Shadowkin

by MrsRJLupin

Aedre has been surviving as a companion to the King of the Picts' son, having escaped from Bebbanburg and saving the boy's life. Always knowing he had a famous warrior brother, she's heartbroken that he never came back for her. When she is threatened she decides to get herself to Wessex to find him. Based on the Saxon Stories by Bernard Cornwell and Last Kingdom TV Series

16. Mercia

Thank you for the messages I've received for this fic, and those of you who have favourited the story and reviews - it is great to know you are enjoying this!

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When, as an old woman, Osthryth looked back at her time in Mercia, it was this time that she remembered, humiliated and driven from Wessex, sent to the territory that King Alfred sought to dominate under the guise of helping it against the Danes.

Cleaving it in two was a master-stroke, Osthryth often thought. How could a potential king - and there were many families of the line of Icel still living in the kingdom - ever seek to gain primacy when the king of the West Saxons had given half away?

Merewalh was one such man, although he had never said aloud in Osthryth's hearing that he was of the same family as the great king, Pybba of the Iclingas. Instead, she had found it out inadvertently after overhearing a potentially sensitive conversation between Aethelred and Aldhelm, in which the Lord of Mercia had disclosed his policy of displacing potential rivals to his Lordship through land disputes, sometimes over very trivial things. But that was in the future.

Now, Osthryth was walking, walking her anger off as she neared the great Mercian capital of Aylesbury, just north of that famous battle ground of Ashingdon, and the other, Reading, both Wessex victories, which had stemmed the tide of Danes into the kingdom.

It took three days to get to Aylesbury. Osthryth had made the mistake of walking directly north, along a drovers' road, and had to bear east. The chalk hills were rounded and undulating, and she stopped at Alton for a bed - there was an inn with stables and she paid to sleep above them - before moving on to Reading.

At that town, Osthryth stopped at a house of a brewster, a female ale maker and she imbibed a weak glass of the woman's trade, though against her better judgment and wondered that night, with the rye and barley ferment drifting to the room she had rented for the night, whether there were any Britons in Aylesbury. She had seen none on her way up, although Osthryth knew that Britons, especially those trading in herbs, were discreet enough to be invisible. But her bleeding was coming back and she had had to pack herself with leaves before she left Reading and had used all of the last of the lily root that she had bought from Ula.

And it was at Risesburgh that Osthryth caught up with someone she knew. Walking beside his wife, her friend Aelffrith was on his way to Aylesbury, too. It was only when she saw his unmistakeable form, and saw his slightly-built wife beside him that Osthryth realised how quickly she had covered the miles between there and Winchester, and she called to him as they reached a ridge down which, Osthryth expected, would be a wide expanse of lower ground on which Aylesbury could be seen.

"Aethel, this is Osthryth," an astounded Aelffrith told his very smiley wife, who curtseyed to Osthryth, to her amusement, and her anger softened now that she was in the company of a her former comrade.

"Your hair is long, you are a woman?" Aethel asked, putting her hand up in the direction of Osthryth's hair. She had worn it down for most of the journey, where normally it would be bound in leather and it had grown past her ears, and Osthryth had needed hawthorn twigs to keep it out of her eyes. "You have a fine jewel," the little woman added.

An image of the man who had gifted her the fine jewel had appeared in Osthryth's mind as she said how pleased she was to meet Aethel, but passed no comment about Eirik Thurgilson. He had slid it into her hair after braiding it, and warned her that, if loose, it could be her end. That was before the battle before Dunnottar, where Griogair - Giric, ally to Eochaid, had attacked Domhnall with the king of Strathclyde's own Cymric troops, before she had left the Norse and the truce had ended.

Where was he now, she thought as she, Aelffrith and Aethel walked north east. Eirik had mentioned Wessex to her, Osthryth thought, he had almost said as much about an invasion. It had been said that the Thurgilson brothers were in Lundene, so presumably he and Siegfried had left or been expelled from Alba, but had enough ambition to consider their next move to be Wessex.

To attack East Anglia, Guthrum - now King Aethelstan - must have not opposed them, and Osthryth felt a kind of satisfaction that the Norse warrior who had taught her his language when they had been in captivity in Care Ligualid nearly a year before was now fulfilling his ambitions.

"So, you are to be a warrior for Lord Aethelred," Aelffrith asked, "Why?" he pressed, his wife nudged him into silence. He gave her a silent shrug and mouthed, "What?"

"A warrior," Osthryth agreed, the earth damp underfoot as the last league of their journey was before them, a slightly damp lowland which rose to the town ahead. A warrior. Though Steapa had given letter to her for Merewalh, Osthryth still felt apprehensive. No matter Alfred's fine words, to her, she had failed in Wessex.

As Aelffrith's words, and Aethel's replies washed over her, Osthryth's mind turned to her brother. Why could she not tell Uhtred? She had imagined it so many times since she had seen him that day, angry, frightened and defiant before the gates of Bebbanburg, when he came to bring his own threat to their uncle, Aelfric.

It had been...not as she thought. Osthryth had imagined him smiling and saying welcome. But she had imagined no more than that. Yet she had found out a great deal about him - a wife pushed aside; his first born son: died; his paganism eith his new wife (technically Osthryth's sister-in-law, for records of a marriage between her and Gisela's brother Guthred existed).

Uhtred had been enslaved by Danes, had a hatred and ultimately allowed his foster brother Ragnar kill Kjartan and recover Dunholm, had garnered reputation by fighting for Alfred and Wessex. Uhtred had collected men as one might collect silver - and he had plenty of that, too - who were, unlike that precious metal, loyal and loved him. Even a young monk had begged to serve him. In Osthryth's experience warriors generally wished to become monks, rather than the other way round

And Uhtred had a new family now, a woman he openly showed his love for; two young children. An estate close to the Thames river.

Who was he, really? Osthryth knew so much about her brother, but she did not know him.

As the midday sun picked the carpet of green grass out before them, and Aethel pointed at the path that would take them to Aylesbury, Osthryth concluded that it didn't matter now. She was gone from Wessex, and she could just be someone Uhtred had once known, fleetingly, briefly. Now, with her letter, dictated by Alfred on recycled parchment to one of his scribes, she was being recommended to Mercia.

But Osthryth's one regret was that she had been so close to telling Beocca that she was there, alive, a warrior. Why had she held back? She mourned this opportunity now in her chest, sitting as it did like a tight knot of discomfort. This, after he had been so kind to her when she was a child. If they were ever to meet, Osthryth thought, she should - she would - tell him.

Aelffrith had gone into the back of palace at Aylesbury but Osthryth waited at the front gates. When a guard, with a dreadfully rusty spear had come down to speak to her and ascertained she was to speak to the head of the household guard, it had taken him a full hand's-width of sun's passage, almost an hour, to return. This, as well as the fact that he had left the gate unbolted, had not endeared Osthryth to the man.

But, eventually, Osthryth was taken before Lord Aldhelm in the armoury, who read her recommendation out to her in front of Merewalh. Tall, thin,pointed face with a short beard, Aldhelm wore his hair cut short in the Saxon style. He peered at the letter once he had finished reading it and back to Osthryth.

"Merewalh, can you see the obvious mistake?" Osthryth looked at her former commander. It was so odd to see him at ease, especially here, in Aylesbury. In Odda's guard, his bitterness exuded every pore, but the minute he knew he was heading back to his home, the veneer was disgarded and a happy man stepped forth, like a butterfly from a caterpillar's cocoon.

"No, my lord Aldhelm." Merewalh smiled at Osthryth. "She is everything that I remember her to be in Wessex." At the unexpected pronoun, Aldhelm raised an eyebrow, then held the letter back out to Osthryth.

"The mistake is that this is so perfect that there is something wrong." He examined Osthryth's face, as if it would tell him the answer. But instead, she spoke it to him.

"What is wrong, Lord Aldhelm, is that I am female," she told him. "It was an embarrassment to the king of Wessex that he had appointed me his son's guard - "

" - he appointed you Edward's guard?" Aldhelm seemed intrigued, and glanced at Merewalh for confirmation. Odda's former general nodded.

"Anything else?"

"I guarded him and I trained him," Osthryth replied.

"Merewalh?" Aldhelm looked at his general. "May we hear from you?" The tall, stocky man took a step forward.

"Lord," Merewalh began, and Osthryth saw a fleeting look that passed between them. Hadn't Merewalh had lands confiscated? Had he not once been a lord himself? Was he now in deference to a man who was once his equal? He seemed to tense and an expression of old passed over his features as Merewalh turned his full force on Osthryth, and she felt her muscles stiffen as the old bitterness of her captain's manner rose in him as he bent his head to her.

"Are you so ashamed of your actions, Osthryth Lackland," Merewalh yelled in her face, "that you will not share your exemplary record in Wessex?" Then he turned to Aldhelm and, to Osthryth's embarrassment, listed everything she had done since arriving in Wessex, from her heroics in defending the Lord Odda, to her guard duties in Devonshire and Wessex and guarding Mildrith, to defending the aethling when she thought he was being attacked, training new guards, advising other guards, being able to rub along with anyone.

And, throughout his enthusiastic ebuillent lauding of her triumphs, still all Osthryth could think about her failure, her failure to be able to keep Aethelwold from her, which had ended her time with Edward. She glanced at Merewalh, who was still proclaiming her virtues.

"...without regard to her own personal safety, she set about rescuing a drowning boy which was believed to be Prince Edward!" It was there that Merewalh stopped, taking a step back from Osthryth and folded his arms, looking triumphant. It helped him too, Osthryth figured, that her deeds were done under his command. Yet, by the look on her former general's face, pride was playing on his features - he was proud of what Osthryth had achieved. It would be a long time until Osthryth had unpicked why it was she was so ashamed of them.

"Indeed, indeed?" Aldhelm looked at her, curiously. "And you are Lackland? A mercenary?" he pressed.

"I was a mercenary," Osthryth admitted, conscious of her Anglish-Gaelish accent in contrast with his rounded, southern Saxon one. "I was trained in the north; my lord and I lost one another. I endeavoured to earn enough to return to him. And when I couldn't, I sought my family who, I was told, were in Wessex." Aldhelm was nodding his head.

"Well, it would seem you arrived in a good kingdom in which to earn wealth; though not the best kingdom. Such partings are a feature of the times in which we live, unfortunately. And you are a woman?" Aldhelm did not look in the direction of Osthryth's chest, which is what usually happened. He kept his eyes on her face.

"I am a warrior," Osthryth replied. "I could have returned to my lord if I had wanted, but I respect my lord Merewalh," she glanced at him, who had begun to blush ever so slightly, around the temples, "Who has extolled the virtues of this ancient of kingdoms. It has long fought my own kingdom, in ancient days."

"You are of Strathclyde?"

"Northumbria-born. Seahuises," she confirmed, remembering her own, fictitious tale she had given to Ceinid to give to King Aed when Constantine had consented to be parted from her side that day.

"My father was a fisherman," Osthryth went on, the old lie spilling out to prevent any measure of the truth. "My mother told me of Oswald and Penda, and Edwin and Offa. She named me after King Oswy's daughter," Osthryth added, "And she told me of the queen Cwentryth, Offa's wife, who fought many times beside her husband. When I was old enough I thought, if it is good enough for the Welsh wife of a Mercian king, it would be good enough for me." Osthryth was aware, as she closed her mouth, that Aldhelm had taken a step back, and was sizing her up.

"If you are as reliable and brave as Merewalh tells me, as Aefgar has told me, then your sex is of no object." Aldhelm dipped his long neck so his face was close to Osthryth.

"And the names of your kin?"

"The family of Osbert. My kin are cousins; my father and mother, and brother died before King Aed's palace while we were travelling to Iona. I heard a cousin was in Wessex, and a brother."

"And you did not find your brother?" Aldhelm looked genunely concerned. Osthryth dipped her head to the flagstones. She hadn't; not the brother she sought, in any case.

"I - I did not, I thought I had many times, but each time, that man was not him. I am sure God will unite me with him, if that is his will."

It was a success. Admission that you were yielding to the will of God nearly always worked. But Aldhelm pressed on.

"Your Saint?" he queried.

"ColmCille. Do you know of him?" Aldhelm gave a nod, and folded his arms over his leather jerkin.

"The founding Saint of Iona, whose lead king Oswald took to found Lindisfarne. He buried men alive at the consecration of Iona - did you know this? A pagan move?" Osthryth looked genuinely shocked. ColmCille was next to God to the Eireann and Gaels; did they know of this atrocity?

"I did not know," Osthryth replied, probably the first honest thing she had said to Aldhelm so far. "ColmCille is my saint, as he is the saint of my - former - king. Time on Iona drew me closer to his mission of converting the Picts, and then when Oswald converted the Bernicians, I feel the bastards had no choice. They raid Bernicia hard," she confided, "Have always raided, before the Danes came, so my father told me. Like the Cymry."

"Like the Cymry on our western border," Aldhelm mused, grimly, "And the Danes in our beloved East Anglia." He nodded at Osthryth. "Good, good, I must see you fight, of course."

Aldhelm probably meant, "In due time," but Osthryth had withdrawn Buaidh within a second and was challenging Merewalh. Merewalh grinned, and took up his own sword.

And they were off, parrying and thrusting, ducking and avoiding blows. Osthryth was not getting it all her own way - she was tired from walking, she figured, but managed to dodge two downward strokes which, under normal battle curcumstances, would be killers. Instead, she went for Merewalh's legs and brought him down that way, at least taking an advantage over those two blows which were so easy she was a fool to have been caught out by them.

When Merewalh laid his sword to one side, Osthryth stepped towards him, mimicking a death thrust to his stomach, before wheeling her blade away and offering him his hand. Merewalh was grinning, and she was sure then that her skill was indeed reflecting well on him. Over towards Aldhelm, the head of the guard was nodding in satisfaction.

"Just one more thing," Aldhelm asked, as Osthryth resheathed Buaidh and Taghd's seax, "In Wessex, what truly happened that Alfred has sent you to us?" Osthryth exhaled, and not from the exertion. She had already told him that so, by asking again, Aldhelm disbelieved her. She began to open her mouth, and give the only answer that she could.

"King Alfred was embarrassed we Mercians knew she was female and the West Saxons did not." It was Merewalh who had answered for her, and he grinned at Osthryth again.

"I am glad you have come back a happier man, Merewalh," replied Aldhelm, turning to his general, then smiled warmly at Osthryth himself.

"As a captain, you will be presented by Merewalh to Lord Aethelred and, once he has granted your accession to the army, you will have your own brigade to teach and to command.

Osthryth felt her mouth fall open. Her own men? That was more than she could ever have hoped. Youngsters, no doubt, Osthryth, but it didn'to matter. She would be paid more, for that too. She followed Aldhelm, who was showing her down a long passage from the armoury. Unlike the palace at Winchester, Aylesbury's palace was made of timber and was dimly lit with dull torches. Presumably, any more intense risked the structure to fire.

"We are a gelded land, with half of it invaded by Northmen," Aldhelm continued as he led Osthryth and Merwalh down another passage, after a right turn, "And most of our daily duties are guarding parties on the border to protect the towns and villages. I trust this is not too humble for such a famous soldier, defender of lords and princes?" Osthryth was about to protest at Lord Aldhelm's presumption, but she saw a twinkle of mirth in his eye.

"Indeed not," Osthryth replied, honestly.

"Good." He pointed to a large room where many men were sitting around long wooden benches. At the sight of Aldhelm, they kicked themselves away, and stood up, food and tankards still in hands, which were promptly dumped down. He gestured towards a mezzanine level, presumably the sleeping arrangements. Aldhelm hovered by the doorway and looked back to Osthryth.

"And I hope the army of Ki- Lord Aethelred is enough to keep you from your old lord, and we provide you with a purpose. Now, follow me, Merewalh is going to introduce you to your brigade. You are to train them, manage them, treat them fairly and with compassion, be firm with them."

Wow, thought Osthryth, as she followed Aldhelm, her own men. But, too, Aldhelm had nearly called Aethelred - Uhtred's cousin through his mother - king. Clearly the leader of Mercia had ambition of his own, though a bulwark against the unionism ambition of his father in law.

Merewalh stood before the men and called them forward to their new captain. To Osthryth's astonishment, while there were three younger men, two were clearly experienced fighters, older than Osthryth, one big and broad like Steapa, another wiry and tall, like a tall version of Ceinid.

"Your captain, Osthryth," Merewalh introduced. "She is experienced both in battle and in service."

"She?" One of the older ones asked. There was a ripple, not unlike hastily subdued laughter, and Merewalh's turned to that of a heavy thunderstorm.

But before Aldhelm or Merewald could say anything Osthryth stepped forward, feeling her muscles ripple, feeling the centuries of her royal line support her, make her bold.

"Yes. A woman. Now, I will ask you...Ivarr the Boneless - Ivarr Loethbroeck. You have heard of him?" The mens' faces told Osthryth so, though none of them spoke of it. Ivar had sailed down the Trent to Repton and scores and scores of Danes had flooded Mercia.

"In my first battle," Osthryth nodded, acknowledging their assertion. "So, at my first battle, I stood beside my lord as he killed Ivarr the Boneless before his palace. I drove two Norsemen away from him as he slayed, the tuchdeen!" Osthryth declared, beginning to pace before her would-be men.

"Before that, I hid, then rescued the prince, the heir to the throne, from slaughter. We fought the Norse in Eireann and killed seventeen - I won my bet with my friend the prince that day, that I would slay more than him." She took her eyes past the man who had laughed at her. All the other men looked at her, then averted their eyes.

"It was I who got to Wessex, to earn silver, to work here, with this man, your commander - " Osthryth opened wide her arm towards Merewalh, and continued to pace, confidently. "My first act was to save his master, the Lord Odda, from theieves. I was proud to serve under the Lord Merewalh - your lord - from whose conduct in Wessex, as representative of your beloved kingdom, did you proud - did you all proud." She smiled at Merewalh. "It has been one of the greatest honours of my life to have worked with this man. He is why I come to Mercia for work, because I choose to, not because I had no choice. And I promise you all, I will serve Mercia as if it were my own land!"

Murmuring through the men, and one or two cheers, stifled a little too late. Merewalh stood beside Osthryth, and the men settled down.

"And if anyone wishes to test your new captain, who has fought so valiantly," came a voice from within the throng of men, "Then it is likely she will pull your guts out of your arse before you have even drawn your sword." Whoever was speaking was pushing his way forward, and he continued, "If it had not been a training demonstration, King Alfred's head guard would have been in his grave, of that I am certain."

