The Scathing by C R May

Author:C R May [May, C R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781547238514
Published: 2017-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

15

They paused at the tree line and looked back. Even at a distance the heat from the flames brought a blush to their cheeks, and the men of Eofer’s hearth troop stared in wonder at the destruction they had wrought. Horsa was the first to speak as the flames cast a glow over the darkening meadow and turned the river beyond to bronze. ‘It’s an amazing thing, fire,’ he breathed, putting into words the thoughts of them all. ‘It’s almost as if it is alive.’

Eofer nodded in agreement as he watched the fort burn in silence. As dry as old bones after the summer heat, the wood had come ablaze as soon as the torches were brought near. The palisade which crowned the earthwork banks was already a perfect ring of fire, the flames, red, orange and yellow, leaping and curling in the soft evening airs. At the centre of the fort the flagpole was now a flaming wand, as movement across the river caused Eofer to raise his gaze and look to the north. He motioned with his head. ‘A few more moths drawn to the flames.’

A mile or so from the northern bank of the Trenta, the age polished sets of Ryknield Street ran as straight as any spear shaft. It was the main route east for the army of Cynlas Goch, and a detachment of riders were walking their mounts down towards the river as they too became bewitched by the sight of the fort’s fiery end.

‘Well, that should help spread the news well enough,’ Horsa replied, ‘that and the bell.’

‘And the smoke,’ Eofer added as he switched his gaze skyward.

The pair watched as waves of smoke as black as night billowed and boiled above the dying fort before the higher winds teased it apart and carried it off to the east. ‘That will be the supplies.’

Eofer smiled to himself and sucked his teeth at the thought of a job well done. They had made a pile of all the building materials and tools they could find. Most of the ironwork, hammers, saws and the like, had disappeared beneath the surface of the Trenta, but the larger items had joined the rest of the supplies; soaked in the pitch and tar of the woodworkers’ trade, they had added to the roaring inferno as they led the last of the horses through the gate. If he had the right of it, Eofer had now denied the army of Powys not only their skilled artisans but the tools and supplies essential to their work. The next fort along the chain, the big one at Hreopedun, was little more than a shallow ditch and bank as the men there waited for the carpenters and smiths to complete their defences. With those skilled workers now gone, the fort would remain little more than a four cornered earthwork deep in enemy territory.

‘It was a shame that he got away, though. Who would have thought that a church would have a rear door for the priest’s personal use?’

Eofer looked at his weorthman.

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