch a person out, snatching at a tired foot, ready to twist an ankle or send the weary and unwary tumbling. Their progress was slow but steady and at last they came in sight of the encampment. She paused, waving the men on ahead with their heavy burdens. She waited for Tudor.
‘You want the boy to have his moment of glory?’ he smiled, nodding at the small throng of villagers carrying torches who were rushing out to greet the returning hunters.
‘He has earned it. As have the others.’ As she watched the reunion she became aware that Tudor’s gaze had shifted to her. She glanced down at her clothes and saw the moonlight glistening on the wolf’s gore that covered her. Her hood down, she put a hand up to her hair. It too was thick with blood.
As if reading her mind, Tudor reached out and took her hand. When he spoke his voice was gentle.
‘Some maids seek to enhance their beauty with sweet flower oils and jewels.’ He turned her hand over, exposing the dried blood to the pellucid moonbeams.