"Steapa Snotnor!" Someone called, and the ripple of his name ran through the men again.

Yes, Osthryth replied, to herself. She knew reputation was important. But, at that moment, with war murmurings and unrest, what she wanted to do was prove herself, kneel to a new lord, earn their trust not brag of her past. She was only as good as her next fight.

"You have your men, five of Mercia's best," Merewalh claimed. But the man who had called out in Osthryth's support had got his way to the front.

"Six." It was Aelfgar. Osthryth's chest felt lighter as one of her closest comrades proposed the number. "If you wish it," he added, smiling at Osthryth. But Osthryth shook her head.

"No," she protested, then turned to Merewalh. "If it pleases you, Lord Merewalh," she added quickly, "Aelfgar should not be of my men. He should be deputy." At this, Merewalh smiled, almost as broad a smile as his cousin. Aelfgar was pleased to gain a promotion at Osthryth's word.

Aldhelm stood by the door with Merewalh who called her over, and they escorted her from the room.

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To across the courtyard. Early autumn sun lay a golden path across the courtyard as two of Aldhelm's men moved aside their spears for them. Though their eyes were fixed ahead, Osthryth got the impression they wanted to look at her, so she kept her own eyes fixed ahead.

A fire blazed in a pit in the centre of the hall funnelled very cleverly by metal so the smoke channelled up into the ceiling and through a hole in the thatch. So the hall was clear of obscurity and there was no mistaking the gold-and-green robed lord sitting on his throne. He sat, looking intrigued at her, but mainly looking as if he was bored of having been dragged away from a feast or pastime. On his curly, blonde hair was beset a circlet of bronze. Not a crown: it was not supposed to be. And yet, it looked for all the world like a diminutive form of the crown with the Lys flowers curling every so often around its brim, encrusted with emeralds - Alfred's crown. To Osthryth, it was clear what Lord Aethelred was trying to convey.

Beside him sat Aethelflaed, his bride who had departed WInchester nearly two months before. Osthryth was appalled. She had never liked the woman, and recalled the nasty things she had done to her younger brother. But no woman should be treated like Aethelflaed had been treated. Her face was bruised, and she looked as if she had lost a lot of weight. Clothes Osthryth recognised as being Aethelflaed's before she left Wessex were hanging off her.

"My Lord," Osthryth bowed, and Aethelred nodded his head. "Lady," she added, and Osthryth felt her stomach lurch. Aethelflaed struggled to meet her gaze. That arrogant, spoiled princess was gone and had been replaced by a woman where all of the spirit had been taken from her. But meet her gaze she eventually did, and Osthryth nodded her head to Aethelflaed, whose cold, brown eyes fixed on her.

"My Lord," Aldhelm introduced. "King Alfred has sent this warrior on recommendation. As such, I have read the letter he has written and promoted Osthryth to a captaincy, with our very own Aelfgar as deputy." Aethelred looked from Aldhelm to Osthryth, his eyes narrowing.

"The servant," he observed. "Come to bring us wine?" Aldhelm said nothing for a moment, but Merewalh stepped forward.

"Osthryth's bravery in the face of adversity," he began, and listed her feats. Osthryth, meanwhile, thought about her king, to whom she had given her word. She had sworn to Domhnall, given him her oath. But, was it still a valid oath if her king had broken it? Osthryth reasoned not, for it was the king of Alba who had broken faith with her.

"Your name is familiar," Aethelred said, when Merewalh had stepped back. He leaned forward in the Mercian throne and peered at her. "We had a queen Osthryth in this land, once."

"King Oswy of Northumbria was Osthryth's father," Osthryth clarified. "My mother oft told me the story," she added, which was true. "Osthryth daughter of Oswy she recovered her uncle's body, Saint Oswald, and had him interred at Bardney."

"In the ancient kingdom of Lindsey," Aethelred mused, then looked at Osthryth again. "You know a great deal of mercian history." Osthryth bowed her head.

"It is my history too; every Bercnician knows Saint Oswald." But Aethelred looked bored and seemed to go through the short ceremony of alliegance quickly, where Osthryth knelt before him and swore alliegance to Aethelred and his land Mercia, calling for wine the second that Osthryth had got back to her feet.

Aldhelm and Merewalh ushered Osthryth quickly from the throne room and Aldhelm, dressed in the same green-and-gold as his lord, ushered her back through to the military hall.

"Are you ready to meet your men?"

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Merewalh's hurry to accept Osthryth was not altogether down to her known ability as a swordsman. Alfred was sending troops to liberate Lundene from the pagans - two brothers, the Thurgilsons, and when Osthryth discovered this, and discovered, too, that Merewalh had placed enough trust in her to lead a small band of warriors, the gravity of the situation began to weigh on her.

Osthryth was trusted, trusted enough to lead men she did not know. Before Merewalh introduced them to her, he had told her that, should she be harrassed, as she had been harrassed by Aethelwold in Winchester, she must simply speak to him. No quarter was to be given to any man trying to press his advantage, and Merewalh even went on to tell Osthryth that, was there not the urgency to train in preparation for a successful attack, he would have given her leave to deal with any potential harrassment herself.

Merewalh? Was this really him, who six months ago had called her barbarous Scottish scum? Was it really him who extolled her virtues to Lord Aldhelm, Lord Aethelred's general?

So Osthryth followed Merewalh and Aldhelm back to the warriors' hall and stood before them, as Merewalh addressed the men, who stood before their general, silently eyeing Osthryth.

"This captain, under whom five of you are to be trained and run in battle, can make the enemy tremble before even a blade had been wetted," Merewalh began.

"How?" One of the older men nearer the front, humour playing insolently at the corners of his mouth.

"You will see, Leofstan," Merewalh told him, as Aelfgar grinned. He knew Osthryth's blood-curdling screaming yell, that of the Gaels in battle. Osthryth was not even aware she did it, until it was pointed out by Aethelflaed when she nearly beat Steapa in the battle demonstration. It had been King Alfred who had then said the battle scream had been effective and that, more than anything, was the best thing the king of Wessex had ever said to her.

"Leofstan," Merewalh added, calling the man out of the group. "You are to be one." He searched the faces, and called out a similarly older man, Falkberg, and two very young men, only just out of boyhood, one dark haired, Oshere, and the other fair, Aeglwulf. From the back a diminuitively-built boy, who later Osthryth discovered to be just a little younger than her, at fourteen: Aelfkin, joined the other four.

They were her men. She was to command them, train them, have them put their trust in an unknown warrior new to their kingdom and certainly not a Mercian. Osthryth knew she had to prove herself, to begin the line of trust, and she nodded to each one in turn, evening sunlight glinting off Buaidh as she pulled her blade from her scabbard.

Not just her five. All of the men of Aethelred's army watched her, as she stood before her men.

"I will take you under my command," Osthryth said, as if the choice of each man had been her and her boots trod over the straw and she went to each man in turn and offered to fight him.

Leofstan, her challenger and Oshere stood still and said nothing. Beside them, Aelfkin drew a sharp sword, perhaps a seax which looked full-sized on the boy. Osthryth bowed her head as Aelfkin approached her, bringing the whole length of Buaidh over her shoulder and out in front of her. The boy's eyes widened, but he did not drop his own blade, and began to strike out at her in short, sporadic lunges from a distance far too far for anything to possibly harm Osthryth.

Osthryth kept the boy swinging, quickly and with agility aligned with his age until he was tired, standing silently before him. And then attacked. Under the possible-seax she jabbed her blade, using Buaidh as a lever as she turned towards him. The men watched as the seax whirled away from Aelfkin, who scuttled back towards Oshere.

Osthryth saw the familial features at once, and smiled kindly at Aelfkin, retrieving his sword, which had tumbled towards the door of the small hall and handed it back to him. The boy said nothing, but stared at her with wide, chestnut eyes. Falkberg met her challenge next, and when Osthryth had Buaidh at his throat conceded.

Aeglwulf took up her challenge, a grave look on his face. Perhaps the young man had lost family to Danes, for he came at Osthryth with a great deal of ferocity, not allowing her any quarter to prepare. But Osthryth was not unprepared, and she met him, blade to blade, screaming the Gaelish yell into his face, his features crinkling at the ferocity she had raged at him, and had done nothing to resist Osthryth simply knocking the blade from his hand. The clatter onto the stone floor seemed to jerk Aeglwulf back from some sort of hypnosis.

But it was only when Aeglwulf stood back that Osthryth knew she had proved her point, and she had called Aelfgar to her.

"Then you agree to work under Osthryth's captaincy?" Aldhelm looked at the men.

"We do," they chorused, although Osthryth wasn't sure that each and every one of her new charges was entirely forthcoming with their pledge, and she watched as Lord Aethelred's guard and Merewalh left the small hall in deep conversation, and the rest of the men, destined for other skirmish bands, followed them.

Osthryth, with Aelfgar beside her in the hall, went through some of the basics. Osthryth was going to go onto an evening tour of the town with Aelfgar debriefing her. Her band were to sleep until dawn, and be on patrol with them both, so Osthryth could assess what they could do, how they were trained, and so on.

When she dismissed them, however, there was an audible snort. Leofstan was pointing at the opposite loft to their own, and looking pointedly at Osthryth.

At Aylesbury, the men slept above in their hall on a straw-covered mezzanine, across from which the commanders also slept, on a similar platform. For Osthryth which, ostensibly, meant Aelfgar and Merewalh, and she was aware of the situation which could be arising in their minds.

She was no whore, though no-one had called her any such thing. But Osthryth could see their minds working, a woman warrior sleeping beside two men. At the insubordination, then, Osthryth turned.

"What was that?" she asked, beginning to stalk through her five soldiers. "You believe I am unsafe, due to the actions of men you know, your commanders, your comrades, that I am at risk?" Not giving time for an answer, Osthryth stalked between her men.

"Someone amongst you believes this," she continued, and offered them a chance to admit who had sniggered, though she knew full well. But no-one did. Osthryth looked at the ground and then back to them.

"I am disappointed that not one of you will own up to this," she chided. "So, as this is what you believe, and none of you has the courage to admit this to me, you - all of you - " and at this, met each of her new mens' gazes with her own, "Will stand guard for me, tonight, ensuring no impropriety takes place that would dishonour your captain. Do you understand?"

Mumbles came from most of the men, just a couple of them speaking clearly enough for her to hear, "Yes, Captain."

"I cannot hear you, and I speak Saxon well!"

"Yes! Captain!"

With that, Osthryth placed Falkberg on duty with Aeglwulf, and, once the moon had risen to its zenith, they should wake Oshere and Leofstan. Aelfkin was to be allowed to sleep, for they had a long walk in the morning.

And so, Osthryth slept under her cloak, not far from Aelfgar, once they had patrolled Aylesbury and agreed on a basic training programme.

She shared her thanks with her men that she had indeed, come to no harm. Once she had awoken in the morning, all five of her men were standing at the foot of the commanders' mezzanine for when she finally climbed down, as the first rays of dawn passed through the gaps in the shutters.

"Will I ever be at harm, sleeping beside my deputy, or my superiors?"

"No, Captain!" they all shouted. Her poiunt was proven, and Osthryth smiled at them all, valuing the respect they were beginning to show her.

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That morning, Merewalh had called them for training, that Osthryth was establishing, for they would be close to Waetling Street at a town called Leighton. Aldhelm had given a speech about how the Mercians - themselves - would run the heathen bastards from the boundary of their kingdom.

But before Osthryth could leave, the men were to train. She felt she was under scrutiny from those watching, two lords of Mercia. Aethelred not there, but Lords Burgred and Ludeca watched as she drilled and drilled how she wanted them, before leading them out of Aylesbury with food and supplies. They were one of eight bands replacing eight others at strategic points along the old Roman road.

This was one of a number of times Osthryth and Aelfgar were depatched to the border of Daneland were many and they were our for achingly long periods of time in the damp and cold to nearly everywhere along the Waetling Street dividing line.

At Leigh, therefore, Osthryth began with the specialised training in between watch periods. It appeared to her that the men had not been trained for the shield wall, and she remembered her own training at Wessex, with Steapa and Merewalh.

Click of shield, bend knee, brace for onslaught. If you were in the middle, you were likely to be worm food come dusk, for this was where most enemy focused their power. A month later, and Osthryth's band could assemble automatically.

But there was much more to teach them. Tactics, skirmishes, the value of thinking ahead, and thinking what the Danes might be thinking. Several raiders had come to no good under her watch and she had cause to reward them with silver of her own for bravery, and for quick thinking.

Aelfgar had told her that none of them wished a new commander, when they returned to Aylesbury and had been given the choice of one, so Osthryth continued to lead them when they were sent out again, this time against the Welsh borders raiders who hoped to steal cattle and sheep.

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And so it was, her exhausted men slept a dry night under their cloaks on the ground not far away from where Osthryth's ancestor, Oswald, had been slaughtered by the last pagan Mercian king.

"Oswestry," she had told them, earlier that evening, as they sat eating a fortunate catch of rabbits made by Falkberg and Leofstan, who had trapped four, which they had shared between them. "What do you know of the place?"

"My mother told me about King Penda," Aeglwulf said, as Aelfkin snuggled into his brother's arm. "Mighty King Penda, victorious over the Christians, who took apart King Oswald piece by piece."

"Indeed!" Aelfgar grinned. "And when men touched his body, which never spoiled, they were cured of all manner of illnesses."

"That was here," Osthryth said, "not far from here. And his kin moved his body to East Anglia, for his final resting place." She put her hand on Buaidh's hilt. "Lamnguin, he was called. Whiteblade."

"And now we Mercians revere Oswald, as do the Northumbrians, of course." Aelfgar looked to Osthryth, who nodded. "He is a saint to us all. Yet, his body lies in danger, of course, from the Danes."

"And the bastards gained help from the Welsh," commented Oshere, the people of Waeleas, the Cymric, never failing to be a common topic of griping if ever unity was sought between the Mercians. But, Osthryth was ignorant of the subtlety of the comment.

"Because the bastards could," Aelfgar pointed out, "ride into Mercia to help either Penda or Oswald. Now they couldn't, for Offa, king of Mercia a hundred years after, had ordered a great big ditch to be dug from Chester to Gloucester."

And then it was dark, the men asleep and Osthryth and Aelfgar were on watch duty. She had instigated two people on watch, as the Gaels and Irish did. When there were hit-and -run attacks, having enough back-up could be the difference between winning or losing.

They had quelled a minor skirmish to the east of Caestre that day. Northwic had produced Danes or Norse who had tried to plunder the village of Wem. Osthryth had taught her men what it was she had been taught, that is, to observe what is going on, observe the landscape, the weather, anything that might cause a change in events, and needed to be taken into account. Then to direct all their resources into fighting, a heap, a mass of opposition.

"My Lord," Osthryth knew about the enmity between the kingdoms, and asked Aelfgar to speak of his homeland, and she listened patiently as he detailed where he had owned lands, with Merewalh, and that his family had lands in the very centre of Mercia, near where names lingered of when the Saxons were pagans themselves: Wodensfield, Wodensburh, even Pendaeford.

Close to where the men slept, travellers walked past them, their caravans gaily decorated with coloured cloth. A thought struck Osthryth that they might have something to she could buy from them, for it had been nearly two months since she had had the last of her lily root to prevent her bleeding.

Aelfgar, Osthryth noticed, was carefully inspecting the caravans too, and it took her a little bit of time to realise what had caught his attention. More accurately, who. Two women smiled back to Aelfgar.

"Which would you - " Aelfgar began, then broke off, realising his mistake. Well, she might have. She had heard of women loving women, and her thoughts fleeted to Haf. But, no.

"You?" Osthryth asked.

"The one on the left," Aelfgar admitted, as the tall, dark-haired gypsy who looked not much older than Osthryth, glanced back towards him as she led her dark brown horse.

"Of course, not you," Aelfgar continued, "But then, Aelffrith told me of your...you were married..." His words trailed to nothing, as if the dark night air had suffocated them.

"Aelffrith should not have," Osthryth snapped back, but then softened, and began to pace with Aelfgar around the other side of the diminishing campfire.

"I was married, hand wed," she replied, softly.

"What is that?" Beside them, on the floor, all wrapped up in their woollen cloaks, one of their men snortled in their sleep.

"It is marriage for a year," Osthryth continued, glad it was dark so that Aelfgar could not see her face. "So see if you are..."she struggled for the word, "To see whether it works."

"And you were hand wed?"

"We said the words," Osthryth confessed, and a breeze sprang up, making Osthryth sense that the Sidhe were alive in this part of Mercia. "But Eirinn, it is not like Wessex or Mercia, it has spirits in the land, the Sidhe, and the most powerful Sidhe is the Morrigan. Perhaps she considered we were mocking the words, because Taghd was explaining to me what hand wed was, and in the end, I felt closest to him than I have ever done anyone in my life. We agreed our marriage would be forever." Osthryth smiled, weakly.

"And Taghd now...?" Aelfgar prompted.

"He burned to death..." Osthryth knew she was speaking, bluntly, of Taghd the Doireman's death as if she were discussing the weather, or the price of flour. She was not over it yet, but it was far away, and not now or here, in the north west corner of Mercia. "You?"

It took a little while for Aelfgar to answer, but then he leaned towards Osthryth.

"I had a lady, but she is gone from this place now." Osthryth turned sharply to him and they stopped their walk of the perimeter of the camp.

"Gone? Died?" Aelfgar shook his head.

"Married to a...lord," he stuttered a little. He stopped walking, and looked at Osthryth, plaintively. "Look, her name is Aelswith."

"Like King Alfred's wife?" Osthryth asked, suddenly recognising the name.

"No, not like his wife," Aelfgar said slowly, and realisation suddenly began to flood her mind. Not like Alfred's wife; it was Alfred's wife. Osthryth thought of the proper, buttoned-up woman, Aetgelflaed and Edward's mother, who could only be in her thirties. How old was Aelfgar? The same?

"She is of Ceowulf's line, of the recent kings of Mercia, and I fell in love with her," he continued, as if it were a burden being unshouldered. "But I could not wed her, for suddenly, Alfred was king and in need of a wife; Wessex was in need of an alliance with Mercia."

"Did she love you?" Osthryth asked, thinking of Alfred's wife, who had probably been the reason she had had to leave Wessex. A blessing, considering, face saved, no more Aethelwold, and her ambition to speak to her brother solved: if she was never going to tell him anyway she was his sister, there was no need to be in Wessex.

