"You covet but do not possess." Heahmund was ranting at me, throwing yet another verse at me. "You kill and envy but you cannot obtain; you fight and wage war. You do not possess because you do not ask. You ask but do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions." Spittle was flying and I felt the drops land on the back of my bare neck.

I panted hard, feeling sparks of pain fly with every breath. Even if I wanted to say anything, I felt like I would fall apart the moment I tried. My silence didn't stop Heahmund as another lash ripped apart the skin on the back of my thigh.

Heahmund raised his voice to be heard above my screaming. "Repent, Augusta of Wessex." When I couldn't reply, Heahmund brought the metal linked whip down on the back of my thighs again and more blood dripped down the length of my legs.

When I had woken up after being knocked out, I had been shackled by my left wrist to a stake in the ground, the tent's small amount of furniture had been removed except for a stool, where this man named Heahmund had been sitting and waiting for me to wake up.

Heahmund the warrior bishop had wasted no time beginning to convert me. While telling me about the people of Ninevah and how they were greedy and selfish and became closer to God by casting themselves down into the dust, he grabbed fistfuls of my hair and sheared it down close to the scalp. I had cried in pain as the blade would occasionally slice into my head and blood streamed down my face. Heahmund just continued, sawing through my hair until it was all but gone, leaving behind a short and prickly and bleeding mess behind.

"Delilah cut off Samson's hair," Heahmund had said as he bent around me, picking up fistfuls of fallen hair. "The unfaithful woman stole the strength of Samson and betrayed him. But nuns in their convents shear their heads; I can only hope that this brings you closer to our God."

When Heahmund left after that, I picked up the first stone I could find and threw it after him, wanting to hurt him as badly as I was hurting right now.

Over the next few days after that, it just got worse.

Heahmund seemed to think that feeding me wouldn't help me repent. So I ate a single slice of bread once a day with one cup of bitter tasting water. I lost tracks of days as Heahmund ripped the clothes from my back to better get to my bare back and thighs.

The whip Heahmund had brought with him was frightening looking. It was around three feet long and metal, connected with metal links that gently clinked together as he moved it. I watched Heahmund cautiously as he moved around me so that he was facing my naked back.

"Who are you?" He asked in a quiet voice.

I heard the swing of the metal whip before I felt it. I wailed the moment it hit, ripping open my skin from the right side of my lower back to the center of my spine. Already I could feel the torn edges of skin raising up and the hot blood starting to drip down my back. I raised my head and half turned it to try and see Heahmund.

"What the fuck was the point of that?" I screamed right before Heahmund hit me again. I screamed again as another lash opened up my back.

"A proper lady does not use that sort of language." Heahmund said bluntly. "Your heathens might, but you are a highborn daughter of a king."

"I thought I was a lowly bastard," I grunted, bracing myself for the lash. When it came, tears fell from my eyes almost forcefully.

"Bastard or not," Heahmund said in a deviously quiet voice. "You will learn respect again. Let the Lord flow through you and cleanse you of the demons that molested you."

I panted as Heahmund spoke, thinking it'd be wiser to keep silent. Heahmund was pacing behind me and I could see silhouettes outside the tent moving around.

Thoughts of Ivar and the others came to my mind, and I wanted desperately to be back inside the walls of York. Hvitserk would say something playful and inappropriate but well meaning all the same. Sigurd would argue some point, whether it was about the joke or politics or battle strategies. And Ivar...Ivar would be by my side, I was sure of it.

The lash came out of nowhere and I was ripped from the memory with a howl of pain. "Pay attention, Augusta of Wessex." Heahmund's voice cut through the sobs I didn't mean to release. "Because that is who you are. You are not a heathen Viking. You are a widow who whored herself to survive. With a proper amount of praying and cleansing, you will be as pure as you were when Kenton married you."

I didn't think that was remotely possible when another lash came and I let myself howl as loud as I could. I couldn't see anything anymore for my tears, and my back was throbbing. I could feel the blood running down my back. I had no idea how many lashes that was, I just wanted it to end.

Days later, I could just imagine how scarred my back must've looked. I could feel myself getting thinner the more days went by. How long had it been since coming here with Ubbe and Hvitserk? I had no idea as days bled into each other.

The first time something was different was when I heard war horns sounding from somewhere nearby. Heahmund didn't show up that day, and I figured out that a battle had been going on. I spent the whole time people were gone trying to wrench my thinning wrist out of the shackle, but to no avail. The end result just left my left wrist bloodied and raw and screaming with pain.

