We set out from Cookham the day after Rypere brought the woman from Beamfleot to me.

In truth, we should probably have gone straight to Wintanceaster to King Alfred with the news, but to my mind that would have involved days wasted in talk – something of which there is always more than enough when my lord the King is involved. I performed my duty in that respect by sending Eldrida (that was the woman's name) to him instead, under escort, with a message telling of my plans: to travel towards Beamfleot.

By now, Sihtric is presumably inside the fortress. At a guess, he has discovered exactly where Æthelflaed is being held, and with luck will have identified any possible weaknesses in her captivity that we may be able to exploit. I allowed Rypere half the night to eat and rest before giving him a change of horses and sending him back to Beamfleot, this time to join Sihtric inside it as originally planned. He can get Sihtric's news and bring it out to me – I will be waiting with the others as close as we dare, ready to act when and if we get the chance.

Of course, there is also the possibility that Alfred will receive a formal declaration from the Thurgilsons that they are holding his daughter hostage, and that will possibly mean that he and his pious queen will find it necessary to overcome their distaste for my pagan company. Pagan or no, I can deal with Danes. The alternative will be to entrust negotiations to my fool of a cousin Æthelred, and the most likely outcome of that would be his head speared on a pike over Beamfleot's gate and Æthelflaed whored around every town and village in the Danelaw. I am absolutely certain that Alfred knows that every bit as well as I do, and the news that his son-in-law virtually made the Danes a gift of his beloved daughter in the first place will not have improved his opinion of him.

(Not that I would shed many tears to see Æthelred's head on a pike – I have always thought him a prideful fool over-reliant on that snake Aldhelm – but Æthelflaed's fate is a different thing.)

But in the meantime there is a window of opportunity. If Alfred wants me, I have made sure he knows where to find me.

Rypere has moved fast. We have hardly been in position at the appointed place for a day before Sihtric appears.

And Sihtric has news. News of such importance that he feels able to entrust it only to me over a snatched meal.

"Lovers?" I keep my voice down; these are matters of state, and I am glad he has had the intelligence to make sure that no-one else has heard. "Are you sure?"

He looks uncomfortable. "She was not unwilling."

This, of course, introduces a whole new aspect to the affair. It would not have surprised me if Æthelflaed had been raped; though her safety as a hostage is of course important, it would not have been thought seriously compromised by a little humping, especially if someone of importance took a fancy to her. What I find significant is that it is the younger of the Thurgilsons who has become involved – and possibly this involvement extends further than just his cock.

I have met Erik, and though of course we are enemies, I respect and even like him. If events had fallen out differently, we would have been brothers in arms. He is intelligent and, for a Dane, honourable – without his cleverness his older brother Sigefrid would present far less of a threat to us. His trick with the so-called 'dead man' tempting me with the offer of the kingship of Mercia came perilously close to success; what warrior worth the name would turn down the promise of a kingdom without soul-searching?

Fortunately for Alfred, and unfortunately for Erik, I have a keen nose for a pit-trap. Still, my very foot had been on the branches before I discovered beyond doubt that dead men do not rise and that a very much alive man had proffered the one piece of bait that would draw me in.

His success with Æthelflaed is hardly surprising either. Married as she is to that pig's turd of a cousin of mine, she would be very vulnerable to a man who knows how to charm – and whatever else he is, Erik Thurgilson can be charming. I know the value of gossip, and gossip says that Æthelred is a rough and selfish lover where women are concerned. Were he not such a devout Christian (at least in name) I might wonder at his constant closeness with Aldhelm, but it seems to me that the Christian god frowns on most things that give pleasure to life so I imagine that as it is with ours, love between a man and another man would also be frowned upon. If Beocca were here I would ask him about it, if only for the joy of seeing him turn as red as a sunset and gobble with embarrassed disgust.

It is not only for his entertainment value, though, that Beocca's presence would be useful. As a clerk, he can read and write with ease; and though I can do both if I must, it is certainly not with ease – and nor do I make a habit of carrying writing implements around with me.

It is unlikely in the extreme that Sihtric would ever be able to contrive speech with Æthelflaed; so valuable a captive will be guarded well, at every moment. But it seems that he has been able to make contact with her. In a moment's idleness he apparently once asked Father Pyrlig to teach him how to write the letters of his name – an achievement for which he has been twitted ever since – and he is confident that not only was Æthelflaed looking for a familiar face when she emerged from the stable with Lord Eric, but that she recognised him when he contrived a meeting. So she knows he is there, and she is a highly intelligent young woman. It may even be that if we can get writing implements to her she may be able to use him as a messenger.

This, however, is only a possibility for the present. And it is still to be seen how her involvement with Erik Thurgilson will change the situation. She may have been willing, but who can say how he felt? I would wager Serpent-Breath that it was his cunning that contrived her capture. Now that he has had her, will that change anything? Love does strange things to a man, and Æthelflaed is a rare woman, like my Gisela – as intelligent as she is beautiful.

Still, this is the first hint of a weakness in the hitherto impregnable front that Beamfleot presents to the world. I must be on the alert for a way to take advantage of it if the chance offers.

It seems that Sihtric has found himself a place in the care of the horses there. With that, he should be safe enough to wait a little longer – at least until we hear from Wintanceaster.

He has waited patiently, giving me time to think the thing out. Doubtless he knows that matters hang upon a dozen threads of fate, spun both by men and by the Norns, and each linked as intricately as those of a spider-web hung on a gorse bush. For by no means the first time, I am glad that I accepted his service; Finan has speculated before now that Sihtric's mother came of what he called the Old Blood, from the little dark people who ruled Britain before even the Celts came, but whatever the truth of that he has skill, cunning and courage. Those may yet serve me well in the sticky strands of this spider-web in which we find ourselves.

"Go back into Beamfleot," I tell him quietly. "Keep watch. If you can contrive a chance to speak with the Lady Æthelflaed, do so – but do not endanger yourself.

"We will wait here another five-day. If anything changes, send Rypere to me. After that, unless I have news, I will return to Wintanceaster and consult with the king."

He slants me a look.

"I will tell him his daughter is safe in Beamfleot, and that she knows you are there at need," I answer his unspoken question. Unless circumstances warrant it, Alfred certainly does not need to hear that his daughter is spreading her thighs willingly for one of his deadliest enemies.

That information may yet be of immense importance. But whether it will work for our weal or our bane, only the Norns know.

Wyrd bið ful aræd.