"I believe so," Aelfgar nodded, sombrely. "But she was proper, and would not let me so much touch her hand, and that made me love her all the more." Osthryth laid a hand comfortingly on his forearm and Aelfgar smiled, sadly.

"And then I tried to follow her, and that displeased Lord Ceowulf, and I was passed to service of Odda. The old fool has died now, and we have Lord Aethelred." Dropped dead at Aethelred and Aethelflaed's betrothal ceremony, Osthryth knew. "At least Merewalh was with me with Lord Odda, in his shame. Aethelred is fair, at least."

"And he is better? A better lord, I mean?"

"He is different than Odda, then lowered his voice as if the animals of the night might be listening. "He has not the ambition of Alfred, though he has ambition enough." Then Aelfgar brightened, "I have been allowed to come home, with Merewalh."

They continued in the autumn and into the winter months to guard skirmish points and, as her men's skills developed, Osthryth's confidence grew. She taught the men to think before they attacked, to observe everything they possibly could before planning a move, just as Ceinid had taught her. Then they should turn themselves to the best possible advantage: what was the land like? Where could they get the most from a flat land, such as near East Anglia, and why it was different in Salop.

"By knowing the plan," Aelfgar continued one evening, as they sat around a peat fire, backing Osthryth, "You know we act together, and then you can attack with the strength of will of your comrade." And they were very succesful, sending wealth back to Aylesbury and Lord Aethelred, and securing the villages and towns which had the misfortune of being on the Waetling Street border.

They returned to Aylesbury, very briefly for the Christmas period, and Osthryth noticed Aethelflaed's manner had not improved when she sat beside her husband for the feast. And then, they were back to the border, now near a place called Tamworth, where Danes concentrated their forces on the town, and where Offa, the great king of the Mercians had once had his palace.

"You seem to know a lot about how Danes think," Aelfgar said, four weeks after being in Tamworth. It was one evening when they were on patrol through Tamworth's streets, as the winter's bite was beginning to give way to spring. She looked up to the stars, which were clear, and she remembered the previous Christmas - Yule, Eirik had called it.

"Because I was in the company of one, once," Osthryth admitted, "Before I came to Winchester."

"You astonish me," Aelfgar admitted, although he did not look astonished. Osthryth had astonished him before and he had heard some of what she had done, and known some too, from being with Lord Odda, although Osthryth was still careful what she said. He was easy to talk to, though, and Osthryth was pleased to have a friend.

"A Norseman," Osthryth specified, as they reached the northern walls of the town. "I - it..." Osthryth struggled to formulate the words as Aelfgar's steps fell away and he stopped, listening.

"Let's put it this way," she began again, standing next to him, and staring into the black night, "We were probably going to die at the hands of a common enemy; we kept one another alive as he found his men and I found my way back to my lord."

"But then, I was lost to my lord, so came south," Aelfgar added. He listened, Osthryth thought.

"And you learned?"

"How they think, what they do. I learned Norse; I am good at Norse. They are very like the Cymric, those who are still attached to their gods. It is themselves and their gods alone, they have no priests. And they think rationally about things, logically - win or lose, and feel the same about it."

"And it is this Northman who taught you to fight?" Aelfgar asked.

"No, it was my lord's general who taught me to fight, after my disastrous time on the battlefield."

"When you killed Ivarr Loethbroek?" Osthryth looked at her deputy, the moonlight shining off his face. She knew Aelfgar knew this wasn't the case, and wondered whether he was trying to undo her story, to check if it was true after all. It would be something she would do.

"When my lord's kin killed Ivarr Loethbroek," Osthryth clarified, continuing to pace west, towards the strip of orange that was all that was left of the sunset. Across from them, at the southern wall, Leofstan and Falkberg would be pacing anticlockwise to them, checking for disturbances. "I had little idea about what I was doing, so I made it up as I went along that day, wearing the prince's armour, because his father wanted him kept safe." It was the first time Osthryth had told anyone about taking Constantine's place. Now, with time and distance from the event, it seemed mundane, comical, even. But Aelfgar looked amazed.

"But, you could only have been - "

"I was a tall twelve year old," Osthryth admitted, and I had the anger of the loss of my family at their hands behind me. I am good at fighting; more women should try it."

"I couldn't see Aelswith fighting," Aelfgar admitted, and Osthryth got the impression that she might be the only person he could talk to about the Lady of Wessex.

"You never know what women can do unless they have to, or are allowed. It is normal for all women in Eireann to fight, at least to protect themselves and their families. Women have led men in battle; before Christianity, their priests, their druidhe were equally likely to be women as men."

"I have always wondered why the church has imposed this outlook," Aelfgar admitted. "Offa's wife commanded women - why should there not be a queen in Mercia who fights as equal to a king?"

"Women are to be commanded by their husbands, and have obedience," Osthryth reiterated. "Which is why I have no husband, and never will."

And, another thought struck Osthryth, as they headed back to the centre of Tamworth, meeting Oshere and Aeglwulf on their way out for their patrol on the walls: yes, she would like that: Queen Aethelflaed of Mercia. But, it could only be done if Aethelred would be called king, and Alfred would never allow "King Aethelred" to be king of Mercia.

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Spring was indeed springing. Buds were beginning to grow, and birds were more animate, singing earlier in the morning. The ground was beginning to feel alive with growth as they slept upon it, its quickness into Osthryth's very soul. She liked Mercia immensely, but had still not managed to shake off her brother as easily as she had hoped.

Despite being a hundred miles from him, rumours came to Osthryth's ears every so often of Uhtred's success in battle, that he had the nickname," Daneslayer", and another one, "The Wicked."

The Uhtred Osthryth had known would have relished those names. But there was another, one which did shock her: that he had been named future King of Mercia by a dead man and, too, Uhtred had been given command of the Wessex faction of men, who were to attack on the south side. At least Lord Aethelred was consistent, and stood up for his kingdom as many demands were made of its gold and its resources.

Then, when Easter had passed, the men had trooped out, with baggage trains and armour to head to Mercia's ancient city, revered by the Romans and had, until recently, been home to just a few hundred Saxons. Now, it was home to a few thousand Norse and Danes, who had instigated many atrocities to the people who lived there, killing hundreds; raping and enslaving more. And the Mercians and the West Saxons were about to drive them out.

So the Mercian army was marching out to reclaim Lundene. It was Mercia's land, and Wessex had a vested interest to keep their trade route of the Thames open to the north of their kingdom. Aldhelm had given a rousing speech to the men, and then they headed south-east to war.

"Why are you shaking your head?" Aelfgar asked Osthryth as they walked behind the baggage train, the ground dry and the day fine as a late spring sun shone down, as if blessing their objective.

"The lord Aethelred, and his wife," Osthryth said, finally, as Aethelred's carriage passed over a bridge.

"You mean, bringing her?" Aelfgar was stunned, as Osthryth gestured ahead of them, on a black horse, tall-backed and stately, sat Aethelflaed. She sat nobly, but Osthryth thought that she knew what she would see if the Lady of the Mercians was to turn round, and it didn't sit well with her.

"It is madness! Why bring your wife to a war?" Osthryth asked.

"Unless she asked to go," Aeffrith suggested, a thought which had not occurred to Osthryth. Perhaps that is something she might do: Osthryth had seen Aethelflaed fight and be taught by Steapa. Maybe she had insisted on being brought, although why Aethelred might acquiescese to such a request from his wife.

And yet, there was something changed about her. No longer the favourite child of the king, perhaps married life did not suit her, where mature, considered decisions and opinions were needed. Perhaps she was with child? If so, then surely her husband was insane to bring her with him, risking both his line of succession as well as Aethelflaed.

Yet, Osthryth also felt sorry for the woman. While she did not like her, the appearance of bruises on her face angered her, and the thought crossed her mind that she would like to give Aethelflaed the opportunity to learn to defend herself. No woman should have to suffer a beating, no matter what the southern church said that the bible instructed them. It was not written in the Irish church to treat women so, which Osthryth had long decided that it was this church which was hers in her heart, brought to Northumbria by Oswald, her ancestor; doubt introduced shortly afterwards by his brother-in-law, Edwin, who had Paulinus, of Augustine's teachings, minister to him.

In fact, the Irish church had not flourished long in Bernicia, and many of the priests, such as Colman, had returned to Eireann when King Oswy took the Augustinian path. Yet there were many who still followed the Irish church, and that, Osthryth realised, delineated the border between Pictland and Bernicia far more distinctly than whoever was in on the throne. If Domhnall wanted to gain land to the Roman wall, and thus incorporate Bernicia into Alba, he would do well to send his own monks and priests, adherants of the Irish church, to reinvigorate the old belief. This was probably why Cumbraland had been so difficult to incorporate into Northumbria - old religious rites died hard there, and even older ones, those of the Britons, harder still.

But they did not go directly to Lundene as first planned. A council of war had been convened somewhere outside the city, and the armies stopped and set up camp at a place called Paddington.

"He is calling for his captains," Aelfgar said, when her band had set up camp for the night, and reported to Merewalh for distribution on patrol. Osthryth, who had been about to accompany her men and find out her own patrol stopped.

"Who?"

"The Lord Aethelred," Aelfgar clarified, and pointed to a large canvas tent where already Wessex soldiers were carrying chairs and boards which were to be table. And towards the tent was striding...someone they knew.

"Come on," Osthryth grinned, as Steapa stopped to point out to one of the carts. Two soldiers hastened to it to bring whatever King Alfred's head guard had wanted. "It will be good to see people we know." But Aelfgar's face fell.

"He has asked for his captains; we are to go on patrol." And it was at that moment, Osthryth realised how much she depended on Aelfgar for support with her men, to listen to her ideas, to ask his advice.

"Then I'll tell you later," she said, "When they've finished discussing and a decision has been reached."

"Although, with those two," Aelfgar pointed out Uhtred and Aethelred, "I may see you tomorrow - they could never agree on anything."

And so it was. How strange it was to stand in close proximity to her brother and not have the will to tell him who she was. That astrange longing, that need to tell him had fallen from Osthryth. Mercia had given her something she could never imagine, and she was good at it: Merewalh had told her so before they had marched out, and that the message had come from the lord Aldhem.

So it was with confidence that she stood with the other eight captains behind her lord as they sat around the negotiating table and discussed their move. Uhtred sat opposite his cousin, and beside him was Steapa and the lord Odda, who caught her eye and nodded with a smile. Could Osthryth have asked for more, than to have been noticed by her former lord? And beside Steapa was...someone Osthryth took a time to recognise, as talking began.

Alfred had given London to Aethelred's care. This was debated by her lord, through Aldhelm who argued, "How could Lord Aethelred be given something he already owned?"

No, Steapa clarified, it was Aethelred's to defend, his responsibility, which took up a large part of the proceedings.

There was a debate as to where to attack the city, Uhtred wanting to split the Wessex and Mercian armied and put them at different places. In contrast, Aethelred wanted a concentration of force, so that any resistance inside would be able to be eliminated.

"So, what are you going to do, Aelthelred?" Uhtred said, eventually.

"Fight, of course!" Aethelred sneered. "Now we just have to agree how we are going to do it!"

Observe, orientate, decide, act, Osthryth thought, just as Ceinid had taught her, just as Steapa taught his men, and Merewalh had tried to instil in Odda's guards. Was it the same in armies all over?

And then, as the negotiations began to consolidate into an actual plan, and she listened with eager ears for the part she was going to play, Osthryth's head turned back quickly to the man beside Steapa. Alfred had not come, but he had sent his son.

A sword was drawn as Osthryth entered his tent, later that evening, and she met it with her own.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Osthryth asked, when he realised who it was, and he dropped his sword and grabbed Osthryth unexpectedly around the middle.

"Osthryth!" He exclaimed, when he finally let her go. "I knew you had gone to Mercia. I thought I might see you, but...oh!"

"You are never here to fight, Edward?" Osthryth asked. "You are never involved? Your father would never allow you to come here for this?"

"I can fight, I am as good as a man," He replied, defiantly. And the aethling had definitely grown in the six or so months since Osthryth had seen him.

"Are you as good as a woman also?" And it hit her then how much she missed guarding him. He was so happy, all the time, a happy child, and happy to see her now. But this time his face fell, and he looked serious, and he leaned close to Osthryth's ear.

"I miss you Osthryth. You are no longer my guard!" Osthryth pulled away from his hands, which were resting on her own, and smiled.

"Then we can be friends now," Osthryth replied feeling, despite herself, happy to see him too.

"Oh I am pleased," Edward exclaimed, with old boyish enthusiasm, but then dipped his head away from her and crossed the grass carpet of the tent and stood by the opening.

"Her name is Ecgwynn," he said eventually, the worry being admitted to Osthryth now, "And she is the daughter of a priest," he continued, his eyes sparkling at Osthryth when she went to stand by him. "She is delightful, and she talks to me, Osthryth, she listens..."

And Osthryth listened to the wonders of this young woman of Kent, who Edward was so taken with, before hugging him like a younger brother she thought of him as, and telling him to take care, for he was indeed returning to Winchester with a faction of guards.

"Alfred would not be that stupid as to let his son, who is not yet a man, face Norse and Danes in a siege," Aelfgar said, later on, when Osthryth relayed the raiding plan to him. "Let's hope the plan does not disintegrate," he added, on the subject of the two-attack plan - Uhtred's plan, "For Aethelred has his own ideas and may decide to use his initiative which, while sound, may be disastrous, and - "

But Aelfgar broke off and clicked his tongue in warning as he spotted Merewalh approaching them and Aelfgar made to go.

"This concerns the both of you," Merewalh said, his voice returning to the hard, resentful one Osthryth recognised, and they followed him to Aldhelm, who stepped out of Aethelred's tent to speak to them.

"My lord had requested that you are to guard his wife," Aldhelm said, plainly. "Aelfgar is to take on your captaincy - temporarily," he added, when he saw Osthryth's place. "He will carry out your intentions for your men, in the plan you heard this evening. Please brief Aelfgar with all he needs to know, and Aelffrith is to be promoted temporarily, to his deputy.

"But my lord!" Osthryth's shock came to her lips, then tuned to petition Merewalh. "How will it look to my men, the other captains, to my deputy - " here she gestured to Aelfgar, "After the effort you have put to make me on equal footing,

"There is absolutely no reflection on you or your work; you are a most capable captain, Osthryth," he revealed. "But Aethelred sees that you are a warrior who has the unique properties that he is looking for in the lady Aethelflaed's bodyguard. My lord commands that you guard her."

But the shock was still with Osthryth. Had she not done all the work to get these men, three very young and two rather older and inexperienced, to be excellent soldiers?

"And when the battle is done, you may return to your men," Aldhelm added. He looked briskly at Aelfgar and added, "Please bring Osthryth's belongings to her."

"Everything I own I have with me," Osthryth said, hoping that her tone was not too grudging, and she nodded to Aelfgar.

"Make sure Oshere does his share, for he has a tendency to loaf if left. And see that Aelfwin has a new jerkin; he has grown since he was last clothed."

With a salute, Aelfgar and Merewalh marched away, and Osthryth looked across to Aldhelm, who was looking down his long nose to her.

"He does not trust other men to be around her," he confided softly, so as not to be overheard. And it suddenly became clear to Osthryth what "properties" meant, as she followed Aldhelm to Aethelred's tent. Aethelflaed was alone, for it seemed that, temporarily, the job of guarding her had been left to Aldhelm.

"I do not need guarding," Aethelflaed complained, when Aldhelm had left. Osthryth found a place inside the tent to stand, so she could see outside, so she could be aware of danger near the edges of the tent, so she could see Aethelflaed, to ensure she did nothing which compromised her own safety.

After a time of pacing around her tent, Aethelflaed giving her side looks as she paced, her face on the near side yellow with old injuries, she folded her arms and glared at Osthryth.

"Do not let him beat you, lady," Osthryth said, bluntly. Aethelflaed opened her eyes in amazement that she had spoken and strode over to her.

"How dare you deign to speak to me!"

"I dare because I have been given the responsibility to guard you, to protect you," Osthryth replied. "And if you can protect yourself, that will be one less thing I have to do."

And, before her eyes, the defiant, angry Lady of the Mercians turned her face from Osthryth. Her shoulders began to sag, and then move up and down. She was crying.

"My lady," Osthryth managed, after a few swift steps towards her, placing a comforting hand on her back which, to Osthryth's surprise, Aethelflaed did not shrug away. "I can teach you, should you wish."

"Why?" Aethelflaed asked, through quiet, whimpering sobs. "Why would you?"

"Why should women not protect themselves? Mercia is not Wessex, lady. You can make your own mark here, as the Lady of the Mercians." Osthryth bent closer to her ear. "I have seen you fight against Steapa - some of the men I fight beside in this army would die of shock of they were half as good as you were then. And, I expect you are better."

Aethelflaed's sobs ebbed to nothing, and she drew away from Osthryth, crossing to her belongings and picking up a comb, with which she neatened her hair. Nothing she had could take away the signs of her abuse, however.

Then, the Lady of the Mercians turned to Osthryth. She expected Aethelflaed to order her away, but she did not. What she did do was something Osthryth did not expect.

"Show me! Train me!" She implored, in an urgent, low hiss. "I have need of it."

So she did, thought Osthryth.

"You are very good, cool headed, you make a plan, you stick to it. My father remarked upon it."

What could she say, Osthryth thought later. She could not refuse a plea from a lady for protection, especially if King Alfred rated her abilities, after all.

"My lady, begin by building your strength," Osthryth advised. "You cannot begin to work on blade skill without eating well. Can you do that?"

But, nothing could come of the plan just then, for Aethelred entered the tent. He nodded at Osthryth with a cursory glance, then batted his hand away from her.

"I am to leave, my Lord?"

"Yes! Go!" He snapped. As Osthryth trod towards the cool night air, she turned, as a movement caught the corner of her eye. Aethelred has hit his wife, though she had made no noise when she was struck. At that moment, all anger that she had felt towards the woman dissolved and, had he not been her sworn lord, Osthryth might have attacked Aethelred, for Aethelflaed not pushed him back

She must show her, Osthryth thought, as she stood beside the tent, disgust flooding her stomach, and she waited in the darkness, an empty feeling in her chest, as the realisation she was not going to her men, to be their captain, left her.