Maybe three days after that, someone who wasn't Heahmund showed up. King Ecgberht, a fifteen year old boy, looked nervous and bashful to see me sitting naked in the dirt, my skin covered in brown and red and my hair all but gone.

"Heahmund told us he was helping you repent." The young king said, sounding like he was trying to sound brave. "Have you?"

"No." I said, my voice cracking from lack of use. I coughed heavily as the king stared at anything that wasn't my breasts. "Why are you here, your majesty?"

"I just thought you should know that Prince Aethelred is dead." He said, trying to brace himself more. I stared at him blankly and he continued. "He was injured in that first battle, and the priests couldn't do much to stop an infection from setting in."

Aethelred was dead. I blinked at the burn of tears and covered my eyes with my hands. Aethelred was just twenty years old; he was supposed to get married-he didn't deserve to be dead.

"My mother passed last night." King Ecgberht added, his voice growing weaker. I looked up at him to see a little boy looking like he was trying not to cry.

Queen Ealhswith had always been a sickly woman, I remembered from Judith's stories. "I'm so sorry, King Ecgberht." I said numbly. "I mean that. I know what it's like to lose a mother."

That's when the king had started crying right in front of me. "I just want this to stop!" He cried to me. "First my father, now my mother, and then Blaeja's going to have to leave me!" He broke off and cried more and I let myself cry too, for Aethelred more than anything.

After a long moment's of crying with each other, the young king finally looked at me. "Did your Vikings really want peace?" He asked softly.

"Yes." I told him firmly. "Though now I'm not sure if they'll ever want peace. Was that them you fought the other day?"

To my surprise, he answered, "No, that was the Mercians. They have sided with your Vikings."

Queen Kwenthrith had finally sent her army. I fought the urge to smile in this king's face and said, "Sire, I promise you that if I get back to the Vikings, I will forge a peace with you so that they never attack Northumbria ever again."

He looked tempted for a moment before Heahmund returned to the tent, looking shocked to see King Ecgberht of all people in the tent with me. The king straightened, wiped his eyes, thanked me for the conversation, and left sharply.

Heahmund looked back to me. "I hope you were not trying to tempt the king of Northumbria into your heathen ways."

I blinked. "Is that what you fear? I have never tempted anyone onto my side, Heahmund. I have been tempted, but have never actually done the deed."

Heahmund's eyes flashed for a moment and he seated himself directly across from me. "Your soul may be saved, Augusta. I truly believe you can come back from this time in your life if you truly repent. Do you repent?"

Without really hesitating. "No." I said bluntly.

Now Heahmund's eyes flashed with what was definitely anger. "You are a stubborn creature, Augusta of Wessex. You are ignorant to the sins your heathens have committed against the world and against our Lord."

"I am not naive, bishop." I said in a monotone voice. "I am well aware of what the Northmen have done; I witnessed some of it. I'm also well aware how war works. There are good people and bad people on both sides in every war fought ever since the beginning of time. Don't mistake me for a little girl. Don't treat me the way Kenton treated me." Our gazes locked until Heahmund got up and left me for the day without bringing me any food.

My hair started growing back only for Heahmund to come in later, locking my body between his knees and holding my chin with his left hand in an ironclad grip. This time he was more steady with the blade and shaved it shorter, only making a handful of spots to bleed instead of the original dozen.

It was maybe the fifth day after this second shearing when King Aethelwulf appeared into the tent. I stared at him for a long moment as he stared at me, his eyes suddenly brimming with emotion that hadn't been there before he walked in.

"Oh, Augusta, I should've said no." He whispered and my brother was suddenly on his knees with my hands in his. "Heahmund told me he was...I didn't think this was-"

"Surely you were listening to my screaming?" I cut him off. "This isn't that big a camp. How come I had to hear about Aethelred's death from King Ecgberht, brother? Hm? Why was a fucking stranger the first one besides that sociopath to come see me?"

Aethelwulf looked to me with misery in his eyes and I glared back at him. "You gave him permission to do this, yes?" I asked, my voice suddenly as sharp as a blade.

"Augusta, please," Aethelwulf said instead of answering me. "I will tell Heahmund now that you're to be sent to a convent in Wessex. You can live your days in peace near home. Just repent and do whatever he says and I'll send you somewhere safe."

For a brief moment I wanted to scream yes. I wanted to leave this fucking tent and get a proper night's sleep on a real bed. I wanted to have more than one piece of bread per day. I wanted to live.

