The Saxon Shore (The Saxon Shore Trilogy Book 1)

Book summary

Valdor, a young Batavian, flees Roman justice with his friend in the turbulent third century. As leadership conflicts erupt, Valdor allies with the self-proclaimed Emperor Carausius and is tasked with defending the coast from barbarian raids. Amidst shifting allegiances, the fate of Britannia and its people hangs in the balance.

THE SAXON SHORE is a historical adventure set in late 3rd century Britannia and Europe.

Excerpt from The Saxon Shore (The Saxon Shore Trilogy Book 1)

A small unnamed village on the south bank of the River Waal, Batavia AD 286

Valdor bent to haul his eel trap onto the river bank when a hand clamped over his mouth and a familiar voice hissed, “The Romans are hunting for Faldrek; you’ve got to help us find him. He’s only killed a centurion, and the whole legion is hunting for him. Look over there! They’ve even got dogs to help sniff him out!” The rough hand of the smith’s apprentice released its grip. “You’re his best friend; you’ll know where he’d run to.”

Several ideas tumbled through Valdor’s mind, but there clearly wasn’t time to evaluate which was best.

“I know what I’d do in his place, Heidar,” he told the apprentice. “Are you three willing to come with me? We’ll take my uncle’s boat, find Faldrek, and sail it out of the estuary into the open sea.”

“My father’s boat? The North Sea?” Johar gasped. “Then what?”

“Then we take our chance and see where the gods, time, and tide lead us.”

“Are you mad?” Johar, the youngest of the four by one winter, protested. He was comfortable with the older youths because he could run and throw as well as them, and his muscles were just as well developed from hauling wet, laden nets of fish onto his father’s boat.

“I’ll come with you, Valdor. There’s nothing for us in the village now the Romans have seized our tribe’s treasure, and they’ve forced my master, Thragnor, to work the forge for them. I’ll not stay to be a Roman slave! Besides, Faldrek is my friend, too. If the Romans seize him, they’ll torture him and maim him for killing a centurion.”

“Are you coming with us, Johar?” Valdor shook his cousin’s arm urgently. “Look, some of them are splitting from the main force and coming this way.”

“Since it’s my father’s boat you’re planning to steal, I’ll come so that it isn’t seen as theft. Let’s go!”

Hidden by the steep river bank from the approaching Romans, the three youths dived into the river and struck out for the islet opposite. Batavian boys all learned to swim like otters in their infancy, and the men were renowned for their incredible ability to swim even in armour, thus taking an enemy by surprise. So, it was not a hard task to arrive at the far bank, scramble up, cross the islet to reach Johar’s father’s boat, moored in its usual place, and decide there what to do next. The distant yapping of hounds made them hasten their deliberations.

“You two get in,” Johar said. “I’ll push her off the mud, and you can haul me aboard. We’ll row to where we’re going for now. We can’t risk hoisting the sail; it’s white, and the Romans will see it and be after us in a trice.”

He gave the boat a mighty shove, but it failed to budge, so he tried again while Valdor used an oar to push into the silt. Johar had to dive into the river again and strike out after the boat that was already being swept along by the current. Strong arms reached for him, and soon he was hauled into the belly of the boat. Valdor had already taken charge of the oars and was pulling strongly with the current, parallel to the bank but in the direction of the village and hence towards the Roman soldiers.

“What do you think you’re doing, Valdor?” Heidar grumbled. “You’ll have us all taken prisoner.”

“Nay, Heidar, you take the tiller and head us out into midstream while I do the hard work.”

“Give me an oar; I’ll help you,” Johar said fiercely. With the two youths hauling on an oar each, the boat shot forward swiftly.

“Now where?” the tillerman asked.

“Torik Isle, over yonder,” Valdor pointed. “That’s where we’ll find Faldrek.”

“Never! He’d never have swum that far,” Johar argued.

“Listen, Faldrek is a stronger swimmer than any of us, and he was desperate. Besides, I know a place where he would hide.”

Gradually, they approached the low-lying holm, a refuge for every conceivable type of seabird, but uninhabited by the Batavians as it was so prone to flooding.

“There’s nowhere for him on Torik,” said Johar querulously. He was a little jealous of his elder cousin, who had now assumed command in what by right was his boat.

“You’ll soon see; I’m not given to flights of fancy, cousin.”

The low line of the coast, which was the bank of the Waal, could be seen from Torik, but the movement of anyone ashore was invisible at this distance. Conversely, this was a guarantee that the three of them and their boat could not be seen by the Romans. The value of Johar’s advice not to hoist sail was evident now. They ran the boat into a small inlet, where there was slightly firmer ground in the shallows made up of shingle. The boat scrunched into it, and they leapt out to drag it higher, making it impossible for the vessel to be lifted away by the tide.

The turf was springy but not marshy in these summer months, so they set off confidently towards the middle of the islet. The forces of nature had created a hollow at the centre, and as they approached, they saw a thin wisp of grey smoke curling into the air to be instantly dispersed by the sea breeze.