A group of men laughed and joshed their way along the line of tents, their mirth filling the air, her brother amongst them. Osthryth watched them heading away from the camp, presumably for some night's entertainment, and wondered when she would be back in charge of them.

But all thoughts of her captaincy came to a bone-shuddering, heart racing halt as desire crept over Osthryth's body and made her breathe deep: she had seen the man on Uhtred's right hand side. Christ was on God's right hand in heaven: he was dear to her brother as he walked beside him.

Finan.

Osthryth dearly wanted to talk to him, by all that was holy she did, but it risked weakness to her position. Fantasy, and ten minutes with her own fingers would have to suffice.

Perhaps it was her staring that had caught their attention, however, and to Osthryth's dismay her brother was marching over to her as she stood away from the royal tent.

"I thought you were supposed to be guarding the lady," Uhtred said, accusingly.

"She is with her husband; Lord Aethelred ordered me to leave. I do not think that they would wish me to stay there for that." Osthryth hoped her face showed the defiance that she felt, but the interval was longer than she anticipated before Uhtred stepped back. She turned to look to her brother's right hand man.

"Thank you for saving my life in Winchester."

"The water wasn't deep enough to drown in," Finan replied, "I was just helping you along."

Just helping you along. That was one of his phrases. He would say that a lot and Osthryth would notice his shrugging off of difficult things, or when he was shown gratitude as, "Just helping you along."

"Moran taing," she added, for good measure. Uhtred had begun to walk off, but Finan didn't, and stood in front of Osthryth.

"So, you are in the Mercian army now?" Behind her brother, Osthryth thought she saw Sihtric and Osferth bend their heads towards them to catch any words they could, as Uhtred stalked past them.

"I was recommended to Mercia," Osthryth replied, trying to not let her bitterness enter her tone, although there was not much to be bitter about, when she had a position which was eminently advantageous to her. Finan bent a little lower, and put a hand by his mouth.

"Aelswith would have something to do with it, no doubt," he confided, "Alfred liked his women when he was younger."

"But, I am - " she broke off as Finan grinned.

"You are," he agreed, and Osthryth laughed at the thought, for the had never heard that of Alfred before.

"I never would have guessed, not the King of the West Saxons," she replied.

"So, why are you here? Is it the air, or something?"

"It's not as good as Alba," Osthryth admitted. "No," she continued, sinking down onto one of the baggage carts. "The Mercian army are not as picky as the West Saxon army is." Finan sat beside her, though with a socially appropriate distance between them, and smiled at her.

"Oh, I don't know; they let Uhtred fight for them, so they do." Despite herself, Osthryth smiled.

"Mercia is losing many men on the frontier of Daneland. And I am good at what I do."

"A woman leader?" Finan pressed,

"You should know more than anyone, are you not of Eireann? A woman can be Druidhe, a woman can be Ollaimh. A woman can be a soldier."

"But you are of Alba." It was a statement, and told Osthryth that there was a second man with whom she had spoken who remembered things.

"I was raised in Alba, certainly. I came into the service of a king. I can fight."

"I know," Finan agreed. "I've seen you." And it was then that Osthryth remembered that he resembled someone she knew, only then, she could not place it. She would not be able to place it for a long time. An owl hooted, and the feeling that she must be more formal with a Lord's man settled upon her.

"Oidche mhath," Osthryth said, bluntly, and got to her feet. When Finan got up too, she raised a hand. He looked at her palm, and Osthryth knew he had seen her scar. Quickly, she drew it back, and nodded towards Lord Aethelred's tent.

"Tioraidh," Finan called to her, before going back to camp.

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"You are joking if you think that woman has any feelings for you!" Uhtred was lying in his own tent, with his men beside him, discussing the evening. Finan, a little way from him, ankles folded and arms behind his head, stared up to the canvas, thinking.

"She stares at me when she thinks I'm not looking," Uhtred replied. "I have seen her look away when I look at her."

"Means nothing," Finan replied. "I'm tellin' ye. She may hate you as much as like you." He watched his friend turn to his other warriors. "Are ye just a wee bit drunk, lord?" Uhtred ignored him and turned to his other warriors.

"Clapa, Sihtric, what do you think?" The young warrior shrugged his shoulders as the older man grunted, having not heard the question. "I cannot say, Lord," he replied, noncommittally. Uhtred looked across to Osferth, who shook his head. "She doesn't look like she likes you lord, not to me, anyway."

"She's almost annoying as you!" Uhtred grumbled.

"So that's it," Finan asked. "Because she shows no interest in ye, and she annoys ye, you want to wind her up?"

"Well," Uhtred said, springing to his feet. "I'm going to find out."

"What?" Finan was roused from his state of quiet, easy contemplation at the outrageousness of his friend's suggestion. He sat up and peered at Uhtred. "But, you have a wife," he accused. "And besides, that just isn't very - " He broke off as a huge grin spread across Uhtred's face and he got to his feet. "Uhtred, she spent a long time being harrassed by Aethewold, if you recall," Finan reminded his friend.

"Just a bit of fun, Finan, my old friend, Come and watch." He clapped Finan on the back.
"I will do no such thing!" Finan replied, hotly. "Have you thought what could happen if you do that? What if what you say is true?"

"You're coming, are you not, Sihtric? Osferth?" Uhtred nodded his head towards Finan, and winked. Sihric sheathed his seax which he was polishing and got up too, the shame that he had felt that Osthryth might have usurped his position in Aelfburh's heart enough to watch her being annoyed by Uhtred. He also understood his lord's meaning when Finan folded his arms and looked annoyed.

"You too, baby monk?" Finan looked at Osferth with disappointment. "Aren't there rules about this sort of thing? Thou shalt not play tricks on people?"

"Nothing that I've heard of," Osferth said, catching Uhtred's eye. Finan sighed deeply.

"I suppose someone with a bit of sense had better come with you, Lord," he added. "That's if you can find her.

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But Osthryth was not where she had been, in the proximity of Aethelred's tent. Because she had seen someone who she had made a promise to herself about, and was now following Father Beocca across the field and to the larger tent that was being used as a church. He pushed the cloth to the church aside with one of his large hands as if swatting a particularly large insect. Behind him, Osthryth stepped in after him and stood by the entrance, waiting for him to come out of his thoughts which were so clearly occupying him, enough for him to begin pacing at the anxiety in his mind.

Osthryth's heart lurched, for she remembered him doing this sometimes in Bebbanburg's chapel at times when her uncle Aelfric had given him an ethically dubious task to do.

"May I confess, father?" Osthryth asked, when he first noticed her standing there. Whatever his preoccupation had been, Beocca smiled and nodded.

"Yes, my child," he said. "Come, kneel beside the altar and I will hear you confession."

Had Uhtred decided to search there for Osthryth instead of being in amongst the people dining in a makeshift hall, he might have heard all his sister had to say, and their history might have been different. But he hadn't, and was now enjoying a second supper and ale with his warriors instead, and the conversation had gone from Aethelred's newest guard to how many West Saxons would be alive at the end of the battle in Lundene compared to how many Mercians.

Osthryth trod gently towards the wooden table draped with a finely embroidered linen cloth. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, for her nerve was very fine. Then, as Beocca began the first prayer, she opened hers again and looked at the priest, once Bebbanburg's priest, who had given her all the guidance, love and direction than she had ever had from anyone else.

"Did Aelfric send you a message that I was dead?"

For a moment, Osthryth thought he hadn't heard her. He had lifted his head and was looking at her, as if waiting for her to bow her head again. Then, Beocca opened his mouth wide, as if searching for something to say.

"And then, not long ago I read...I saw your name...Aedre?"

Osthryth didn't respond immediately, for the name seemed from a place long ago and far away. Then she nodded, not caring that tears were easing their way down her cheeks.

"Aedre! Oh my dear child!" He made to put his arms around her, and did so softly, as if she were might break.

"Congratulations, father," Osthryth said, to steady her emotions. "Your marriage?"

"Oh, yes, that," Beocca said, dismissively, getting to his feet. "I, yes, we got married." He looked at her as if she were still a dream. "But you?" Osthryth got up too.

"I escaped from my uncle, once I knew of my fate." She was a little gratified to see that he looked a little ashamed, for Osthryth knew that Beocca knew of Aelfric's intentions, and had left for Winchester in any case. But then Osthryth dropped to her knees again.

"I need to confess, father," she said again, "will you take my confession?" Beocca's eyes were shining, but he nodded and knelt beside Osthryth.

And confessed she did, starting with her theft of the boat and the silver from Bebbanburg, to her pride at her career in the Mercian army, and all of the things in between. She had been in the company of a Norseman, escaped from the betrothal of herself to Guthred, fornicated with the King of Alba's son - this did cause a good deal of blushing to go to Beocca's face when she recounted what she had done in his company. Osthryth even told him of Taghd, who she had intended to marry, and live well, as a warrior. His eyes narrowed a good deal when she told him of her dealings with the healer Britons but Osthryth did not elaborate on what she had bought from Beatha and Bach, or its purpose.

"Aedre," Beocca said at length, "You have confided in me, and only God has the ability to forgive you. It must have taken a good deal of courage to come to me tonight. Do you repent all you have told me?"

"Yes, father."

"Then, the Lord will forgive you for these sins. But tell me," Beocca got up again, and Osthryth followed. "You were not Aedre when you came to sit in the palace chapel?"

"When I left Bebbanburg, I chose a different name, the name of one of my ancestors, King Oswy's daughter Osthryth." It was the truth, but now standing before Beocca, in the relative safety of the Mercian army, it sounded lame.

"Ah, Osthryth," Beocca repeated, "I do remember your name, and now, look at you, a fully grown woman, and a warrior, and no-one to guide you!"

"I'm sixteen, father," Osthryth replied, earnestly, "Or at least, I think I am. And you're wrong! You have been by my side."

"I?" Beocca looked very confused. But Osthryth smiled, as she remembered her thrill each time she had found his small, neat handwriting.

"You sent letters to the monks living in the monastery at Culdees. I read them. You guided me to Uhtred, to Wessex! I read your letters, in Doire, in Kells."

"You? Did all that?" And then Beocca broke out into a huge smile, and put his arms out to Osthryth, and she fell into them. It was so good to get her secrets off her chest. At length, Beocca stepped back and looked at her face.

"God had planned this, God saw to it that you knew where I was, Aedre!"

"Osthryth is my name now," she reminded him.

"And are you baptised of it?" Osthryth shook her head.

"Then you must. Your mother made Uhtred be re-baptised - " Beocca told her. Osthryth smiled.

"I know, you told me!"

" - qfter you tell Uhtred! Oh child! It is so good to see you after all this time!" But Osthryrth took a step back. She suspected Beocca would say this to her, to mention her brother, and she felt cold at the suggestion. But the priest was pressing on, and he was looking over her form.

"But - a warrior, Aedre? The army is not a place for a woman!"

"Why?" Osthryth asked. "I have no fear, I never fear anything in battle: God has chosen this in me. It is better than being wed to Sven Kjartansson."

"Yes, it is." But Osthryth shook her head, sadly.

"I will not be telling him. Beocca. I joined the Mercian guard for a reason, to become a person in my own right. Besides, I have seen how he treats people, heard of his actions. He is a pagan."

"He is, he believes in God in his heart," Beocca replied, and Osthryth thought: he truly believes that.

"I saw him, once," Osthryth pressed on. "He came to Bebbanburg with my uncle's man's head, and swore to avenge him. This was after you left, Father," she added, and saw that Beocca flinched again, at the mention of him leaving. " Seobhridht, he left a boat in the seagate. I escaped." Osthryth rubbed her scar on her left hand. Sometimes she could still feel the pain of the arrow through it.

And she told him of Dunnottar and Iona, of Doire, Kells and Tara, and her watchimg a king make two kingdoms into one.

"Aethelred does not want that," Osthryth concluded. "He does not want to be subsumed like the Strathclydians, into one land under one king." Osthryrh stopped, because Beocca was just staring at her.

"But I will be baptised with my new name, if you think it right." And she stopped talking, and waited for Beocca's words.

"All this time," he mused quietly, then added, louder, "I rarely see you in church."

"I do come," Osthryth admitted. "I think my faith is different: the church is different in Eireann." Beocca nodded his head.

"I was brought through the Irish church," he said, "At the monastery in Melrose, where I was left." Osthryth gasped.

"Abandoned? By your parents?"

"Yes, for whatever reason. And they tolerated the Irish monks there. They prayed a great deal. and took on a lot of trials. Come." He beckoned Osthryth through to the section of the church at the back. Clearly a living space for him and Thyra, a bed was propped up with wood near the floor with furs laid nearly on it. At one side a trunk sat, with books near it, and a parchment was on top, as if the priest had been interrupted writing it.

"The Irish church," Beocca mused, as he closed the trunk lid. "I know a priest, a warrior, who would love to meet you, Osthryth. Although, on second thoughts..." His voice trailed off, and then he turned back to Osthryth.

"Of course, you cannot remain in the army, Osthryth," Beocca said, quickly, his eyes darting from left to right. Then he looked at her. "I can fond you someone to marry, who will accept all you have done, as befitting a lady of Northumbria. But Osthryth was on her feet and striding towards the church.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Beocca reached for her shoulder, and she turned. Osthryth felt her heart beating in her chest. What did she expect? That Father Beocca, her parent in all but the physical sense, would let her go on as she was? Anger flared in Osthryth's chest, anger at herself.

"Returning to my duty," Osthryth said, stiffly. But Beocca had somehow put himself between Osthryth and the exit.

"Does he know this? Does he know about you?" When she said nothing, Beocca added, "Uhtred?"

"No."

"Then," he continued, but paused, then smiled and nodded. "Our home is yours, while I make arrangements." But Osthryth shook her head.

"I fear for you, after all you have told me!" Beocca shouted, and Beocca shouting was enough to make Osthryth turn quickly to him, fear of a little child in her chest, her heart beating: she had been scolded.

"Why? I have fought, I have killed...I have killed Norse, I was beside Prince Domhnall, who is now king of Alba as he killed Ivarr."

But Beocca was beside her, his face imploring, and Osthryth felt her heart sink when he urged, "Uhtred must know!"

"Why? I have seen my brother, father, Osthryth said, steadily, "I know him through his actions, torn between lives: Saxon amd Dane, Christian and Pagan. This will be the death of him or, if not him, others."

"He has a sister, a Danish adopted sister, now my wife, he risked so much for her," Beocca replied.

"But his first wife? Abandoned? Murder of the Britons of Cornwalum? And his current wife is a pagan? Osthryth shook her head, "He is too conflicted, Father, I would only add to his confusion." And it was at that point that Beocca nodded, sadly. "Aethelred is all I need - his army, that is."

"Then stay," Beocca said, "Stay close by, Osthryth...Aedre," he asked.

"Only if you accept I am no-one's responsibility but my own," Osthryth asked, and Beocca nodded, before embracing her, as if he still didn't truly believe she was there.

Osthryth trod the moist earth back to Aethelred's tent, only to find that Merewalh had taken her place.

"Rest, and you can continue to guard the Lady Aethelflaed tomorrow," Merewalh said. "You may rest with your men, with Aelfgar, should you wish.

Osthryth wished, pleased that her position had not been taken from her, and her heart lightened. How could Beocca ever think that she would accept his making arrangements for marriage for her, or that he should think she should tell Uhtred that he was her brother, only for him to have the responsibility instead. Osthryth was her own person, and would never accept a husband, who would limit and control her. Like Aethelflaed's.

Uhtred had indeed been drunk when he suggested that they find Osthryth and annoy her, and after more drink, his men had got very tipsy very quickly, and he had left them in the large tent which was catering for the army to go to speak to Steapa about the next day's plan.

So, he hadn't banked on seeing Osthryth cross the fields in the dusklight, with a determined pace heading towards the army tents. It was an opportunity too good to miss against the stuck-up woman and it was within seconds that he had pushed her towards the spinney of larch trees that formed a partial barrier between the army and the nobles, seax at her throat. Uhtred grinned at her outrage.

"What are you doing here, girl?" He asked, trying to get her expression to register fear. But Osthryth only looked at Uhtred in defiance.

"I am no girl, I am a warrior!" She spat back, and wriggled against him, to try to free herself from Uhtred's grip, but he held the blade tighter, watching fury enter her eyes as he trailed a hand over her chest.

"A silver piece says you are," he murmured, ale on his breath, and Osthryth struggled, for the most part, a useless gesture as Uhtred pressed his body against hers, watching for this action now to provoke her. What his alcohol-dulled senses did not expect, however, was Osthryth swinging a punch, throwing all her weight behind it into his stomach while at the same time taking the wrist of his hand holding the blade and biting down with all her might.

"Ahhhh!" Uhtred screamed, the pain unexpected, and he reeled away from Osthryth, only to turn back and give her a ferocious look. "Ahh! My intention was not..." He trailed off, shaking his hand again.

"Do not look at me how you look at Athelflaed!" Osthryth roared at him, though quite why she had chosen those words to throw at him. Clutching Buaidh's handle, she added, "Touch me again and it will be the last thing you do!" She ducked as a punch came, and Uhtred was left massaging his hand as it had landed with force on bark, not her face. He was furious now, and made a grab for her, but Osthryth pounced towards his legs, bringing him down. She was just about to land a hefty punch to his face when hands brought her to her feet.

"What is going on here?" It was Beocca, and he was having to hold her back with all his might to prevent Osthryth from flying at Uhtred again.

"Leave me!" She shouted, glowering at Uhtred, who was trying to get up from the ground, "I will have him! I could kill him!"

"You could not, not Uhtred," Beocca's voice was soft, as if trying to soothe her, but his words only caused to volatilise her anger.

"I have killed! I have killed Norse, Picts, and Gaels too!"

"But not Uhtred," Beocca continued, softly, "He will never be beaten." Osthryth dragged herself from the priest's grip and drew Buaidh.

"That threat only has to be proved wrong once!" She shot back. Beocca stood silently where he was, for Buaidh's tip looked sharp. Then a voice called behind them.

"Beocca? What is this?" The speaker, neared them, then gasped when she saw her husband at sword-point.

"It's Osthryth, my love," Beocca replied, and stepped away as the woman stood between Beocca and Osthryth.

"And she - Uhtred?"

She is showing how much she hates the bastard, Osthryth thought, not taking her eyes off her brother.

