However, this disruption wasn’t caused by any great threat or untimely attack but by the noisy arrival of both Arrin and Correy. Even if their visits hadn’t become a nearly daily occurrence, the sound of their pounding steps as they raced up the straining wooden steps would have made their identities obvious.
“Shouldn’t you two be doing your chores?” Ragnall asked as the footsteps of the two boys behind him turned silent as if they thought they could still somehow surprise the villager's watcher.
“No.”
“Yes.”
The two children spoke in tandem before Correy soon found himself receiving a sharp elbow to the stomach from his brother.
“No.”
It was an obvious lie but Ragnall did not see any need to call them on it, he did not have the patience for another constant back and forth where the siblings would deny it till they went blue in the face.
“Then what may I help you with?” Ragnall asked as he finally turned his back on the countryside and addressed the two boys who were eagerly perched at the walkway’s entrance.
“Teach us how to shoot!” Both children spoke in tandem with equally loud excited voices, whilst Ragnall normally appreciated the enthusiasm, the loud high-pitched voice of the youngest child was loud enough to send an annoying burst of pain through his ear.
“You’re not old enough.” Came Ragnall’s brief firm reply, an answer that went completely ignored by the children.
“Please!”
“No.”
“Please!”
“No.”
“Please!”
“No.”
“Please!” The enthusiastic youthful children spoke again and given how long the boys could likely keep this charade going, Ragnall decided to put an end to it.
“Do I need to fetch your mother?” Even saying those words in his usual non-threatening tone was enough to get the children to end their chattering and somewhat settle their energetic movements.
With two grouchy expressions now attached on the two children’s faces, Ragnall knew this visit was far from over. With a soft sigh, he gently lit the brazier and took a seat in the uncomfortable wooden guard chair.
After a sharp point at the ground from Ragnall, the boys rushed to take a seat. If he wouldn’t teach them how to use a bow or sword then the children likely wouldn’t stop pestering him until they at least got some kind of story from him and the earlier Ragnall got that done, the quicker he could return to his watch.
“Do you know I taught your father how to use a bow? I was left with little choice after he almost put a new chink into my chainmail. He was trying to impress your mother by hunting a duck. He hadn't planned what might happen to the arrow should he have missed. After that incident, it was for the safety of the village that I taught him. In the end, though Brenon’s duck hunting skills became second to none.”
“What does duck taste like?” The youngest son of Brenon asked whilst his older brother Arrin seemed to get lost in his own memories of the duck hunter.
“Gamey. Strong flavour but a fair meal.” Came Ragnall’s reply as he thought back to when the ducks still occupied Dunstead’s pond.
“Better than rabbit?” Correy asked as he sat up slightly in anticipation of an answer.
“Possibly if cooked well.”
“I want to try some, we only ever get to eat rabbit,” the food-loving child asked again as he became ever-engrossed in the many food choices he was surely missing out on.
“One day.”
“Did you and Dad get on well?” Arrin finally asked as his unexpected question quickly caught the attention of his enthused brother.
“I was much older than your father but once he grew into a fine man, I was proud to call him friend.”
“He always used to call you an old whoreson, what’s a whoreson?” Arrin asked innocently.
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Fair.
Whilst Ragnall wasn’t surprised to have been called that by Brenon, he did at least do his best to act confused and surprised as to not insinuate the words' true meaning to the younglings.
“The word escapes me. Knowing your father and our relationship, perhaps it refers to a wise respected figure. Although I wouldn’t go repeating that phrase until you know for sure.” With that Ragnall was confident he had diffused the situation and much to his relief, he could glimpse the form of Mrs Radstock hastily making her way towards them.
The woman was gripping her cloak tightly around her shoulders as she attempted to beat back the worst of the chill, a fact that surely only worsened her mood and sent her two children racing to escape her likely wrath.
With only a small barely audible chuckle at the scene, Ragnall finally turned to resume his endless watch.
A task he did in harmonious undisturbed peace until the sun finally disappeared from the cloudy sky and the pitch darkness of night began to encroach on the village. Even then Ragnall remained fixed to his post, until, as his routine dictated, he was relieved by Rich who would be manning the night shift tonight.