But then an image of laughter around a campfire filled my mind, strong arms wrapped around me, and I wanted to really live.

"No." I snapped. "I much rather go back to the Vikings than go to a convent."

Aethelwulf's eyes went wide and he was suddenly glaring at me. "How can you still want to be with those people? They murdered my son! They murdered our father, for the love of God!"

"This war could have been over the moment I walked into this camp with Hvitserk and Ubbe!" I shouted right back and Aethelwulf looked momentarily stunned at me standing up for myself. "Aethelred's death is partially your fault for letting this war-"

I was cut off by Aethelwulf's hand but I remained in my sitting position. Aethelwulf was seething at me when I straightened back up.

"And what if I told you those Vikings had left?" Aethelwulf asked heatedly. "Hm? What if I told you that they had left you behind?"

A thorn of doubt stabbed at me in the back of my mind. But I tightened my jaw and shook my head. "They wouldn't. Not Ivar and Hvitserk and Ubbe. None of them would."

Aethelwulf closed his eyes for a moment and looked like he was trying and failing to remain calm. "You have more faith in those heathens then you do your own God."

"I think I believe in people more than your god, brother." I said dryly. Aethelwulf opened his eyes and they brimmed with emotion. He got up and started to leave.

"Aethelwulf." I said suddenly. He stopped walking but didn't turn around. I glared at his back. "If your bishop kills me in here, take my body to York. I'd rather be buried beside those heathens than be with you and your family."

Aethelwulf left without saying another word to me.


"Wake up, Augusta." King Ecbert's voice sounded far away. "There's something you must do."

I groaned, batting a hand lazily towards the sound of Father's voice. When my hand actually hit what felt like a leg, my eyes snapped open and I launched myself back about a foot, seeing the stranger there.

The man with iron gray hair and face tattoos was not Saxon. His cold, single gray eye watched me curiously, as if he was waiting to see what I'd do. I inhaled sharply, recognizing the man from my dream all that time ago. Then Trygve's voice came into my head and I scrambled to kneel, covering my breasts as I did so. Was this Odin…

"Augusta." The man's voice was graveling and sounded echoey, like we were in a cave instead of a tent. He knelt until he was at my level and I started shaking as he grabbed my face gently with both very cold hands.

Images flooded my eyes. The moon phasing two full times. Long and winding underground tunnels. A dark haired girl in a wedding gown. The moment the man removed his hands from my face did the vision stop, and when I got my vision back in focus, he was gone.

Several days later, Heahmund was preaching at me again as thunder rolled. I looked away from Heahmund to the tent's canvas, vaguely remembering a story about Thor-

Heahmund's hand lashed out and whacked me on top of the head. "Pay attention, Augusta. The Lord-"

"Oh shut up about your God." I interrupted, a sudden idea popping into my head. I got another blow to the face but straightened up fast enough.

"Your God?" Heahmund echoed dangerously.

"Yes, your God." I answered, feeling my heart begin to beat. "He was never really mine." The blow came expected and I couldn't stop the bubble of laughter from coming to my lips. Heahmund was looking at me like I had gone mad, perhaps he thought I had. Or maybe I actually had. "I have seen the All-Father, Odin One-Eye, in my dreams!" I screamed at Heahmund. "He came to see me in my dreams and your God never has! You know what that tells me, bishop? That tells me that the Christian god either isn't real, or is a fucking-"

I didn't get to finish my sentence because Heahmund had started beating the side of my face with the leather strap. I howled as he continued to swing, blow after blow landing on my head and neck. When Heahmund was done, he was panting.

"You are not hopeless, Augusta of Wessex." Heahmund said, almost sagging. "I can save your soul, if you only opened your heart and let the Lord in. Those pagans just...controlled you more than I previously thought."

He walked away and I kept my face pressed into the earth. My naked body was racked with sobs that sent waves of agony through me. I could feel fresh blood sliding down my face; something must've been broken there. The iron shackle on my wrist had stopped hurting a long time ago...it was just heavy now.

Heahmund always took at least a day to come back after getting angry at me. I had roughly a day.

With heavy breathing and pain shooting through my limbs, I dragged myself to the stake driven into the earth and keeping me in this tent. I had been trying to get the shackle off; that had been a mistake. The chain was connected to this stake and once the stake was out, I'd still be chained to it, but I'd be able to carry it out of here.

With my left hand fingers I started scratching at the hard packed earth right beside the stake. When my left hand got tired, I switched to my right, giving the tent's entrance a quick glance. If anyone came in here...I had no clothes and no blanket to try and cover it up.