"I have no doubt there was a disagreement," Thyra Ragnarsdottir replied, her eyes looking at Osthryth as Beocca shooed Uhtred away. Uhrtred got to his feet, determined not to be shooed, and saw Beocca's face. He picked up his sword, and then with his chin in the air, stalked back off to his tent, with the nobles.

Osthryth stared at Thyra, who she had seen before, at Aethelflaed's wedding, and dropped her sword, pushing Buaidh back into her scabbard. "Hatred," the Danish woman whispered.

"Hatred?" asked Beocca. "My love...this is Osthryth... " But Thyra spoke again, her eyes willing Osthryth never to look away.

"I was imprisoned once, by a man named Sven," she began.

"Sven One-Eye," uttered Osthryth, while beside her, Beocca tried to quieten his wife, but Thyra was unmoved. She looked at Osthryth curiously.

"How do you know?" But Osthryth said nothing and Thyra decided to go on.

"I had hatred enough, then, but I learned to let it go." Thyra looked in the direction that Uhtred had stalked. Osthryth glanced at Beocca, whose face shone ready honesty and was having trouble believing Osthryth felt such a way to Uhtred, his long-held image of them being happy together as siblings fast evaporating like mist under a sun's glare.

But there was something in the softness of the Danish woman's voice, her wise voice, and Osthryth knew then that it must have been she, Thyra, who had gone in place of herself to Sven to suffer hideously for so many years. It was all Osthryth could do than to hug the woman and thank her for buying Osthryth her own freedom with her captivity.

" - what wrong was it my brother did to you?" Thyra's voice was soft, beguiling, but Osthryth still had her own will, and she chose silence.

"Nothing whatever," Osthryth replied, glancing at Thyra, nodding a thank you to her.

"Indeed, nothing," Thyra confirmed, gleaning all she needed to know from Osthryth's demeanour.

"That you are safe, now, with Father Beocca, is good," Osthryth concluded, forcing calmness into her demeanour, as if their meeting was the other way round.

"Wait!" Beocca called, as Osthryth turned to go. She sighed, and turned back to him.

"I am going to rejoin my men or I will be on privy duty for two nights if I am late to my duty in the morning." And Osthryth turned and went now, over to the army, scanning the different bands of men, focusing hard on where they were, as if their camp fired told her instantly where they were.

"Osthryth!" Beocca shouted. But she did not turn, not even once, missing Thyra's look of astonishmemt that Beocca knew her.

"I am gone to Mercia," Osthryth thought, as she spotted a figure which very much looked like Aelffrith. "And I should never return to Wessex."

88888888

And Aelfgar moved over, relinquishing his temporarily-held position as captain of this band of men. All five of the men stood when they saw her, and she nodded to each of them.

"Good to see you, Osthryrth!" A voice came from behind her as she sat next to Aelfgar, looking at the stew - probably rabbit, for Aelfkin was amazing at watching and trapping them. She turned and Aelffrith passed her a chunk of grey bread.

"You've come back to us then? You've murdered the lady Aethelflaed?" Osthryth laughed, getting back to her feet and clapping her friend on the back.

"It's good to see you!" She exclaimed. "Are you keeping my men in order?"

"He said if we don't work hard to be the best fighters in the Mercian army, he will feed us to the monsters in the river!" Aelfkin's eyes were wide open and Osthryth smiled.

"True," she replied, sinking back down again. "But that will never happen, Aelfkin, will it?" The young boy shook his head. "I can disarm Oshere," he said, proudly.

"Then, I'll put you right at the end so you can disarm all of the cowardly, stupefying Danes," Osthryth replied, ruffling his hair. But Aelfkin would not be fighting; he would be being left behind at the camp with the women.

"So why are you back?" Aelfgar asked, as he spooned stew into a wooden bowl for her.

"Can't abide rich food," Osthryth replied. "Gets stuck in my throat." She shook her head. "No," she admitted, "I was dismissed for the night from the lady Aethelflaed's guard by the lord Aethelred," she told them, "So, I came back for the night."

And so the night progressed. Falkbald told them a ghost story, about dead spirits walking the land. It was just a variation on most ghost stories, but they enjoyed his retelling, and Aelffrith told them the age-old lay of Beowulf.

Osthryth, on her part, told them of the story of Oswald, king of the Northumbrians, slain in battle by ther mighty king Penda, which was well received, as Aelfkin fell asleep in his brother's arms.

She awoke next morning at dawn and quickly shook Aelfgar awake, telling him that she was returning to her guard duty, and to take the men, when called, to Merewalh.

Aethelflaed looked as pale and withdrawn as she had looked the night before, but she got to her feet and had her maids make her ready. When she was dressed, she made to eat a little of the meat brought to her. Good, Osthryth thought, she has the will to fight, to stand up for herself. And, she realised, the signs were unmistakeable to Osthryth as she stood guard: the rounding of the woman's stomach, her lethargy and sickness. But, when her maids had gone, she confided in Osthryth that the lord Aethelred has commanded that she see a priest the night before.

As the lady told Osthryth of the "bitter waters" ordeal, and how Uhtred had intervened on her behalf, and smashed Aldhelm in the face, Osthryth was outraged. Yes, the woman was a spoiled girl underneath it all, but to put her through that?

Yet, thought a voice in the back of Osthryth's head, if she had nothing to be concerned about, this judgment ritual would have come to naught. For the most part, Osthryth felt sorry for her, to be struck and raped by her husband. But this did not take away the cruelty she had inflicted on Edward - stealing his toys, pinching and scratching him when she thought no-one was lookin, at an age when she knew exactly what she was doing.

When she heard the Mercian army ready on the fields behind them, armour clinking into position, commanders' voices organising their positions, Osthryth spoke to Aethelflaed.

"Lady," she said, and withdrew Buaidh, something which Osthryth thought she would never have done, and she watched as Aethelflaed grip her sword with familiarity, and hold her firmly. She showed her a few moves and she surprised her, although, Osthryth thought later, she shouldn't have been surprised, for she had fought with Steapa's help.

After a couple of days of guarding the lady, and several hours of tuition, Osthryth was walkig back to her men again, after being dismissed by Aethelred. Aethelflaed looked brighter, Osthryth thought, and maybe she would begin to stand up for herself.

She made her way across the field to her army, but a hand was on her shoulder. Taghd's seax in hand, Osthryth had the blade at the throat of the man who had accosted her and looked into the face of her commander.

Plans had changed, Merewalh explained to her, a little sheepishly, as they strode towards Aldhelm - who had indeed suffered at someone's hand, and if Aethelflaed was right, it was her brother's - to listen to the official version.

"You are to lead your division on the raid on Lundene."

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It was much later, far in the future, as Osthryth was preparing to leave Mercia that Aelfgar told her that it had been her warriors who had insisted she led them into Lundene. Leofstan had petitioned Merewalh, he said, and all five of them had stood before him, insisting.

But that night, Osthryth did not know this, although she was still elated. It was what she had wanted, what she had trained for But she was also mystified. She had been called to guard Aethelflaed and only a week later, called back to her men. Other men were to guard her, and the women, at the camp.

And so, on a cool, spring morning, the Mercian army strode out to their ancient city. As they walked, surrounded by other Mercian divisions from all over the kingdom, Osthryth was pleased to see that the Wessex army was far away, heading to the southern side of the city at Bedford, crossing the ancient bridge and taking the road that would take them to the centre. Where the Danes were. Aethelred, on the other hand, was sending half of his men up the river with Aldhelm, and taking the other half himself to the northern side. Osthryth and her men were going on foot, and as they marched, she agreed with him the tactics they would be using: to stick together, to skirmish. To secure the streets bit by bit, and ensure that no Danes hid who could spring a counterattack behind them.

"And no rape," she told the men, clearly, as they stopped for rest within sight of the city walls. "I say this not as a woman, but as a warrior. Should you want to hump, wait until we have won, and get a whore and pay her, honestly. I need you together for our strategy to work."

Osthryth then asked the men to show her what they had practised, and was mainly interested in how they carried it their moves. Their skills had improved, and it was clear Aelffrith and Aelfgar had been successful in their training them for the men could carry out her commands by rote.

But then, plans changed, and the whole of the Mercian army were told to sail, with Aethelred taking the lead, Aldhelm beside him. They were to sail against the tidal current of the Thames, Merewalh told Osthryth eventually, as the night before, as the army camped within sight of Lundene's walls.

Distracted by a pain in her abdomen that Osthryth was not used to, for she had recently used the last of the roots sold to her by Ula, she idly wondered as she sat on duty, if Britons inhabited the city, and whether, with a sober quantity of silver about her person, she would be able to find them and offer their healer several in exchange for lily root, at least.

But that was all it was, a thought, for the morning light came all too quickly and the men were ushered from camp to begin their attack.

Lord Aethelred had taken a northerly path to the city and Lord Aldhelm had ordered different sections of the army in different direction when they had passed through Ludgate, in order to herd the Northmen into the very centre of Lundene.

Aeglwulf, one of her younger men, had stopped in appalled wonder as they had approached the city at the barbarity of the Northmen. They had crept through the streets and defeated many, clearing paths of the enemy so they would not counter with a rear attack, working their way up until the moment they had got to the main Roman buildings at the very centre.

Siegfried and Eirik Thurgilson had made it their own. Osthryth's heart beat as she stayed her half-dozen men. All of the Mercians stayed, when they looked beyond. For, in the very heart of Lundene, on a cross, a man had been nailed, in a very bald, openly mocking caracutre of Christ on his cross.

He was dead. Osthryth could see that, though no-one was going to try to get him down. And then she saw Eirik, her once temporary ally, standing next to his brother, a blade strapped to his sword-hand. She had turned from him at the battle before Dunnottar, and had heard the battle roar as she had fled Alba, when the brothers had tried again to defeat Domhnall. Once she had heard that they were in Lundene, trying their luck with Kent, East Anglia and the bits of Mercia and Wessex around the old Roman city, she found she was glad, glad and relieved that her king - for she still automatically thought of Domhnall as that - had been victorious. Though she had gleaned it from stealing glances from the Wessex documents, to see them here, before her, at a gruesome truce, gave her a trickle of joy into her stomach.

Osthryth's joy soured a little when she caught sight brother. He stood there, tall and broad, glorious in gleaming Frankish mail with the pagan hammers of his defeated enemies, and a cloak, shoulder to ankle, black with a silver lightning bolt on its back. Osthryth felt angry, angry at the way he had chosen to treat her.

And not just her: he treated many people shabbily, even Lord Aethelred, so she had heard from - who else? - Aelffrith, and had indeed caused the damage to Aldhelm's face. But worse than that, he treated women as objects - was it not the same in Alba? Except women were closer to women in authority, as in Mercia. Lands uninfluenced by Frankia was where the sexes were levelled: Alba, Waeles, Pictland, Gaelish lands, Strathclyde. The druidhe stratum levelled it further. For the denigration of women to possessions came only from the Roman church.

"Hold!" Her brother shouted, and automatically, Mercia's men stopped, too. The square was still as the stand-off held and all were waiting for Uhtred - not the lord Aethelred, and Osthryth watched as he took the lead and spoke to Siegfried and Eirik, trying not to look at the man beside him.

And then it was done, a negotiation for the release of a prisoner by trial of combat. The man declared himself to be a Briton, and Osthryth immediately paid more attention. He asked for a sword, and one of the Norse, who had been caressing a woman on one of the steps in the centre of the city stepped forward. But Father Pyrlig, for that was who he was, Osthryth found out later, knew exactly how to challenge that young, arrogant man, and within ten minutes had him on his knees, demanding his freedom, as agreed. When he got up, he strode across to stand beside the Wessex faction, and was greeted with a clap on the back by both Osthryth's brother and, more astonishingly, by Father Beocca.

Astonishing, because Osthryth thought that Beocca would have remained behind with his wife at the camp. And, how good were the men left behind? They were soon to find out, for a cry went up, for an alarm of banging metal, and a fire's smoke rose up. The camp had been raided, most of the guards had been slain. And the Lady Aethelflaed had been taken.

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"I understand," Aldhelm asked, when Merewalh brought Osthryth to see the commander of the army, "That you can speak Norse?"

The aftermath of the raid had seen the army secure the camp, bury the dead, and carry the corpses of the Danish and Northman raiders across to the neighbouring field and begin to light a big pyre. And, all the while, Lord Aethelred moped and griped about the loss of his wife.

"Indeed," Osthryth replied. Her first thought was one of doubt: surely no-one thought her capable of any conspiracy against the Wessexers and Mercians? Had she not sworn. But it was not that.

"And your sword skill is exemplary. I saw you better at least a dozen Norse and Danish raiders today." Osthryth said nothing, but nodded. She had. And so had many other men. Falkbald had ended the lives of at least twice that many and had secured the Thurgilson brothers' surrender of Lundene. Osthryth had planned to reward them with her own silver before the raid had soured their victory.

"Thank you." But Aldhelm looked severe. Severe, and serious. He was worried, and he had every right to, considering what was at stake.

"It was your duty to guard the Lad Aethelflaed," he reminded her, his long nose pointing down towards Osthryth.

"It was," she agreed, "And then you told me that the Lord Aethelred had commanded I bring my men - "

"Indeed," Aldhelm cut in. "And so you must now return to guarding the Lady," Aldhelm said, patiently. He pointed to a pile of clothing that had once belonged to the now ashed enemy who had been killed by some of the Mercian and Wessex guards at the camp, at least. Osthryth looked at the furs and leather, swords and axes. A good hoard.

"If you were to have to guard the Lady Aethelflaed, even now, how would you go about it?" Osthryth looked at the battle spoils again, and then knelt, to pick up something. It was a Thor's hammer.

"I would dress as a Dane; I would follow them, to wherever you would tell me they were going with her - "

" - Beamfleot - " Aldhelm supplied.

"And at Beamfleot, I would ensure her safety, with my life." It was the correct answer. Aldhelm was already nodding her head.

"Then our ideas are the same. I propose that you attend Lord Aethelred as one of his men at Beamfleot, for we have already secured a meeting with the Thurgilson brothers, and then remain behind when we leave." Osthryth thought about that, and then nodded.

"I agree," she said, a coldness steeling over her. She had no choice; Aethelflaed captured might mean she was in danger. Yet, she would be ransomed, and worth more, unspoiled.

"I - " she began, but Aldhelm held up a hand.

"Your warrior, Alfkin, is also missing. He was not with the women in the forest. We do not know if he is dead, but one of the wives did say that some of the younger men had been taken away by retreating pagans."

"As slaves, no doubt," Merewalh put in. Both men were looking at Osthryth, who was solent, her mind racing. All that they proposed should indeed work; when they left, she could disguise herself easily if she made sure she accessorised herself appropriately. Many of Eirik's men were as astute as Wessexers and Mercians; any tiny deviation, and she would be discovered. She could locate Aethelflaed, and keep her safe. Get her out, if she could. She could report, if he could, anything of value.

"If this is too big a challenge," Aldhem continued, mistaking her silent thoughts as doubts, "Then by all means, you must say." But Osthryth shook her head.

"My lord, I can do this, and I will do this. I will do my utmost to keep the Lady of the Mercians safe."

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And now, after an arduous march quickly east to the coastal fortification, Osthryth was standing in the hall, Mercians on one side; West Saxons on the other. Around an oblong table sat Uhtred - who else? - representing Wessex, with Father Beocca and Steapa beside him, and on the other, Aldhelm, for Mercia.

And where was her lord? He had been put quickly on his back by one of Eirik's men, having said a few brief words to Aethelflaed. It was the first time Osthryth had seen her since Aethelred had ordered her to take back command of her division, and she looked as ill as she had done when she had been under Osthryth's protection. But no more harmed. Indeed, there was a colour to her cheeks, and she had looked at her husband in the eye when he had spoken to her, rather than away.

So, Osthryth stood in the hall, clad in Norse leathers, a worn belt and short and long scabbards that were not hers; she had refused Aldhelm's advice that she should give up Taghd's seax and Buaidh, but these were not an issue: many warriors carried all manner of ironware, so these would not draw the attention of anyone, particularly.

Around her neck, but tucked close to her chest hung a Thor's hammer. When she had put it on, Osthryth thought, it wasn't that much different in shape to a Christian cross: the horizontal section being somewhat longer, and the top section a little shorter. Over these clothes, she pressed her own, and was still an Anglish warrior at the side of her Mercian lord, and now she was listening to the pissing contest that was the agreement of the wealth that would be traded in exchange for Aethelflaed's life. She looked across to her brother every so often: he was relishing the debate, Osthryth could tell, just to have the opportunity to speak, to brag, to show off.

It was when the negotiators made to leave that Osthryth made her move. Trying to ignire Finan as much as she could - which had been hard when she had been standing not far from the man, and heard him speak and listened to his dry sarcasm, she wondered about Aethelflaed.

Could she free her, Osthryth thought, as she slipped into the kitchens. Slaves prepared food for the Norse and Danes, and by the time she had got to the larders already her own clothing was off and hidden beneath boards which led to the cellars. She loosened her hair, so it flowed down her back as one long braid, making she fixed her pearl jewel into her hair at the top.

And then Osthryth discovered Aethelflaed's location. A maid was preparing food on a tray, and she heard her say to another that the Lady was to have more bread, more meat. The other maid, avoiding two Danish guards' advances, took the tray out with her. Osthryth followed her, and fell into step beside a second guard, who had clearly been ordered to accompany the maid. He nudged Osthryth as if he knew her, and kept pointing out the maid's arse and tits, the maid growing ever embarrassed at being stared at until she thrust the tray into Osthryth's arms and hurried back to the kitchens.

"This way," the second guard pointed, "Or have you forgotten the way?" He leaned conspiratorially towards Osthryth, and added, "I did myself outside this morning, thinking of her face."

"That is not all you were thinking of, I imagine," Osthryth attempted, and the words must have worked, for the guard nudged her arm, nearly causing her to spill the contents of the tray.

"Are you going to linger, when you take in the tray?" he added, as he nodded towards the gated room, which might once have been a stable but was now guarded by four of Eirik's men. Osthryth recognised them from her time with the Norse in Alba, but said nothing to them as the guard filled the void.

"Is the clothed then, the princess?" the guard, whose name turned out to be Rorik, asked the others.

"Unfortunately for us," nodded one, slapping down a playing tile onto a square board, and adding a copper coin to the top of it. Osthryth recognised it to be a gambling game; they had played something similar at Jul, the men betting ever more extravagant sums on the roll of a cube with runes upon it, which caused the pieces to move in certain directions around the board.

