He slept later than he had intended. By the time he rose it was past nine, and the men of the village were already up and about, emerging from their huts like hibernating animals roused by the spring sun. Some tended to the livestock, others inspected roofs for damage after the months of harsh weather. Dogs raced around, relishing the freedom of the outside world after being kept inside the huts for so long. They paid no heed to Dodinal.
Thuds reverberated from the forest, followed by a loud tearing sound and a crash as a tree fell.
Idris was inspecting the rotten palisade. The moment he saw Dodinal emerging from the hut, blinking and rubbing his eyes to clear them, he called out a greeting and marched over. “I was just about to send Rhiannon to wake you!”
A blush coloured Dodinal’s face at the memory of last night’s encounter; he hoped it passed for the lingering effects of sleep. “You should have roused me earlier.”
The chieftain made a dismissivegesture. “Plenty of time. Get yourself to the Great Hall, there is food waiting. A man cannot work on an empty belly, especially after yesterday’s exertions.”
Dodinal narrowed his eyes and looked for some sign that Idris knew what had happened last night. If he did, the old man was giving nothing away. He looked preoccupied. “I’ve already sent men into the forest to start cutting down trees to replace the missing or rotting timbers. But the damage is extensive and I do not have enough men. We will not get it all done today, even if they work until sunset.”
“Then we will do what we can.” Dodinal clapped Idris on the back. “There are other defences. We can talk about it later.”
The Great Hall door was open, and the window shutters had been removed, letting in light and venting the smoke from the fires. Even so, the atmosphere was sombre. The hut was filled with women, using brooms to sweep the floor and to brush the worst of the soot off the walls. While they greeted him warmly enough when he ducked inside, he could see they were anxious too. They would have heard of the tragedy. They knew that, but for the grace of their god, it could have been one of them sat at the table, crying and whispering prayers.
They kept their children close. The little ones sat on the floor in groups or ran around playing noisy games. Rhiannon was there; apart from a fleeting smile and a wave of greeting, she paid him no attention. Instead she tended to a pot suspended over the fire, shooing children away if they ventured too close to the flames. Dodinal was disappointed they would not have a chance to talk.
Platters on the table were heaped with nuts, dried meat, fish and bread. There were jugs of ale too. It was a banquet, compared with the meagre fare of the past few weeks. Dodinal thought that the villagers must be confident finding fresh food would be easier now that spring had arrived. He hoped their confidence was not misplaced.
Keen to get working, he grabbed handfuls of nuts and berries and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing them greedily while he took as much meat and fish as he dared without feeling guilty and put them in his pockets, to eat while he worked.
Once he had swallowed, he gulped down some ale and hurried outside, partly to make the most of the daylight and partly in the hope that Rhiannon would follow him the moment she could. He wanted to find a quiet place to talk to her about last night and the nights ahead, now he had decided to stay.
His eyes sought out the old chieftain, who was deep in conversation with Gerwyn. They were too far away and there was too much noise around for Dodinal to hear what was being said, until he got closer. The younger man gesticulated vigorously, clearly making a point with some force. “Father, please, you have to let us go.”
“I have to do no such thing,” Idris said coolly.
“If we don’t hunt, then we don’t eat. You’d prefer to build a fence than plough and sow the fields. What is the point of barricading ourselves away if it means us starving to death?”
“Good morning,” Dodinal said pleasantly to Gerwyn, as if there were no bad feelings between them.
“Let me hunt,” Gerwyn persisted, addressing his father as if Dodinal had not spoken. “The men you have put to work will need fresh meat to keep up their strength. You know my words make sense.”
Idris caught Dodinal’s eye. “He wants to go hunting. Reckons he’ll be more use to us that way than if he stays here, chopping down trees. I don’t know, though. I think we need every man available to rebuild the defences. What do you think, my friend?”
Gerwyn made an angry gesture with his hand. “Who cares what he thinks? He has far too much say around here. He’s not brehyrion and not my father. I don’t have to listen to him and neither should you.”
“I did not ask you,” Idris said. “And I value his opinion far more than I would ever value yours.”
Gerwyn simmered, but for once he held his tongue.
“Where will you hunt?” Dodinal asked.
“South,” Gerwyn answered testily, as if the answer was blindingly obvious. “Best chance of finding anything.”
Dodinal cast out his senses. There should be prey around by now, awoken from its winter slumber and foraging for food. Yet there was nothing. He almost told Gerwyn he would be wasting his time, then bit back the words. How could he explain how he knew there was no fresh meat to be found within a day’s march or more?
He suspected Gerwyn was less interested in hunting than in avoiding having to work. He also suspected the chieftain’s son would be more hindrance than help if he were made to stay.
