Shadowland-165

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Chapter	Eighteen	–	Death	of	a	Saxon
As	Uther	 rode	between	 the	Saxon	dwellings	of	Aeglesthorp	with	 the	 sound	of
battle	receding,	 the	horse's	hoof	beats	and	laboured	breathing	suddenly	seemed
loud	in	the	comparative	silence.
The	village	was	all	but	deserted.
A	 few	chickens	 scratched	 at	 the	dirt,	 a	 handcart	 stood	 abandoned	between
the	 huts,	 and	 an	 old	woman	 carrying	 a	 bundle	 of	 sticks	 stood	watching	 them
gallop	 past,	 offering	 a	 vacant,	 disinterested	 expression.	When	 a	 dog	 shot	 out
between	buildings,	 scattering	 the	chickens	 to	bark	 savagely	at	 the	horse's	 legs,
the	 horse	 didn't	 so	 much	 as	 startle.	 It	 had	 suffered	 far	 worse	 this	 day	 on	 the
battlefield,	a	dog	offered	little	threat.
The	only	other	sign	of	the	Saxon	inhabitants	was	a	little	girl	peering	round	a
skin	door.	She	followed	Uther's	passing	with	tear-filled	eyes,	until	a	hand	hastily
pulled	her	back	into	the	shadows.	The	sight	hit	him	harder	than	any	Saxon	blade
had	 that	 day…	 that	 this	 brutal	 race	 of	 invaders	 had	 children	 too.	 It	 came	 as	 a
shock,	which	in	turn	was	cause	for	concern.	That	he	hadn't	thought	of	his	enemy
as	 a	 people	 that	 could	 have	 families,	 loves	 and	 fears	 of	 their	 own,	 that	 there
might	 be	Saxon	 children	 awaiting	 the	 return	of	 a	 father	 or	 brother,	 a	 father	 or
brother	that	he	might	have	slain.
If	Britain	is	to	be	a	free	country,	then	there	has	to	be	a	truce,	and	an	end	to
the	war	 and	killing,	 thought	Uther,	 and	 it	 had	 to	 include	 all	 these	 people	who
were	now	calling	it	home.
Once	out	of	 the	village,	he	headed	onto	 the	northern	 road.	 It	was	a	proper
dirt	 track,	one	on	which	you	could	 feel	 the	earth	beneath	your	 feet.	Not	paved
and	uncomfortable	like	the	Roman	road	they	had	travelled	to	get	to	Aeglesthorp.
It	was	wide	enough	for	a	single	wagon,	as	the	hard	sun-baked	furrows	attested,
easier	on	the	horse's	hooves	than	the	Roman-cut	stone,	and	felt	good	to	ride	on.
The	dense	woodland	of	the	Weald	ran	along	the	left-hand	side,	while	to	the
right,	 it	was	grassy	and	clear	of	 trees	 right	down	 to	 the	 river	estuary,	 from	 the
horse,	he	had	a	good	view	of	the	way	ahead.
There,	in	the	distance,	a	black	shape	moved	against	the	trees…	Uther	dug	in
his	 heels	 and	 hung	 on	 as	 the	 horse	 lunged	 forward.	As	 he	 began	 to	 close	 the
distance,	the	shape	appeared	to	resolve	into	a	group	of	three	riders,	possibly	four.
He	 felt	a	pang	of	annoyance	and	 then	uncertainty	at	his	 rash	 flight.	Horsa	had
	Chapter Eighteen – Death of a Saxon