“I told you!” Valdor said triumphantly. “It must be Faldrek!”

The three youths appeared over the brow of the hollow, where their friend leapt to his feet, brandishing a gladius—a short Roman sword. “Hey!” he cried. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know, I’m an outlaw?”

“Whose law?” Valdor said truculently, smiling grimly. “We’ve come to share your fate.”

“You can share my dinner, too!” He pointed to a rudimentary turnspit where two seabirds were skewered and dripping fat, hissing in the flames of a small fire made from salvaged driftwood. “Puffins. I caught four. I still have to prepare the other two.”

In their village, puffins were regarded as a delicacy, so Valdor’s stomach was already rumbling.

“What happened exactly,” he enquired of his friend.

“I was grooming our horse when that swine of a centurion crept up behind me. The first thing I felt was a hand on my buttocks, and then he spun me around and started kissing me on my mouth. Yuk!” He dragged me into our house and pushed me onto the bed. Luckily, mother was out; she’d gone to Aunt Ysilis’ to help make bread and prepare some crabs. Then he started to strip off his armour until he was naked.” Faldrek’s voice broke, and his lip trembled. “It was clear he wanted to rape me. In fact, he said that if I was a good lover, he would see that I was well-treated in the legion. They plan to round up all our people aged over sixteen winters because, he said, we make the best warriors in the Empire—”

“So, that means us as well,” Valdor looked meaningfully around his companions’ serious faces.

“Ay, anyway, that was when I surprised him by leaping up to grab this,” he brandished the gladius, “and plunged it into his heart.”

“Good riddance,” said the apprentice smith, “I’d have done the same!”

“Hang on,” Johar looked astounded, “Are you saying that you swam all this way carrying the sword?”

“Ay, what’s the problem?” Faldrek replied proudly. “You just have to keep a tight grip on it.”

He used the murder weapon to slice the puffins, but it made no impression on the hungry youths, who devoured the fowl with relish as their host prepared the other two birds. Soon the fat was spitting in the fire again as Heidar, expert with flames, added just the right amount of wood for good roasting without burning the flesh.

Chewing on his meat, Faldrek swallowed and asked, “I suppose the Romans are hunting for me?”

“Ay, they are, but I reckon they won’t think of scouring the various isles and islets because they won’t think anyone could swim this far. I think they’ll search the nearby villages and while they’re at it, they’ll round up lads of our age and older as auxiliaries in their army.

“So, what are we going to do? We can’t stay here too long.”

“We have our boat,” Johar said proudly, and Valdor’s plan is to sail out of the estuary into the North Sea.”

“Aye? But what then?”

“We’ll leave it to the gods to decide our fate, my friend.”

After much discussion, they decided to spend the night on the holm, also because not even the Romans would attach importance to a white sail in the early morning, which would be seen as a fisherman sailing out to cast his nets. The mild season permitted them to sleep under the stars, and the hollow hid the glow of the fire from the mainland so that they could sleep around its warmth. Heidar organised the collection of driftwood and maintained that he needed little sleep, so he would keep the fire burning through the night. The other three were weary from their efforts and soon fell into a deep sleep.

The following morning, Valdor gathered his friends together to make a solemn oath. His grey-blue eyes, typical of his tribe, stared intensely into others of the same hue, except Heidar’s, which were an unusual deep blue.

“We must swear before the gods that whatever we have to face, we’ll endure it together, united: each individual should act for the benefit of the group, and the group should act for the benefit of each individual.”

Four arms stretched out in unison and hands clasped over the other, “I swear!” they chorused and grinned into each other’s faces: each face that of a young man who had grown through infancy and childhood together. Trust for each of them was of supreme importance and in the comforting glow of comradeship, at least momentarily, they were able to dismiss the frightening thought of what a future far from the reassurance of their village, family, and the routine of their chosen trade might bring. A moment’s thought told them that was no longer any reassurance. For Faldrek, a return certainly meant a cruel death and for the others, a harsh life in the Roman legion under Emperor Maximian.

Valdor, who had tacitly assumed command of the little group, said, “Come on, men, the sun is lighting up the river, it’s time to row out into midstream and raise sail. We’ll be out in the North Sea by noon. Look, there’s an ebb tide to help us and the current is in our favour!” He hadn’t mentioned the breeze, but when they hauled in the oars and, as before, Heidar took the tiller, when Johar ran up the sail, it flapped and filled with the wind. Since the breeze was contrary, coming from the North Sea, Johar called to his tillerman, “We’ll need to tack downstream. Keep the bows in that direction for the moment. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

Nobody questioned his decision because among them, he had the most experience of sailing. If they were to survive this voyage, they would have to heed his advice. The fisherman’s son settled down in the bows to keep an eye on the direction and perhaps any debris that might damage the small vessel.