“Let him hunt,” said Dodinal. “We have enough men to manage here with the two of us helping out. I’m certain we will all appreciate any meat he can put on the table.”
Gerwyn gave him a suspicious look, as if sensing he was being mocked. Then, apparently satisfied this was not so, he nodded with almost childish eagerness. “I will take a few friends with me, the better to track with and to help carry back whatever we find.”
“You appear to have all this worked out,” Idris grumbled, but without malice, and with a sly look at Dodinal. He, too, thought they would be better off without Gerwyn under their feet. “Go on, then. Get your friends and be off with you. And you’d better not return without meat for our bellies or there will be trouble.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.” Gerwyn grinned at his father and nodded in an almost friendly fashion at Dodinal before scurrying off. The two men watched him go.
“You weren’t planning to stop him,” Dodinal murmured.
Idris’s eyes gleamed. “No, but if he wants to run around while the rest of us toil, then I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Now he’s out of the way, his idle friends too, we can really get to work. You said something about other defences. What did you mean?”
Dodinal set off for the gates, Idris beside him. “We cannot secure the palisade today. So we do what we can for now and then fill in the gaps. There is blackthorn in the forest. Get your strongest women, give them blades and whatever cloth can be spared…”
Between them Dodinal and Idris quickly got the villagers organised. Ten men had already taken axes and saws to the forest, so Dodinal allocated another ten to haul them to the village. The timber was left on the ground alongside the gaps in the fences, ready to be hoisted into place later. Those women young enough and strong enough to work were sent into the woods to find blackthorn. They wrapped their hands in cloth and furs and took scythes to hack at the shrubs and drag back bundles of branches. Bristling with vicious thorns, they would serve as a makeshift but effective barricade.
Even the children were set to work, those that were old enough, carrying tools and nails and rope wherever they were needed, though always within the village. They went about the chores with feverish excitement, after months trapped inside their smoky huts.
Dodinal busied himself digging out the stumps of the posts that had rotted beyond repair. It was hard going under the hot sun. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine and he found himself having to stretch with increasing regularity to ease the stiffness in his back.
He lost track of time. When a shadow fell over him and a hand reached down to offer a beaker of ale, he took it and drank it greedily without looking up. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Rhiannon answered. “But didn’t we have this same conversation last night?”
Dodinal almost coughed up the ale. He looked around quickly to make sure there was no one within earshot. They were alone, though Idris was ambling towards them, casting an eye over the defences as he walked. “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you earlier. But not now. We’re about to have company.”
“Then it will have to wait until tonight.” She grinned down at him. “Assuming Gerwyn is successful and I can get the two of them drunk enough not to hear me leaving while they sleep.”
She took the beaker from him and her fingers lingered on his. “And if not tonight, well, no matter. There will be other nights.”
“Yes,” Dodinal answered. “Yes, there will be.”
They worked throughout the afternoon, stopping once to eat and drink before returning to their labours. Fifteen posts were needed. Fifteen trees were felled, their trunks stripped of branches before being dragged to the palisade.
Once the posts were ready, the men lifted the first of them into place. They drove them deep into the holes Dodinal had helped to clear, then packed earth and stone around them before lashing and nailing each post to its neighbours.
As conscious as they were of the slowly fading light, they could not work any faster. They pushed their tired bodies until they were close to collapse. Even then they were not done by the time it had become almost too dark to see.
At least the gates had been repaired and stood true on their hinges. An iron bracket had been fixed to each gate to take the sturdy wooden bar that would hold them shut. But four of the posts in the palisade had not been reinstated. Dodinal was glad he had got the women to drag back the bundles of blackthorn. They were needed.
He sent the women to the Great Hall but gave neither the men nor himself any respite. They had more to do. It was slow going. They had to keep their hands away from the thorns as they lashed the bundles into stacks, then hauled them to the palisade and nailed them into place to close the gaps. Despite their caution, their palms were scratched and bleeding by the time they were done.
“We are finished for tonight,” Dodinal said, and the words were met with mutters of relief. He eyed Idris with concern. The chieftain had worked as hard as men half his age, ignoring Dodinal’s pleas for him to rest. Now he swayed on his feet as if drunk.
Cooking smells drifted across from the Great Hall, and aches and pains were immediately forgotten. Dodinal salivated. Even Idris shrugged off his exhaustion, standing up straighter and licking his lips. “Let’s get inside,” he said, his voice stronger than his body appeared. “And then get some food inside us!”
The men needed no further prompting and hurried away. Dodinal watched them go. Idris went straight to the Great Hall as his men called the dogs and tethered them outside their huts. It would be the first night the hounds had slept in the open for months.