One of them scraped a chair back, and spat onto the earth. With a grunt, he reached for a ring of keys and found the one he needed, turning the key. Inside, Osthryth heard a sharp intake of breath as the metal lock clicked and she looked upon a face, alert and cautious, arms folded around herself.

Perhaps Aethelflaed was used to her meal at this time; perhaps she would have looked more frightened if her prison - for that was what this place, though well kept and furnished ostensibly was - had been opened at an unexpected time.

"Put it on the table," she ordered. Osthryth fixed her with a stare and, for a brief moment, their eyes met, before Osthryth strode to the small table beside the bed and placed it down.

"And take the other," Aethelflaed added, imperiously. For a prisoner, she was not acting like one. Behind her, the man who had opened the door was getting edgy. Osthryth could sense he wanted to rush in and claim her, and yet, he knew what wrath would be upon him from the brothers, if he did that. But he did not like her tone - the princess was a prisoner, the man knew, and should not be speaking like that.

Osthryth did what the lady had told her to, and removed herself from the room, making up the passage towards the kitchens with Rorik tagging along behind her.

"That bitch!" he exclaimed, spitting onto the ground. "She deserves a good humping, and you know," his voice dropped conspiratorially, "I do believe she is getting one!"

When Osthryth protested ignorance, which, in her case, was entirely true, Rorik confided that she had been seen in the company of Eirik Thurgilson on more than one occasion.

"You are not one of the brothers' men, are you?" he asked, when Osthryth had put the tray back onto one of the kitchen tables, and had been chastised by the cook - though a slave himself - for not putting it where one of the maids could wash it. She wasn't, Osthryth admitted, and had come down to the brothers on the word of one of her cousins, who had died.

"And from where do you come?" Rorik asked.

"Aalborg," Osthryth said, having absolutely no clue where the place was. She had heard it was a city in the northern part of Denmark, and agreed with Rorik when he asked her whether her family had been boatbuilders.

"It explains your accent," Rorik said, happily, and went back to guarding the kitchens, Osthryth with him, and owned the role, as if this was somethng she had been asked to do by either Siegfried or Eirik had commanded, on the day they had slaughtered King Aethelstan of East Anglia's men of Beamfleot.

So this guard, who had seen her randomly one day had taken up to chatting with her, assuming Osthryth was just another warrior, drawn to stronger leaders through want of food and wealth. And the Thurgilsons definitely promised wealth. Even now, Osthryth wondered whether the message had got to Alfred. The two kindoms could never pay the money the brothers asked, and they knew it.

A day turned into a week, which turned into three. Osthryth had spent nearly every minute on the mission to keep eyes on Aethelflaed and glean as much information as she could, though what exactly she would do with it, Osthryth could not tell, for there was no-one able to send word to anyone outside of Beamfleot. And, she discovered, a man whom she had met, who had borded and raided Gert and Ulf's fishing boat was also part of the brothers' band, and Rorik's chief. Had she met the young man before that day? Had be been there when Haesten had tried to make a bargain for her with Gert, before stealing the silver she had given to the Frisian man for her passage.

One thing was for sure, her position in Beamfleot was getting trickier.

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On the second day of the fourth week, as Osthryth took the tray away from a sleepy Aethelflaed, two things happened. The second was that she saw Eirik Thurgilson sneak the key and its ring back into the hand of the guard, who was now blotto, face down on the table. Clearly a wine adulterated with some sort of spirit or medicine had caused the men to sleep, and she watched, unseen by the woodpile as he woke the men up, pressing coins and gaming pieces into their hands.

That's when Osthryth knew the Norseman had been with Aethelflaed, and when Osthryth returned with the lady's food that evening, she really saw the woman, no longer a shy, subdued person, but full of life; full of hope. Which was strange, as word had not yet come to Beamfleot as to whether Alfred agreed to the ransom.

The second thing, to Osthryth's horror, was that, inching down her leg was, suddenly, her monthly blood.

Perhaps if she had ingratiated herself with Eirik, admitted she was his enemy but had asked him where he had got the medicine which had put them to sleep, Osthryth might not be in the situation. And it was Rorik who had expressed concen as drops of blood spilled onto the flagstone floor.

"I fell," Osthryth lied, "and cut my leg on s sharp rock. When Rorik offered to bandage her injury, Osthryth declined, politely, and when he was fast asleep that night she went to a place she knew was concealed - at the far end of the estuary where the Fleot river met the sea and strong current pushed the water out to sea. There, she stripped to her cloth bindings concealed between two boulders, relishing the cold water, which was refreshing on her skin after a sticky, humid day.

Could she free the lady? Osthryth washed between her legs before finding leaves with which to pack herself and curling them up to fit. It was a tricky thought, complicated still by the fact she had no ally - no ally on her side as representing Mercia with whom she could plan an escape for the princess. Besides, Aethelflaed looked so well - would she come willingly?

A grain of emotion - not anger, not jealousy, more outrage and bitterness - entered her chest as Osthryth thought of the likelihood that Aethelflaed had formed an attachment to Eirik: how dare she risk two kingdoms for her heart? There was Osthryth, who had resisted men, regardless of her feelings once she had come to Wessex, and then gone to Mercia, for her own sake, and the sake of entanglements and difficulties, and all the while the Lady Aethelflaed entertained possible ideas of an attachment to Eirik, and he her.

Though, she could be wrong, Osthryth told herself. But her first instinct seemed the most plausible, and that instinct had never seen her false.

Osthryth looked at the lapping of the water between the two high rocks, and thought instead about a thing that had brought her joy: tending to the horses, Osthryth had seen the figure of a young Saxon boy. She had found Aelfkin, who had seemed not displeased in his role, and did not seem to be harmed or underfed. Could she free him, too?

Osthryth made to comb through her hair with a bone comb which had been with the spoils from the Danish and Norse battle-dead, when hands suddenly gripped her, around her body, around her mouth, and she was dragged underwater. Osthryth fought with all her might, her naked body remembering the fear of the Foyle river where it met the sea, where she had nearly been murdered by the incoming tide. No, nearly murdered by the two Ulaid princes.

But, as suddenly as she it had happened, the hands let her go, and she splashed to the surface.

"I recognised my jewel, krieger-kvinde," said Eirik Thurgilson, amusement playing on his lips.

"Eirik!" No matter that he was not on her side in this war, nevertheless, Osthryth found that she was overjoyed to see him.

"You're wet," he complained, when Osthryth stepped back, and then a frown overcame him. "You should not have bathed here at night; you could have been followed."

"I was, wasn't I?"

"And your clothes may have been stolen." Osthryth quickly looked around. Nothing she had taken off was where she had left it, beside a rock which flattened out like a seat and fell away into the river.

"If you have my clothes, give them to me," Osthryth demanded. Amusement played at the corner of the Northman's mouth again, and he paused, as if giving her suggestion a great deal of serious thought. Then, he handed her a bundle, wrapped delicately with the cord of her cloak. Osthryth shook the clothes apart. But, still something was missing.

"You still put on your bindings?" It was not a question, and Eirik Thurgilson then handed Osthryth the linen strip she used to flatten her chest.

"As you showed me," Osthryth replied, now glancing out to the eastern sea for somewhere to look while she dressed, but when she turned to him, Eirik was staring at her naked body

"I do remember your body," he mused, "I tell you, you have a fine body, though your tits are much smaller than I remember." He was provoking her, Osthryth knew, and it occurred to her that, when he had known her in Alba she had been pregnant with Constantine's child.

"I do not care about my body," she added. "I wish that to you had not followed me."

"You are krieger-kvinde," Eirik replied, as if the term should mean to Osthryth more than it did. "It should matter not to you that I look, for you should know I would never do anything about it."

"It does not matter," Osthryth lied, and turned her back, trying to make a start on her bindings around her chest.

"Despite what has been done to it in the name of war," Eirik murmured, and shook his head, turning away. "Couldn't you have had a quiet life? As a lady?"

"Could you?" Osthryth shot back. Why did every man she know think marriage was the only thing that occupied the thoughts of women?

"As a lady? Eirik chuckled. "I do not think a shift would fit me."

And then it was Osthryth's turn to laugh and, now clad only in a partially-wrapped linen cloth, pulled her cloak around herself then threw her arms around him. It was good to see him, despite everything.

"This," Osthryth said, as she gestured back to Beamfleot fortress, "The hostage, the ransom...it's your doing, isnt't it?" Eirik nodded, unable to hide the pride that he felt. Osthryth stepped back, and began to pull on the rest of her looted clothes, and noticed the astonishment on Eirik's face that she slipped a Thor's hammer on a chain around her neck.

"You have ambition, very good, and Aethelflaed?"

"The princess is safe," Eirik assured her. But Osthryth found herself frowning.

"You have imprisoned her!" She accused. Eirik paused, and stopped himself saying something he was about to.

Then, he said, his voice softer, his tone regretful, "I would never treat her as you were treated." And Osthryth could tell then...something...that something she suspected from the dawn when he had left Aethelflaed, and she askd him, and she asked him.

"You followed me?" He asked, accusingly.

"Fair is fair," Osthryth replied. "You would like to be with the princess." It wasn't a question, and Eirik knew it.

"Would like?"

"Have. Have liked. Is she your first?" Osthryth couldn't resist the goad.

"I have lain beside many women," Eirik repllied, noncommittally, folding his arms.

"I lay beside you many times myself," she reminded him.

"But you are krieger-kvinde; besides, I needed you to show me your king's fortress. If you were not, I would have asked you if you wanted me, if that is your meaning." A little sparkle of emotion passed between them.

"And I would have been glad you asked," Osthryth replied, though knew it was a lie. Then, at that time, she had been ill-used by Griogair, and no matter how pleasurable Eirik might have been, Osthryth had not wanted him then, nor could ever entertain the idea in her mind. Then, though, Osthryth's mind had been filled with her realisation that she loved Taghd. She knew, also, the only reason she was talking like this to him now was because he feelings for Aethelflaed, and she disliked the woman, her arrogance, her self-entitlement.

"Except then; you needed a friend."

"I am glad you are my friend," Osthryth admitted. "I loved my husband, and now, you have lost your heart to the lady."

And the truth was bald on his face, and Osthryth was pleased, so pleased for him, despite he resentful feelings towards Aethelflaed for her stupidity. Just then, Eirik Thurgilson looked like Uhtred had looked on the day of Aethelflaed's wedding, standing with Gisela, his heart and hers, together.

"I will get you out of here," Eirik concluded, decisively, and offered a hand to Osthryth, to pull her up to higher ground. She took it, and climbed her feet up the rock and onto chalk grassland. "Do not let Siegfried see you, or he will kill you," he added.

"Not if I kill him first," Osthryth declared. But this time it was Eirik's turn to frown.

"You will not go?" Osthryth shook her head. "I have taken on something of honour, for the lord I swore to. Eirik nodded his head, understanding the gravity of what she was saying.

"Uhtred came to negotiate a price for Aethelflaed, and that turd, of Mercia," he continued.

"He is my lord," Osthryth replied, thinking of the stuck-up, feebly-intelligent Lord of the Mercians.

"Uhtred?"

"The turd,"Osthryth specified, as they walked slowly to the East Saxon fortress. "I was supposed to guard Aethelflaed."

"You did not do a good job."

"I was taken from that job to lead men against you at Lundene; you would not have her now if I had been her guard still."

"I have no doubt," Eirik replied, stepping over a low boundary wall that delineated two long-deserted farms. "But your lord? Is he not in Alba?" Osthryth stopped, sharply.

"It was like you said," Osthryth admitted, "He had betrayed me, he had arranged for that marriage in Caer Ligualid"

"Then you were right to leave. But why Aethelred?"

"I was in Wessex. It did not suit. They are rich and..." Osthryth did not know the words, "...arrogant from the riches. I did not fit there." There was more that her tone conveyed, and Eirik picked up on it.

"If the bastard who has upset you is here,I will kill him." Osthryth smiled, at his ready defense of her.

"He might be," she replied, non-committally.

"Is it Uhtred?" And Osthryth found herself agreeing. "You are in love with him? I have seen the way you have looked at him, when he was here, to negotiate the ransom."

And Osthryth had stared, it was true. But, if she had been staring at her brother, then it was because she was trying so hard not to stare at Finan.

"My heart is empty of that feeling," Osthryth replied,

"Ah your husband, to whom you promised, I remember..." Eirik's sentence trailed to nothing as he thought, then he began walking towards Beamfleot again. "Something to do with hands...hands..."

"He died, in the battle between my lord king and the Strathclyde Cymri."

"I am sorry."

"He burned to death trying to save the lives of innocents, set by Griogair - remember him?"

"I remember what he did to you," Eirik replied, gently, and he glanced at her body. "I saw his marks upon you still."

"He herded them in, like cattle, then ordered his men to set the fire. Taghd," Osthryth found herself whispering his name, "He handed me his seax." Isthryth put her hand to it. Then her voice took on a hard edge. "And Domhnall could not deny his treachery, in the end, and put him to the sword."

"Very good." But Osthryth was now saying nothing

"To love like that," Eirik mused, "I know it, thought...Uhtred..." He looked across to her, slyly.

And something in Osthryth's brain made her say the most impossible thing. "It turns out I do not Iove him as I expected to."

Eirik's shock was palpable and he stared at her face, waiting for Osthryth to tell him that she was joking.

"Uhtred? You expected to love Uhtred?" he asked, not expecting this from his gentle teasing." She drew to a stop, and reached for the Norseman's hands.

"Do you not love your brother?" And afterwards, Osthryth thought how good it had felt to tell him.

"Uhtred is your brother?" Eirik repeated. But Osthryth said nothing more, yet could not stop herself from nodding, before stepping away from him, her hand gripping Taghd's seax for security. She had opened up. Now it was time to close down.

"I am pleased the princess is well," Osthryth said, stiffly, and began to walk, in the direction of the Lundene road.

"You are going?" Eirik asked. But her feint did not fool the Northman in the slightest, and he followed this question with, "No, you have a plan, I can tell." And Osthryth turned back to him, Buaidh in her hand.

"I will fight you and I will win," she told him, defiantly. "I do not love Wessex but I am sworn to Mercia. Much as I respect you, Eirik Thurgilson, you cannot be allowed to ruin the kingdom."

But now, it was Eirik's turn to fall silent, and Osthryth watched a pensive, serious expression take hold of his features. Then, he gently placed a hand on Osthryth's back, as if guiding her in the direction of the Mercian and Wessex encampment.

"Go, leave, I will give you passage. Get back to your army and tell them the princess is well."

"But you are ransoming her enough to ruin both kingdoms!" Osthryth protested. For, while she had bathed, her mind had run through a dozen different plans, and had settled on two which could work. Both included Aelfkin's help, and she looked forward to finding him, and telling him. His help was crucial. But Eirik was not protesting, or trying to argue with her. Indeed, he looked worried.

"It will not come to that, she - " He broke off, and looked, almost pained, back to Beamfleot.

And then Osthryth knew. If she had known what a jigsaw puzzle was, she might have used that analogy in her head. All of the pieces had flown together and she could see the majority of the picture.

"He's helping her isn't he? Helping you both? My - "she found she could not say it. "Uhtred?"

"Aethelflaed said he would."

"Then he will," Osthryth assured him. "Where will you go?"

"Frankia. I have family there."

"Then God - gods - be with you," she said, with a finality. "It was good to see you again, Eirik Thurgilson."

"You too, Osthryth Lackland." He paused, then proposed, "Osthryth of...Bebbanburg?"

"No," she shot back, firmly. "Never. I am Osthryth the Gael, Osthryth the Warrior, Osthryth of Northumbria, as you had me to be." And then she noticed a strange light in his eyes.

"Kriegerkvinde. Join us."

And just for a moment, Osthryth considered it. She would be accepted; she could fight. They would no doubt allow her to be Christian - faith was a private matter, not one that bound you to regular attendance at a church, and a Thor's hammer would please outwardly. Osthryth took Eirik's hands in hers again, feeling them warm, where hers were cold.

"I am Osthryth the Mercian. Uhtred can have Bebbanburg; I never want to see that place again in my life. Tak," she added.

"For what?"

"For teaching me Norse - it got me in here, that is certain." Eirik grinned. "For being a thoroughly good warrior and, when I needed one, a fine friend. For believing that I am a good enough warrior to be Norse." Eirik stepped away first, and looked towards the fortress, before looking back to Osthryth.

"Osthryth the Mercian," he declared, "If I should face you on the battlefield, I will turn from you, and planted a kiss on her cheek. Osthryth threw her arms around him.

"And I from you, Eirik Thurgilson, and I from you."

88888888

Merewalh twitched as a rustle of vegetation caught his ear. Alert, he strode to Aelfgar, who woke Aelffrith, who was dozing by the camp fire. All guards were alert since the capture of Aethelflaed, over a month ago, and yes, there were feet, not approaching the camp honestly, but sneaking up on them.

A Dane, Merewalh presumed, a stinking spy, who -

A crack underfoot, in the opposite direction had the commander turning. Two of them? But it was Aldhelm, who had his sword aloft and who touched Merewalh on the arm. In the moonlight, he saw the king's right-hand man nod: he had heard the noise too, and presumed the same.

Aldhelm twitched his sword in the direction of the noise and trod carefully towards it. Aelfgar nodded to Aelffrith and then gestured in the direction of the men - Osthryth's men - although every day he was assuming her role.

A scream rang out and a commotion as Merewalh turned. Leaving Aelfgar to his men, Merewalh hurried to his lord. Aldhelm was holding his hand.

"He bit me, the bastard - " But he broke off when he saw Merewalh had put his arm around her shoulders.

"It's alright," Merewalh replied, pulling Osthryth to him.

"It's bloody not, the bastard, heathen D - "

"I'm sorry, Lord Aldhelm," Osthryth interjected. "I came, when I could."

"Osthryth." Aldhelm's voice was flat, for she had bitten him very hard.

Over a bowl of stew, Osthryth told her commanders that Aethelflaed was safe, or as sadfe as she could be under the circumstances. "They are treating her with respect," Osthryth clarified, through bites of bread.

"What can be done? In your opinion, Osthryth, what can be done?" Aldhelm, still touching his hand every so often, made his question plain. But he was looking at a face which was scanning the horizon, and he turned. Merewalh was, himself, rising to his feet. Osthryth had heard the noise, too. Perhaps she had. Perhaps it was her own heart beating.