I got about an inch into the ground before I heard people walking outside my tent. I immediately stopped and watched the shadows move outside the tent. Heahmund's men went training around this time of day. Given how angry I had made Heahmund, he wasn't coming back and I wouldn't be given food today. Even still, I waited until it was quieter before I began digging with both hands this time.

Thunder started rolling in more frequently and I sent up a quiet thank you to Thor, Odin, whoever, for the extra noise outside.

The earth was hard packed and dry, and my fingernails got caked with dirt the moment I started digging faster. The shackle on my wrist was jingling against the chain but no matter what I did or how I digged, I couldn't get it to stop.

The sky outside began to darken and the silhouettes of campfires began to show up. As the rain began pouring down, I started digging even faster, using the voices and rainfall outside to hide the jingling of this damn chain. Every few swipes would send fresh pain up my fingers as my nails tore, but I ignored the fresh wounds and blood and dirt that was clotting on my fingertips.

I had no idea how much longer I'd have to dig, but the sudden sound of footsteps outside made me stop and collapse, letting my limp body try and shield the half dug up stake holding me down. I pressed my face into the loose dirt as someone entered.

Footsteps came up to me and halted; the stake was only half hidden. Anyone with eyes would see it. I tensed my aching body, waiting for the blows that were soon to come.

A sudden softness covered my naked body, also covering up the stake. The stranger knelt down and I felt someone's hand gently smooth down my prickly and short hair. They knelt down even lower and I felt the stranger gently kiss my head.

"I forgive you, Augusta. I hope the Northmen treat you better than we did."

Tears squeezed their way out of my eyes as he got up and left. I opened my eyes and looked up just in time to see Aethelwulf leave the tent. I sat up, wrapping the blanket around me slightly and using it to shield the stake from the tent's entrance. And then I started digging again.

It was getting lighter again when I first felt the stake wiggle. I stopped digging and wrapped my bleeding hands around the chain and tugged hard just to feel the release of the stake giving way. I smiled broadly as I took the stake in my hand. I wrapped the blanket around me and stood up, wincing at the pain.

"They've gone!" A sudden voice from outside started screaming. I slowly shuffled to the entrance. "The Vikings have left! York is safe!"

"No," I breathed. They wouldn't leave without me, I told myself. Not Ubbe and Hvitserk and Sigurd and Ivar...The lie of me being just a translator rang in my head as the camp was suddenly alive. I shook my head almost violently. Ivar of all people wouldn't leave me behind. The noise outside grew and some people bumped against the canvas. I took a step back, holding the stake like a weapon and holding the excess chain with my shackled hand to reduce tripping and noise.

I waited for what felt like forever before the camp got quiet again. When the rain started to slow down to a drizzle, I carefully stepped out of the tent that had been my prison.

The dawn was wet with rain and I couldn't stop the smile on my face, even though I was shaking. The camp was deserted; everyone had gone to York. Using my shackled hand, I pulled the blanket over my head and tightened it around my body, still holding the stake like a knife.

My bare feet moved across the muddy ground as fast as I could. I kept to the shadows, trying to make it to the entrance of camp. If I could get back to York, try and figure out what had happened, maybe I could find where the Vikings went.

I had just made it to the entrance when, "Augusta?" Judith's voice rang in my head like a strike on an anvil. I froze and turned slowly, Judith standing just in the middle of the dirt path, tears falling from her eyes as the rain started to soak her. "You're going back to them?"

I stared at her and shrugged. Judith let out a sob. "They killed Aethelred." She said. "My son, my oldest son is dead. His wound got infected. The priest said it was a blood infection of some kind…"

"Judith, I'm so sorry." I started.

"Don't you tell me that you're sorry!" Judith screamed. My eyes darted around camp to make sure no one came after us. "And then go back to them! My boy died fighting them, fighting you! Your nephew-" Judith cut off with a sob and doubled over, straightening again a few moments later. "Aethelred was only twenty years old, Augusta. He was going to get married...he had a whole life spread out in front of him before your Vikings wiped that all away."

Fresh tears fell down Judith's face and she glared at me with nothing short of hatred. "I've lost almost everything in this war, Augusta. My father, my love, my oldest son, my mother…" She drifted off and shook her head with another sob. "Go back to them, if that's what you really want. But if you leave this camp, never set foot in Wessex ever again."

She held her head high and turned on her heel to leave, tears running down her face and rain beginning to beat down on both of us. I turned and watched her leave, knowing I had just lost my oldest ally.

I left the camp.