The Red And Savage Tongue (Historical Fiction Action Adventure Book, set in Dark Age post Roman Britain) Read Free Page A

broken, marshy land to the south.  He examined the ground and saw no human trace upon it. Turning his attention to the ruin, he noticed that its walls seemed to be overgrown, craggy, continuations of the forest floor.    
         The Romans were long gone, but the basic construction was still intact. Not such a ruin after all, he realised, and less work to do than he had been anticipating.  The Romans had built the staging post alongside what was then a cleared marching route through the forest. The main structure of the storehouse was above ground, and built to house two guards. Apart from the wooden roof, which had collapsed into its interior, the building was sound. A slow trickle of water wormed its way down a small bluff to the side of the hut, before running across the ground to join a small ditch nearby. Dominic walked over to the down-flow, placed his hand under the cool shower and tasted the stony but drinkable water. He felt pleased with himself. The site could be made habitable in no time at all. If he worked long days, he would be comfortable within days.
         He entered the building and removed the old rotted sections of the roof, throwing them outside for later use as firewood. A soggy, rope-pull attached to a rotting door, was revealed in the floor, and he guessed that he had found the entrance to the storage cellar. He knew he must enter it , to benefit from the shelter it would provide until he had fixed the roof of the upper building.          
         The cellar door opened with a stiff reluctance, revealing dusty, stone steps. As Dominic descended, the steps wound in a short spiral, down into utter blackness. He walked cautiously with his bow held outright before him as a makeshift probe for any obstruction. He continued like this for what seemed an age before the bow hit wood. He groped in the dark until his hand touched rough timber. His hand explored until finding an iron ring. He now realised he had found a door.
         With both hands he twisted the ring, not really expecting it to budge, and was surprised when both the ring and the door moved . Not knowing what awaited him, he cautiously peered through the widening crack between door and frame. Nothing, neither sound nor movement could he detect. All was still and black. He pushed the door further until he could squeeze through sideways. He entered a level passageway, and that was when they hit him.
         The quiet air exploded into a fit of whirling, rushing madness. He swip ed around him in the darkness, impotent now, with only an empty bow in his hand. He believed that a deathblow would follow the whirling blasts of air that seemed to alight all over his body, and in desperation, he managed to stumble into the door. He placed both of his hands against its rough edge and heaved it open.
         He fell to his knees in the passage, his heart hammering alarmingl y as he watched the last of the bats leave. He was furious with himself. He didn’t deserve to live. What a ham head. What a fool. Ambushed by flying rats and brandishing a weapon that could not hurt a child. He regained his feet, still cursing to himself. Then, he placed his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword.    
         A dull orange line at floor level, towards what he judged to be the end of the passageway, caught his eye. He walked slowly toward it, this time using his sword as a probe until he again struck wood. He had found another door. At his feet, the faint light spilled from the gap between door and stone floor. Again, an iron ring, and again success as it turned and the door moved. He knew he must enter, but this time he was equipped and ready. He slid through the gap and adopted a crouching, defensive stance, his sword held in both hands before him.
         Immediately he saw the source of the light. The cellar was huge and its domed and fluted roof had several slits built into it which were open to the leafy woodland floor above,