At Ercongotastead the dead are disposed and the wounded tended. Yet there is also relief and indeed joy as the veteran warriors, Ercongota and Osric celebrate the victory, and a rekindling of ancient love with a handfasting.
Amongst the wounded is the hero, Lyttleman, who barely survived with a deep wound in his gut. Yet under the ministrations of the priests Eawulf and Hildilith he makes a swift recovery. In the meantime others make question of the only prisoner from the fight, Higebryht, laid senseless by a blow to the head from Lyttleman early in the struggle. He offers to show them all the likely hiding places of the remaining outlaws if he will spare their vengeance upon him. Thus it is that a party set forth to flush out the remainder of Raedmund’s band and ensure that they pose no further threat to the common weal. Lyttleman, newly healed, is with them, and Herewulf and Nothgyth the Ugly. Newcomers Cynewulf, Hrothgar and Stigand, who arrived together after the fight are eager to get their share of the fighting.
In the event they find their quarry in the first place they seek them. At Frithistead the remnant of Raedmund’s band skulk. Bereft of leadership and purpose they seem to have no thought but to sing songs of loss and seek counsel in Frithi’s stocks of ale and mead. Two are fit enough to die, blade in hand. The remaining three are too far into their cups to fight. Sober, they are questioned. They tell how they returned to Frithistead because they were tired and sickened of the outlaw life. There were only two other survivors, Cynestan and his cousin Cwspatrick, who had set off to the south to take refuge with kin in the Small-lands. One of the three, hight Bede, offers as his head-price to lead the party to the lair of Raedmund’s Pukel allies.
The band think hard on this and are inclined to accept. However, during the night’s struggle with the outlaws Lyttleman’s gut wound had burst open once more and he would clearly be unfit to travel for many days without the aid of a healer. As they discuss the practicalities of managing four prisoners and carrying a wounded man, Higebryght makes them an offer. He says he has proved his good faith by bringing them to where the remnant of Readmund’s men lay. As further evidence of his goodwill he would go back alone to Ercongotastead to bring them news of all that had occurred and return with healers and more spears for an attack upon the Pukelfolk. All he asked was a scramasaex for defence. After some argument, they all agree – reasoning that they have little to lose and much to gain from such an arrangement.
Two days later Higebryght returns and with him are Osric and the walcyriges Cyneburg and Reinmelth, and with them the priestess Hildilith. Hildilith soon has Lyttleman on his feet again and the party sets off, following Bede into ever rougher country to the south and west. Early on the second day they encounter a hunting party of Pukelfolk and after a sharp fight slay most and put the others to flight. Realising that the survivors were likely to take news of their coming back to their base, the party push on until, just as the light of a long summer’s day dims, they come to a gorse thicket on the side of a hill. According to Bede this was where Raedmund used to bring his tribute to the Pukels.
The fighting was fierce in the gorse thickets and fiercer still in the dark tunnels beyond them. The Pukelmen fought hard, though it was clear that they had been depleted in their struggles at Ercongotastead. Once more Lyttleman was laid low with a rupture of his gut wound and Hrothgar beaten to exhaustion. The Geats took turns to lead the struggle and it was Stigand who was in the lead when the entered the great cavern deep in the Pukel tunnels. So it was that he first fell under the spell of the Pukelwife. Chaos ensues as Geat turns upon Geat, but fortunately it appears that the females in the party are immune to the glamours of the Pukel Queen and when she falls, transfixed by the spears of Nothgyth and Cyneburg through her gross body, then her sorceries die with her.
The Geats find themselves in a large cavern with a dark and foetid pool along the far wall, a rock in its midst upon which the Pukelwife had sat enthroned. Talk falls to the matter of loot. The Pukelwife’s corpse is gaffed and stripped and gingerly Herewulf wades through the filthy waters to examine the throne. There he is rewarded by the discovery of a large soapstone jar containing a number of treasures. While Osric gathers the walcyriges and flushes out the remaining pukelfolk and Hildilith tends Lyttleman’s wounds once more, the remaining warriors poke around the pool with spears. Enough treasure is retrieved by this method to hint at more to come. Greed for silver overcomes their repugnance for the stinking cesspool and they resolve to dive into it so that they may use their hands to retrieve the bounty that sits on the bottom. Promising shares to Higebryght and Bede for their aid, Hrothgar, Cynewulf, Herewulf and Stigand also plumb the dark ill-smelling depths.
The silver-seekers work together in the putrid waters to dredge forth its treasure. Bede has already worked his shift in the deep waters and brought forth handfuls of mud and detritus, in which nestle armrings of silver and other precious things. Exhausted, he is replaced by Hrothgar and Herewulf who likewise work steadily, placing their plunder in leather helms which are passed back to the others and emptied into spread cloaks by the poolside. When they can work no more, they are replaced by Stigand and Higebryht. They are mid-way through their shift when Stigand loses his footing and goes under. He emerges choking and retching, having swallowed a goodly amount of the foul waters. He his replaced by Cynewulf. By now the easy pickings have gone but there are still things to find and with a cry of triumph Cynewulf bring forth the hilt of a finely decorated sword. Unfortunately, the blade is broken and by ill-luck it is the remains of the blade that Cynewulf is clutching, blood pouring down his arm from a gash in his left hand. All agree that this ill-wyrd indicates that no good will attend any further delving in the dark waters. Hildilith binds Cynewulf’s hand and the party gather up their gleanings and leave the caverns of the Pukelfolk.
Outside they find a glorious summer morning. Osric and the walcyrige have found a campsite a little down the valley where there is a stream and a pool in which the treasure-hunters can wash themselves while the others roast a brace of fresh hares found in the Pukelmen’s abode. Then all those fit to do so help to wash and pick through the piles of mud and filth gathered in the cloaks brought out by the silver-seekers. As the treasure begins to emerge from the ordure that encases it, even Osric’s eyes grow round at the size of the hoard gathered there.