Dodinal assessed the palisade, pushing hard on the new posts and feeling a sense of relief when they stood firmly in place. He had no concerns about the temporary defences. Nothing could get through those blackthorn stacks without ripping itself to bloody shreds.
He rubbed his hands briskly together, suddenly cold. As he hurried towards the warmth of the Great Hall, he saw the gates were closed and secured. Idris had left a man standing guard, a spear in his hand. The knight nodded his approval; they could not be too careful.
Inside, the mood was subdued. Even the children sat still. Only the mastiff, stretched out by the fire, its eyes flickering orange pools, was at ease. People ate without enthusiasm. The encroaching night had subdued appetites, for everyone knew now of the terrors the darkness held. They may have strengthened the defences, but there was no fortification strong enough to hold back fear.
Owain sat next to his mother, the boy’s eyes following Dodinal as he entered the hut and took Gerwyn’s chair. The knight smiled at him, to try to reassure him that all was well. The child smiled back, then turned his attention to his food. Rhiannon and Idris both nodded a greeting but neither said a word.
A bowl of cawl had been set out for him, along with some bread and a beaker of ale. He chewed listlessly, for once affected by the tension around him. A young woman, suckling her baby, left with her husband to put the child down for the night. The silence seemed to deepen once they were gone.
“Gerwyn is not yet back, I see,” Dodinal said, the air of despondency making him edgy.
“He will stay out until he kills something, or the cold sends him back,” Idris said. “He would hate to return with nothing after you brought us meat.”
“And if he does not find anything to kill?”
Idris shrugged listlessly, as if he did not care either way.
Rhiannon said: “There is a river a day’s travelling from here. If the game does not return we will send men to catch fish.”
Dodinal nodded. It would not have been possible to reach the river during the worst of the winter. Now with the onset of milder weather the journey was well within reach. Little wonder they no longer concerned themselves with hoarding the last of their food.
“Then we have no fear of going hungry,” he said.
Idris pulled a face. “Fish is for the old and for babies, those without teeth. No, we will not go hungry, but that is about the best that can be said. Why the forest is so barren this year is beyond me.”
Dodinal kept his suspicions to himself. It did not matter what dwelled in the north. It did not matter what had taken the children, not at that moment. They were warm and safe. Thatwas what mattered.
It was, he knew, a selfish attitude, given what had happened the previous day. But what had happened could not be undone. The only sensible course of action was to make the best of what they had.
He finished his meal and washed it down with the last of the beer. As he wiped his hand across his mouth, he noticed Owain sitting up straighter. The boy had cocked his head as though listening to something beyond anyone else’s hearing.
Again, Dodinal thought, wondering what was approaching this time. Owain looked at him, then shifted his gaze towards the door.
His message could not have been clearer.
The mastiff was immediately on its feet. It growled and ran to the door, where it leapt up and began scratching at the wood.
Villagers edged away, deeper into the hall.
Idris pushed his chair back and stood.
“No,” Dodinal said. “Stay here. I will look outside.”
“You cannot go alone,” the chieftain argued.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He kept his tone light, but he was glad he had not left his sword inside Rhiannon’s hut this time. “It’s probably no more than your hound having a bad dream. Nothing can get in. Even if it had, the guard would have raised the alarm.”
“Then take me with you.” It was Hywel. “We can check the ground outside the palisade together. For tracks.”
Dodinal considered this. “Let me see if there’s anything to track first. Just make sure you keep the hound inside. If there are any prints I don’t want it churning them up.”
He didn’t want the mastiff turning on him in the darkness either, not when it had already gouged chunks out of the door.
Idris held the dog by its collar. It growled and tried to break free when Dodinal opened the door, but Idris was stronger. Once outside and with the door shut firmly behind him, Dodinal drew his blade and surveyed the village. It appeared deserted in the moon’s cold light. Nothing moved, save for the ghostly plumes of his breath that appeared and vanished before him.
Dodinal sheathed the sword as he approached the gates, so as not to startle the man standing sentry. He need not have bothered. The guard, no doubt exhausted from his labours, had succumbed to fatigue and sat on the ground, back against the gates, legs stretched out. Not even the sound of the knight’s boots thumping across the hard earth was enough to rouse him from his slumber.
Dodinal was unimpressed. Words would be had. There was no purpose in having guards if they were going to sleep on duty, no matter how tired they were. It was inexcusable.
“You,” he said gruffly. There was no response. Dodinal’s mouth tightened. He reached down to shake the guard by the shoulder. The man toppled slowly onto his side, head flopping loosely to reveal a deep, ragged wound across his throat.