The other man's presence was made clear by the bright torch he held; its intense burning light gave a clear signal of his arrival as well as blocked Ragnall from seeing his face. With little more than a nod and a simple greeting to Rich, Ragnall got up from his post and hastily made his way down the steps that Rich was just now approaching.
With his daily watch now complete, it was time for Ragnall to receive his much-needed sleep. In accordance with his oath to protect the village, his residence was one of the closest to the main gate. It was a small abode with little more than a bed and a few basic possessions. The bareness of it had quite a lonely feeling but to Ragnall it was more of a simple house than an actual home, apart from sleep, he barely spent any time in his abode. Even the mould that crept along the roof and the drafty air current from the cracked window did not faze him.
It may not have created the most idealistic sleeping conditions, but Ragnall had slept in far worse conditions back when first began his military service. That had been back when Ragnall was still young and his ability to sleep anywhere at any time had only grown exponentially since then. A little draft, an uncomfortable bed and old bones did nothing to prevent Ragnall from almost immediately falling into sleep the moment he had taken off his armour and placed his head against his lumpy pillow.
With the growing age of the village's inhabitants, It was likely there would be none out this night who would be noisy enough to wake him, that was if Arrin and Correy kept their noisy pestering to the daytime that was. Fortunately, it seemed their mother had kept them contained this night and an event Ragnall always appreciated even if he did occasionally miss when the village used to be more filled with life.
But even with a peaceful night ahead, Ragnall’s sleep was rarely as relaxing. He was getting old and had witnessed a lifetime's worth of events, both good and bad. Many of which still haunted him, but as long as he stayed in his village, he knew he would be safe even if his dreams were restless.
Fortunately, his dreams this night didn’t follow the sombreness of the day, a rarity that was cut short far too soon by the light of day and the duties it brought with it.
After a small sigh at his aching joint and still tired eyes, Ragnall found the strength to push himself up from his bed and begin his routine once again. A fact of life he would likely follow for the remainder of his life.
As per his routine, the aged swordsman quickly finished his morning preparation and set about fastening up his mismatched chainmail and plate armour. It was slow fiddly work but with Ragnall's practiced hands, it didn’t take him half as long as it used to.
With routine comes reassurance.
Once his armour was fastened securely, Ragnall traced the previous day's steps and in his orderly fashion made his way around the perimeter of the wall. Without any cremations or burials to occupy his time, Ragnall could dedicate much longer to his patrol.
Forsaken rot.
Even as he walked around its edges, his eyes could see the slowly rotting of the palisade, it wouldn’t take much effort at all for his sword to break apart the wood. If he stared closely, Ragnall was sure he could see the traces of where termites had begun to eat away at the wood.
Replacing the palisade would be a costly expense the village could ill afford, between collecting food, caring for the ill and patrolling, the village had few resources and manpower to spare. A new wall was just another task to add to the ever-growing list.
Who would we even hire to build it, half the nearby villagers are deserted.
With a resigned grumble at the wall's condition, Ragnall continued his patrol and allowed the loud jangling of his armour to keep his tired body awake. And with little to guard or patrol in the village, it wasn’t long before Ragnall’s practised feet deposited him at the centre of the village where his gauntleted hands rattled on the Warsops’ door once again.
“Is everyone accounted for?”
“Yes, Arrin and Correy are already up. Rich mentioned that he saw smoke on the horizon last night. Two fires or more.”
“Probably just more sea raiders. They shouldn’t bother us,” Ragnall grumbled back in reply. Raiders were becoming an increasingly common sight in these areas, but it was not something Ragnall was particularly worried about, they had nothing of value in Dunstead and any raider that dared attack would not have any easy go of it, despite his age Ragnall knew his swordsmanship was still excellent.
As if they could kill me anyhow. Still peace and quiet is preferable to a raid by those brutes.
“Do you require anything before I leave?
“No thank you. But do please send Arrin and Correy back should you see them. They are not escaping their chores that easily.”
“I shall.”
With that Ragnall’s morning checkup was completed and after a brief brisk walk to collect another helping of bread and fruit, Ragnall returned to his endless post. His routine called for nothing more than for him to stand guard on the post and if nothing else Ragnall was a man of routine. Years of being the village's guard had solidified that within him and whilst Ragnall had seen and overcome all manner of challenges in his long years. The sight of Corrin and Arrin being held tightly within the group of raiders' men still sent a jolt of worry and anger through his aged bones.