"Could you go back?" Aldhelm asked, his voice quick and distracted.

"I could go back," Osthryth agreed. "I did not leave being pursued; I could go back." She got to her feet. Time to share her plans.

"I could get close to the lady; I could help her," she nodded. "Our army could get close enough, and then you could attack."

"If the lady Aethelflaed is in no immediate danger, get close to her," Aldhelm commanded. "If you can, if the Danes and Norse are in disarray, help her flee, somehow, get her away from Beamfleot. We have the army, plus we have the Wessex army."

And, as Osthryth was about to leave, she saw what Merewalh and Aldhelm were beginning to look at. And heard it herself. There was a rumble in the earth, getting louder, until an army rode straight into the Wessex encampment.

"Two Wessex armies, then," said Merewalh, and Osthryth followed them across to see the lord Odda dismount and stand before King Alfred. As she looked, Osthryth could see chests on a cart, guarded by West Saxons. He had brought the money then, she thought, grimly. The king of Wessex was about to forefeit the kingdom, and surrender every person living in it

"The king is here?" Osthyth asked, as Odda bowed to Alfred. She saw her former lord take in the view of the precious metal.

"He arrived a week ago, wanted to oversee the proceedings." As Osthryth looked, she saw men she knew, Odda's men. He had raised the Devonshire fyrd, for what he considered a last stand against the Danes to protect his homeland. Aelfgar had explained to her that without the express permission of the king, it was treachery.

But Osthryth could not blame her former lord. Indeed, she respected his decision. What was Alfred thinking, allowing it to get that far? Allowing men to feel so desperate that they would defy him to save their kingdom?

Yet, Aethelflaed was his favourite, and he was a father, even if he had tried to manage the situation, she was different - she was always different. Not even his son, Edward, would have provoked him to be standing within a mile of the fortress that might have held him. Alfred was in it until the end, whatever that end was.

Indistinct thoughts were clouding in the back of Osthryth's mind as she watched the king welcome his lord. Alfred was clever - ceannadh, as Domhnall might say: he used his head. There was intelligent cunning behind the man. Was it really gold and silver displayed so obviously in view to anyone who would care to look, or just boxes that contained nothing more valuable than air? And if it were gold and silver, did he have a back up plan.

"I will do what I can," Osthryth said, vaguely. And then, because if she hadn't asked, she would never have forgiven herself, "Do I get my men back?"

"Osthryth," Aldhelm said, peering down his nose at her, as was his habit to most people, being so tall, "If you could bring the lady Aethelflaed safely back to us, you can have your men back - heaven! You can have any men you like back. The whole army. Just bring her back."

And so Osthryth said nothing more, looked nothing further upon the reuniting of the king of Wessex and his dearest lord, who was now his greatest traitor. Instead, she strode towards Beamfleot, to liberate the king's daughter.

88888888

Osthryth heard the noise before she could see the gates of Beamfleot. The noise of merriment, raucousness, drunkenness in full swing. The gates were closed, but not guarded, so clearly the brothers had decided to allow their men to relax and celebrate the wealth that was soon to be theirs. The stables had been opened and there were men hanging out of the windows, laughing, vomiting, pissing in corners.

They were happy, and were celebrating, and games were being played, one which Osthryth remembered from the Thurgilsons' Yul celebrations: a tug of war. They were this side of drunk, with enough faculties to still be entertained by games.

How to blend in, Osthryth thought, and took up a tankard from a very soused Dane who was lying in a bundle of horse feed, snoring, and pretended to stagger around, looking pleased and happy. A voice came to her ear and a hand to her elbow, and Osthryth jumped, seeing Rorik, a look of concern on his face.

He had never seen her before she had arrived at Beamfleot disguised, but had accepted Osthryth to be Norse or Danish, in a very matter-of-fact way. That he had noticed her absence was both touching, but also concerning. She swung her wooden pot towards him and grinned what she hoped was the grin of the merry.

"Osthryth, where have you been?"

"Looking for the princess," she replied, swinging her tankard towards the place Aethelflaed was, or had been the last time she had seen her. But Rorik put his hand to her mouth.

"You've been looking for her all that time? Come," he ushered, and led her to the main hall. "The Lord Eirik put her aloft, so all can see who is to bring her treasure," Rorik explained, pointing upwards. In a cage level with a gantry used, from what Osthryth could see, as an access point to it, sat the daughter of Alfred. She was sitting, knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs and, as Osthryth looked, her face was red. It looked as if she had been crying. "It was no wonder you could not find her - did the food go to waste?"

"I took it back to the kitchens," Osthryth replied, thinking quickly. And by the look of the amount of maids usually working in the kitchens now keeping the tipsy Northmen company, added, "There wasn't anyone about; no-one told me." She looked in the direction of the kitchens again. "I wonder, should I go back and give it to her?" But Rorik shook his head.

"You are one of Eirik's men, are you not?" He asked, and Osthryth wondered whether she detected a touch of suspicion in his face. But it passed quickly when he added, "My lord Haesten said we need to be aware - there is trouble."

"She cannot starve," Osthryth said, hoping the concern was out of the ultimate idea of wealth and glory. "I wil get her her food, then." She thrust the drinking cup towards him.

"Right", said Rorik, brightly, and took it.

The kitchens were indeed deserted. Food which was destined for eating lay half prepared on plates. A roast pig on a spit had been only a little stripped of its flesh and bread was on the table along with apples and large flagons of ale were standing, as if waiting to be taken out to a table somewhere. Behind her, stumbled a Northman, who hailed her with a fist before stumbling off with a plate of bread and pork.

It was her chance, Osthryth thought. Already, it was assumed her job was to give Aethelflaed her food, so by climbing up to her to hand it over, Osthryth would be in a position to see how she could be get her down. So, she started to prepare a bowl of pork and bread, apples and a jug of ale, something which she had brought to Aethelflaed daily and would not look amiss.

It was when she was turning to go that she found him, her youngest warrior. She had seen Aelfkin before at the stables, and now, shrinking behind the thick, oak door as she watched the boy come to help himself to the good food before him. Osthryth was pleased to see he, as he fed himself, that Aelfkin was not thin and looked well treated. He jumped when Osthryth stepped towards him, however, a look of horror on his face. Clearly, Osthryth looked like a Dane to him and, as a slave, he should not be eating all that food.

"Aelfkin," she said gently, and watched the boy's expression change.

"Captain?" He asked, tentatively. Osthryth nodded. "I heard you were captured; I have come to bring you back. You, and the lady," she added, for a closer approximation of the truth. "Now, she is up there, the lady Aethelflaed?" Aelfkin nodded.

"So we are going to get her out, somehow. I have a plan." And Osthryth told him the plan. She told him that he was to pass out as much ale from the pots as possible, spend most of the night doing that, making the men more and more drunk.

"While you are doing that, I am going to get her down, and we are going to take the horses. They are free, are they not?"

"Unguarded," Aelfkin agreed, grinning.

"And, I have seen you tend them, so I know they are fit to ride out of the fortress, to the camp." Aelfkin grinned more, pleased at her praise of him.

"Do you have your sword?" Osthryth asked, and at once, his face fell. "It was taken from me when the Danes came," he said, sadly. So Osthryth felt herself reach to her hip, and she withdrew her own seax, once Taghd's. She held it out to him, and Aelfkin went to take it, but at the last moment, Osthryth drew it away from him. "I want it back, when you're done," she added, before taking off its belted scabbard. Aelfkin buckled it over his shoulder, so it hung cross-ways over his body, and thrust the seax inside it.

"I will make you proud, captain!" Aelfkin declared, "You'll see!"

And so Osthryth climbed the steps to the gantry that hung by Aethelflaed's cage, watching Aelfkin go about the plan. It was working stupendously and, as she watched, the drunken behaviour of the Norse and Danes grew steadily more stupid and dangerous. Only Haesten, who looked extremely unsettled, pacing around, unable to settle with his ale, was spoiling this unanimous intoxication.

And Eirik. For she noticed that whenever Aelfkin brought him ale, he took it, and then was pouring a good deal into his brother's pot, or away near the table, feigning merriment as he sat around the table. Not once, Osthryth noticed, did Eirik look up to Aethelflaed. Yet, there did not seem to be despair in her face, only tiredness and exhausion.

"My thanks," Aethelflaed said to Osthryth as she passed the food through to the lady, but she shook her hand when Aethelflaed tried to give her a silver piece.

"I have silver enough of my own," Osthryth rebuked, "And some would think I own more, and think me a thief."

That was enough to make her heart burst open with revenge-joy, to see the look on Aethelflaed's face as she realised who Osthryth was. The lady had the grace to look down for a moment, and then reach out to her hand.

"I followed you, to the Britons that night," Aethelflaed confessed. "I heard you telling Edward. And I told Aethelwold." Her cornflower blue eyes still seemed to sparkle in the darkness when she asked, "Do you hate me?" And Osthryth found herself shaking her head.

"I think you were cruel to your brother," Osthryth said, carefully. What she wanted to say she did not. What she wanted to say was she was sorry that Aethelflaed was born a princess not a prince, for that was what she truly wanted to be, and she had taken her envy and resentment out on Edward.

"You would understand if you had a brother," Aethelflaed whispered. "Do you have one?" Osthryth shook her head. She had two, of course. But with someone like Aethelflaed, even in a moment like this where confidences could be shared, she had learned that, once power had tilted back to her, the lady would have no compunction to not use that information to her advantage, or even to her amusement, as Aethelwold had.

"Eirik is going to free me," Aethelflaed said, and Osthryth knew then what was giving her hope. "We are fleeing, to make a new life."

Not if I can help it, you're not, Osthryth vowed to the lady, silently, and instead went to the business of unloading the food, and taking away an empty platter from a previous meal. Sensing that someone was watching her, Osthryth made haste, and withdrew. Aethelflaed flicked a small smile at her, as she turned.

And then things began to move fast, as Osthryth realised that she had been right: Alfred had indeed not allowed things to be left to chance, and the first inkling she got of this was when she saw, quite clearly, Sihtric Kjartansson standing by the door, in a pose that he must have thought was nonchalant, but Osthryth noticed was casually alert.

A fight was unfolding in the hall, between what looked like one of Haesten's men and one of Eirik's, and the men had cleared a space for this to happen. But the scrap had ended prematurely when a call of, "Fire!" rang out, and Osthryth could see flames licking the night sky, consuming, she gathered, from its direction, the whole of the northern rampart and the stables. Horses were galloping, terrified, all through the courtyard, as men too blotto to see and catch them, were upended and fell in the mud and the chaos.

Below her, as Osthryth scrambled down, she saw that her job has been thieved: Clapa, one of Uhtred's men, was attempting to hammer open the chain that fixed the rope to a pulley that was holding Aethelflaed's cage, and it was then she knew that it was her brother who had been Alfred's plan, and always had been, no matter what Eirik had told her.

Later, Osthryth would consider how proper her brother really was, despite his lifestyle: Uhtred wanted the prestige and order which came with Saxon hierarchy, and would chide and bully those who didn't follow his rules, and here he was ensuring the line of Alfred and the Kingdom of Wessex was not consumed by the Danes and Norse, no matter how kin he felt he was to them. So, all Osthryth needed to do was to allow Uhtred to succeed.

Osthryth ducked as a war axe narrowly missed her head for, incredibly, the two men who had been fighting over the woman were still fighting, despite the fact that the fortress was steadily, determinedly, being eaten up by the fire. As Aethelflaed was lowered, Osthryth hurried to the cage, picking up a dagger in the process from one very inebriated Dane and handing it to her through the bars.

"Do not forget to fight as I showed you," she hissed to Aethelflaed, before she was pulled out by Uhtred. Osthryth saw the look pass between the lady and her brother, before, unbelievably, he pushed Aethelflaed in the direction of her lover.

"Go! Now!" She heard him shout, above the noise of the chaos, and Osthryth felt her heart lose its heat. Had she misread the situation? He was letting Aethelflaed and Eirik flee!

Scrambling over the bodies of prone Danes and Norse. Those standing did not look very closely as looked like them, and was trying to douse the flames which had now taken hold of the hall. She crossed the straw-strewn hall and was in arm's reach of her brother when Sihtric landed a blow which would have struck between Osthryth's shoulder blades. In time, she ducked under his arm and aimed a foot at his stomach, which was enough to make him mis-step. Behind Sihtric, Finan caught her, holding her body as he drew Soul Stealer high. Giving Taghd's Seax to Aelfkin had been a big mistake; Osthryth could not get Buaidh out quickly enough.

Just as she expected a blade to the gut, she felt Finan stop, and let her go from his grasp. She followed his gaze. And saw. And heard. Heard words which, in her imperfect Norse sounded like "traitor" and "brother". Siegfried had run Eirik through.

"No!" Osthryth screamed, pushing Finan out of the way. She saw the tail-end of Aethelflaed, her dress streaming out of the hall's door as she was dragged along by Uhtred. Finan, of course, was soon in his wake, Siegfried Thurgilson on their tail, but not for long, for the fortress burned too fiercely. If they were going to recapture Aethelflaed, they would need to abandon Beamfleot fortress and clear as many men who were fit to go from it immediately.

Osthryth breathed, deeply, as the adrenaline made her heart beat faster, and she slipped to her knees beside her dying friend as fire crackled around them. Siegfried had, at least, ensured Eirik's hand was wrapped around his sword, so he would be guaranteed Valhalla. Tears sprang to her eyes, ones born of her bond with him, of kinship-in-arms, and she put a hand to his cheek.

"Osthryth...krieger-kvinde," he managed, blood choking in his throat. And then he was gone. Gone to Valhalla, she supposed.

The fire was getting more intense as Osthryth's hand dropped to his, which held his sword. What would he have done? Win and lose, and feel the same about both, because both are deceivers. There would be no benefit to dying in the fire herself. Eirik Thurgilson, a man she respected, had been killed by his brother for trying to cheat him, having fallen in love with Aethelflaed, and made plans to abduct her, for sliver of a chance of a life together.

Aelfkin, Osthryth's thoughts shouted, and she looked desperately around at the slim hope of finding him amongst the blazing wood. She needed to leave the fortress, but Osthryth knew that she could not do until she had done what she could to find him.

Heading towards the stables, Osthryth held up an arm to shielf her face from the flames. He had Taghd's seax, Osthryth thought. If Aelfkin was there, the weapon would be perishing with him. In her heart, she still clung to hope. He was a plucky, intelligent young boy who had sense. But she would not be leaving without him.

Osthryth turned and looked back to the hall. Eirik had his funeral pyre well enough, and she scanned the ramparts for any that may be intact, any that may hold her young soldier. A flicker of movement towards the south gate, and Osthryth ran to it, leaping more drunken Danes and Norse, whose indulgence in strong ale would, perhaps, anaesthesise the pain of burning to death. She looked up, but it could see no-one - the movement might well have come from the brothers' battle standard which fluttered, ragged, on a pole, most of it flame-food.

Damn-it! Where was he? Last time she had seen Aelfkin, he had been heading back to the kitchens, and so Osthryth's feet took her around the south-eastern edge of the palisade wall towards the eastern entrance of the kitchen. Perhaps he was inside? This was stone-floored and two walls were made of reclaimed rocks. If he had the sense Osthryth thought he had, Aelfkin might well be in there.

She charged inside, looking around. Beyond, the courtyard flames were beginning to climb higher and Danes and Norse were pulling one another, frantically trying to make their egress from the fortress.

No Aelfkin. He was not in the scullery or the food store, neither was he near the culvert, where the bourne which flowed, eventually, towards the sea was used to wash the excess of blood from animal carcasses.

Think! Think! Osthryth banged her head with her hand, as the growing realisation that she might have to abandon Beamfleot without him began to invade her mind.

Perhaps he had got out then, a conciliatory voice in her head told her. Aelfkin was as clever as she thought he was, and if he could, he would have fled, and tried to get back to his older brother. So she turned to hurry from the kitchens, to take one last look around, and stepped towards the door.

"I know you." A voice behind her stopped Osthryth in her tracks, and she looked over her shoulder. "Yes," Haesten the Dane continued, "I know you."

Osthryth ran, and began to tear off across the ground between the kitchen door and the east wall. "Oh no you don't!"

His bulk at odds with his speed, Haesten followed and caught up with Osthryth, holding her in a bear hug.

"Now, don't struggle, Wachilt," he scolded, as Osthryth tried to shake her body loose, and he felt about her chest for her breasts. "Pity," he added. "But I have you now, and I will - "

But, whatever Haesten was about to say was replaced by a howl of pain, and he let go of her, turning round and lashing out. But Aelfkin struck his foot again with Taghd's seax, as the Dane roared again.

"Come on!" urged Osthryth, as Aelfkin stood still, watching Haesten dance a dance of pain from his skewered feet. Her heart was beginning to beat faster as the uplifting feeling of finding him began to sink in. "Are there any horses?"

"Some," Aelfkin said, and they both got out of the eastern gate. Around them, Northmen were staggering, trying to get out of the way of the inflamed building, while some were trying to drag others. Many horses were free, and were fleeing the burning, but a couple were staggering around too, as if skittish, but waiting for their masters.

One close by seemed to be quite placid, a white mare which at once Aelfkin hurried to, the horse's demeanour softening as he placed his hand to her mouth. Clearly, the animal knew Aelfkin, who was allowing her to sniff his hand as he petted her.

Sleipnir. That was what Eirik had named the horse on which they had escaped Caer Ligualid. Oh, how was it he was dead? And, for the first time, as she helped Alfkin up in front of her, Osthryth knew that however bad she had felt, it would be nothing to how Aethelflaed would be feeling.

It felt much longer than it really had been until Osthryth rode back into the Mercians' camp. Two guards challenged Osthryth, who rode straight past their spear points. They chased her on foot, although Osthryth did not notice immediately take them in, such was her desperation to get back to Aldhelm. The two guards who, in the moonlight, Osthryth did not know, were now running to Merewalh's and Alfgar's tents, the latter appearing in his shirt, looking as if he did not expect to be disturbed.

"Osthryth!" He declared, as Aelfkin slipped from the saddle and, looking around as more men came to surround Sleipnir, helped her down too. "You look awful!"

"Your men!" Osthryrth declared, as Aldhelm paced next to her, listening, "Move them, they should stand with the Wessex army - there will be a - shield wall when - the Danes come!" Her words were ragged as she spoke to the Mercian general, and he paused, making sure she had a chance to say everything she wanted to him.

"We saw there was a fire," Aldhelm declared, after listened to the rest of her story. But, when she came to Aethelflaed, Aldhelm shook his head. "No, no," he disclaimed. "Neither the lady, nor the lord Uhtred have been here!" He looked around his commanders, who had joined the shouting that a raider was attacking. Each declared that they had not seen the lady, not the Lord Untred return to them.

Osthryth's heart which, until now, was buoyant with optimism started to chill. He had not brought Aethelflaed back? Or, he could be, now, allowing her to flee East Anglia, Britain, in any case.

"Assemble," Aldhelm ordered, when no other information was provided. He turned his head to the men, and looked for their captains. "Commanders, get your men. We assemble - !" But then he broke away. To the left of Aethelred, for whom Aldhelm spoke, stood the king of Wessex. Osthryth looked at his face, poker-straight, emotionless. Had he heard her say about Aethelflaed? If she had gone with Uhtred, did he wonder where she was? Or was Alfred the great king Osthryth suspected, and knew where his bonded man was.

And behind them, as a rhythmic thump of enemy boots could be heard, horses, and they all turned to see, sitting before Uhtred Daneslayer, the daughter of the king.

"Place a guard around my daughter!" Ordered Alfred, when she had slipped from the saddle.

"Father! I can fight!" she declared, but Alfred merely gave her a look, and said nothing to her, but urged the guards on, of which one was Alffrith. Osthryth felt dampness on her face and realised it had begun to rain and she, still clad as a Dane, moved to position in the shield wall that was assembling, kneeling in the second row at the most dangerous spot, the centre of the line.

At last, Osthryth would be in battle, and would have no chance to turn when men either side of her lost control of their bladders and their bowels, slipping on guts freed from stomachs by the Norsemen and Danes, in the honourable tradition of respect, from Eirik Thurgilson. Chancing a glance behind her, Osthryth saw that Aethelflaed, still surrounded by men, had something clutched in her hand. Was it the dagger Osthryth had given her? She really hoped so. Guards were as vulnerable as any other soldier when a battle began, more so if the guards were taken out. Could she have the presence of mind to use the weapon? Could she take a seax or sword and save her own life?

And it began. Osthryth crouched behind West Saxons who were inhabiting the front line, and she thought she recognised Odda's men, although the rain was getting more intense and was dripping into her eyes. As well as blood, mud would cause the lines to slip, and Osthryth ground her boots as far down into the ground as she could, to give herself as much grip as she could when the line was leaned on.

It didn't take long, and although they were fewer in number, and mostly inebriated, the Norse, led by Siegfried, and the Danes captained by Haesten, had broken down parts of the shield wall, trying to break the armies into discrete groups that would be easier to fight. They were far more ferocious, fighting for their lost honour promised by the Thurgilsons, of wealth and land, the gaining of which was now much further away from their grasp.

Osthryth's section had been driven back, and were fighting against a dozen men, Rorik one of them, she noticed, and realised that a lot of the men were youngsters, having used their agility and youthful energy to push them away. But they were unwise in tactics, so Osthryth called to the West Saxons and Mercians, who were holding their own, that they should form an arrow shape, a swineshead, with which to break them apart.

She placed herself next to Aelfgar, who clapped her on the shoulder and relayed this to the three men of her division who were with them and West Saxons she did not know: Falkberg instantly clicked into position near the front, undercutting the first two youngsters as Oshere took on two more with Aeglwulf. Aelfkin, she could not see, neither Leofstan.

Osthryth could see that Merewalh was fighting furiously on his own against two of Haesten's men, and she inched herself back towards Aethelflaed, who was holding the dagger in both hands, clutched to her chest. But it looked to Osthryth that she was unafraid of the battle, and was, instead, reading the land, reading the men, their positions, their actions.

Behind her, three more West Saxons slipped into the swineshead position, and the whole little company were doing their utmost to hammer the Danes and Norse away, those youths, though energetic, meeting their demise through strategy and tactics of the Saxons' positions.

And then she saw Merewalh stumble. Two Danes were upon him as he slipped in the mud, but Osthryth had seen and had come in next to them, hammering one in the neck with her seax, before turning on the other. It was Haesten. He paused in his fighing, however, to turn to Merewalh, who was now, back in the mud, struggling backwards, to try to get an advantage. Why wasn't he attacking her, Osthryth thought, as Haesten raised his axe to Merewalh. Then, the moonlight glinted off her Thor's hammer: he hadn't recognised her!

This was an advantage, and it sunk into her mind as she threw herself at Haesten, just as the blow was about to land on her commander, knocking the Dane into the mud. Around them, other Danes assumed Osthryth was on her side, one even helped her up, as she thrust down Taghd's seax into his calf. He screamed, and rolled in the mud, but the Dane who had helped her up was now sword-to-sword with a pair of West Saxons.

Merewalh had his feet now, and had now engaged with two Norse. Osthryth looked to the swineshead - it was holding against more Danes. She made to go to join them, to fill in a gap on the left flank.

Behind Merewalh, Aethelflaed had found herself a sword, and was fighting alongside Uhtred, who was parrying Dane and Norse with Aethelflaed by his side. And then she struck. Siegfried, who was coming towards them, his daggered hand towards Aethelflaed suddenly stopped. The Lady of the Mercians had driven Uhtred's sword through his chest.

Osthryth turned. And it was Taghd, running towards the Norse, holding his sword aloft. He would need his seax, Osthryth thought, wondering vaguely where Aelfkin was, that she could get it back for him as she became there, by his side, as one of Siegfried's men was about deliver a fatal strike. He staggered backwards, but not from injury. Instead, Finan - not Taghd circled his sword around in a wide arc and pushed the metal blade through the back of another Norse warrior who was coming in to his left, before turning to Osthryth.

Or, where Osthryth had been. She was now at the back the disintegrated shield wall, holdng together a thin like with Aelffrith and two other warriors. Aldhelm was at his side as the Wessexmen that Odda had raised, from his lands in Devonshire, fought with more ferocity and skill than ever could be attributed to ceorls, men who she had passed, no doubt, all of those months ago, when she had rode with Odda's guard through the very west of West Saxon territory.

A terrible roar of men meeting men arose to their left, but Osthryth was unperturbed, and continued to meet Siegfried's men, shouting at them in Norse that their gods were a fallacy and that Odin had damned them.

And sometime later a shout went up, which was someone for the West Saxons calling a retreat. Another called the Mercians. Osthryth turned to go. And then turned to meet a blade. It was Finan. He saw her Thor's hammer, and what had saved her when she had gone to help Merewalh was now her disadvantage. She swung, trying to dislodge Soul Stealer from its position, but Finan bore down on her, grinning madly. She was a Dane to him, Osthryth knew, and she held onto Buaidh with all her might, pushing him back with her left hand against his shoulder, the wailing, keening yell curdling in her throat.

Then drew Buaidh away. Finan stumbled forward, keeping his feet, and Osthryth swung in a different direction. For he had not seen Haesten the Dane, who had managed to stagger upright, thrust towards Finan, and she twisted, unbalancing him, and stepped over the man, running towards the Mercians.

It took some time for the battle sounds to ebb away, for the Northmen to be called away by Haesten, who had now inherited a good deal of wealth from the dead Thurgilson brothers. Wessex and Mercian men began to gather the dead, gather weapons and anything salvageable, which would please both Steapa and Merewalh, who would reuse, and get reforged, anything they could.

Osthryth made her way, injured, but alive, in the direction of the majority of the Mercians, vowing to help when she had gathered her breath. She surveyed the battlefield. Morning was on its way, and with it, the springtime sun would sneakliy expose the killing of the night, like a child telling tales to a parent.

In the end, there had not been enough Danes to match the Mercians and West Saxons, and the victory was settled. When Osthryth found her men, she was deeply happy to account for all five of them, but Aelffrith, Aelfgar's stand-in as he replaced Osthryth, who had a slice from a sharp sword down his body. Leofstan had lost a lot of blood, but was still able to limp off the field with her division.

Aelfgar was dead. She found Aelffrith pulling his friend's cloak around his shoulders, and Osthryth got to her feet and stepped towards her comrade to help him. A man blocked the sunlight, casting a shadow over her.

"An taing ann agam," Finan said to her, his face covered in blood. His eyes were earnestly searching her own face, and Osthryth put her hand to her cheek.

"Don't tell me, I got a bit of blood on me?"

"Nothing that the Thames over there won't get off," he replied. She made to step past him, but Finan stood in her way. Osthryth met the Irishman's eyes made to turn, but she found a hand closed around her left wrist.

"You turned from me, in the hall!" she accused, trying to get free. But Finan had her fast. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Aelffrith stiffen as he watched them.

"I heard you shout teine; and I saw your palm." As a dying Dane let out a death groan, Osthryth unfolded her left hand and looked at it. The scar? Is that what he meant? She had never exchanged more than a score of words with the man, not been in his company more than half a dozen times, yet he had noticed her hand? What else had he noticed? Breathing deeply, she shook her hand from him again, and he ley go. Osthryth loosed Buaidh's hilt and looked up to him.

"You saved my life in the river, Finan n'an Ulaid. Moran taing."

"Moran taing, Osthryth n'an Mercia," Finan replied, nodding towards Haesten, who was stumbling towards fleeing Northmen. It was good to see his astonishment when she replied, "'S e Ur beatha."

"My thanks, " he repeated, in English. Then, turning a little, his eye searching for Uhtred, added, "Toilichte eolas a chur ort."

"And you, Finan Mor," she replied, then, turned herself and strode over to where Aelffrith was beginning to bind the wrapped body of Aelfgar.

Finan Mor. Finan the Mighty. Mighty in strength; mighty hearted, like all the Irishmen she had known. Yet, with a cleft of sadness running through him which only service to her brother would mend, it would seem. She helped Aelffrith lift Aelfgar onto one of the wooden carts painted in green and gold, the colours of Mercia, where it would make its way back to Aylesbury for burial.

He had done his duty; Osthryth had done hers, as had Aelffrith and Merewalh and Aethelred, who was still staring at the blood-soaked figure of his wife, who had was now being shrouded with a blanket and escorted from the field. Aethelred knew the measure of her now - she was Alfred's daughter and, if he had ever thought that the equilibrium of power between Wessex and Mercia was shifting in Mercia's favour after his wedding, it was baldly clear that it was not. He would have to carry out expansionism of his own, to at least show Alfred he had not capitulated.

For, capitulation would show some in Mercia he was not fit to rule the kingdom, and the result would be weakness, as a civil war ensued. Far better to unite Mercia in something which went to the heart of all Mercians - and excluded the West Saxons. Osthryth suspected she knew exactly what he could do. And to whose mind she could plant the suggestion.

As the Mercian army crossed the Thames into East Anglia, and the Fleet River, into their own kingdom, Osthryth watched, sadly, as the army of Wessex trailed south west. Odda, her former lord, was with them. She knew that he would be tried for treason, even if his foresight and action had saved the kingdom. Alfred could not overlook it. It would surely pain him to execute his friend. A weight, like a cold block of ice, formed in her stomach, and Osthryth blinked her eyes to arrest the tears.

"Merewalh says Aldhelm wishes to speak to you."

Good, thought Osthryth. She wished to speak to him, too. But it was Aethelred who had summoned her and, at their camp that night, she stood before the Lord of Mercia. But it was the Lady of the Mercians who called Osthryth to them. Battle-injured, Osthryth noiced Aethelflaed had a look about her, as if an internal calm had steadied her. Build on the rock, Saint Peter had said, a firm foundation. And by the look of Aethelflaed, her bedrock was granite.

"I will be returning to Aylesbury; my wife," Aethelred continued, casting a strange look to Aethelflaed, one of concern - no; one of uncertainty, "I have granted her, for her bravery, further estates to add to those gifted when we were married. So, in Saltwic, she will need no more guard." There was a pause. She was surely not going to be dismissed, having fought so well? Osthryth felt the weight of eyes upon her, her own men, Merewalh, who was supporting himself with a stick. Aldhelm was beside Aethelred, and was giving Osthryth his usual peering frown.

"You went, of your own accord to the aid of my wife," Aethelred said. "You have fought, spilled blood, put yourself in danger for her, for us." Aethelred rose to his feet. "Osthryth Lackland, you have honoured the kingdom of Mercia. And so, in recognition for your bravery and courage, I would have you and your men transferred to Wessex - "

No! Not there Osthryth thought, desperately. If I fought so well for you, can I not return to Aylesbury.

"I am keeping guard for my own protection, at Winchester, and I want the best, your men, Lord Aelfgar's men - "Osthryth smiled, her friend had got back his title and presumably his lands, if posthumously, " - to remain in King Alfred's realm to protect my interests. I am sending you Aldhelm," he added, gesturing to his councillor, "Who is most in debt to you, for you saved his life." A cheer arose, as Osthryth's mind turned to Aldhelm. She did not remember saving his life. But, now, Wessex? Again?

"I will murder Aethelwold for you," Aelffrith hissed, as Aethelred dismissed her, and waved forward Merewalh. "But keep your temper, for heavens' sake!" Osthryth smiled at him, as she thought of Aelfgar. His death left a big hole in her army; Osthryth had come to rely on his advice and they worked well to execute strategy with the men.

So, Wessex it was going to be. Osthryth had not been able to retrieve her silver in the stables, and she wondered if it was still there.

"Is there a restriction on where I stay?" Osthryth asked Aldhelm, later, as he briefed her on her duties.

"Your men must stay at the palace. If you feel it more suitable for you yourself to live outside the palace, and you relinquish your duties suitably, then this will be acceptable." Aldhelm put a hand on her back. "Look, it won't be half so dangerous as on a battlefield; the lord Aethelred is paying you a great honour."

But Osthryth's ill-ease was not to do with herself, or rather, not altogether. At least she didn't have to live at the palace. Instead, it was for Aethelred. He looked pale, distracted, a Lord - King in a but name - haunted by the very offensive he wished to pull off himself that was being pulled off by the shreewd, cunning,intelligent king of Wessex.

But there would be advantages. She would be able to see if her brother had more silver for her to steal, for one, and she now had captaincy - and battle experience. Aethelred was in her debt for saving the honour of Mercia, or at least contributing to it. Best of all, King Alfred could not remove her from her position, for she was there under Aethelred's direction.

"Are you pleased to be going south?" Aelffrith asked, as the men prepared to leave. They were pleased to be honoured by Lord Aethelred, too, and knew Winchester to be a rich, easy land. It was now it was saved, Osthryth thought.

"I'm pleased; I am a captain and command men. I am representing the lord of Mercia." And, I have unfinished business, she added, silently. Aelffrith left soon after. He would be joining them when he had collected his wife from Aylesbury, and was marching with the Mercians back there for this task. Aethal was going to be pleased, he told Osthryth, for she had left behind many friends there.

But, she was surprised when, as her men were about to leave to catch up with the West Saxon army, when she was approached by a priest. Beocca had touched her arm and surprised her, but she had smiled when she saw him - and Thyra, who spoke to her.

"You are to be in Wessex again," said the Danish woman. "Visit us, please Aedre." And Osthryth found herself nodding, as she extracted a seax dear to her from the hands of her youngest soldier (Aelfkin relinquished it without question, for Osthryth had already rewarded him one better than he had had before."

"I agree," Osthryth nodded, answering in Danish, and she saw Beocca look over to his wife for confirmation, a slight look at surprise in his eye as they left.

Be surprised, Osthryth thought, as he helped his wife onto his sable horse, heading towards the river. And, as they began to march themselves, Osthryth thought that she knew the best thing about not being in Mercia: she would not have to see the Lady Aethelflaed ever again.

Autumn, 909

The path from Northumbria was leading to a crossroads. At Geafring, Osthryth came to the same choice she had had before she had taken the path to Bebbanburg, one which had nearly had her head north, and back to Dunnottar.

And that was where she wanted to go, so see young Aedre, and Constantine. But, news had come to her, from a messenger that had crossed her path when she had come out from a cave in the vicinity of the ancient hillfort that Norse were heading into Mercia.

"Not a few, lady," Offa, one of King Alfred's spies had told her. At least he was bribable, and Osthryth's silver brought her a good rate of exchange. They were flooding in from Eireann, so he had said, refugees fleeing the oppressive regime of Flann Sinna, under the policy of starvation and hit-and-run warfare.

Northumbria was kin to Eireann, this she knew, now. Even though Aethelfrith defeated Aedan of Dalriata at Degsastan, Eochaid mac Aedan accepted his children - King Oswald amongst them - at Iona, as a refuge from Edwin. Like Osthryth, Oswald and his younger brother Oswy, had travelled to Ireland where Dal Riata had colluded with the Ui Neill, Cenel Conaill, and Cenel n'Eógain kin of ColmCille and were safe from Edwin's power.

Domnall Brecc, the future king of Strathclyde had led his father's forces to support the Southern Conall Ui Neill. Beside them, fought Oswald and Oswy.

And Aed had done that, Constantines's father, whether he had known it or not; Domhnall had too. They had given Osthryth the opportunity to fight as her ancestors had fought.

"Do you have information about the Ui Neills?" Osthryth had pressed the information-merchant Offa, and he had relieved her of a good deal of silver for her to learn that Gormlaith had divorced the Conaill prince who had beaten her - Ninefingers: it could only have been him, had remarried king of Connaught.

"But then," Offa continued, hissing at Osthryth, despite there being no other person in at least a league from where they were standing, "He threw her out as barren. So, she returned to Doire." Offa pointed in the vague direction of the west, as if he were directing a play. "Flann would not take her back."

Poor Gormlaith, Osthryth thought. The statuesque young woman, well-mannered, reserved, so good, so stately, had been used so ill? And her father had not accepted her, in the end?"

"But, all is not lost for the princess," Offa concluded. "For the Ui Neill prince took pity on her."

"Niall?" Osthryth gasped, thinking of the kindly grubbyknees, who was at his mother's despair when he came back filthy from saving creatures and trying to stop other boys from robbing nests and kicking animals.

"Yes," Offa concluded, "Niall Glundubh married, her. But it means..."

It meant that, if she were barren, Niall would have a line to inherit the throne, even if he did become king. But, even that was not certain, for Donnchada Donn, Flann Sinna's eldest son, had been challenging his father all those years ago. Even Domnall might not make it as king of the Ui Neill. Osthryth looked back in the direction of Bebbanburg. He had been fighting there, for Constantine. Whether he knew or not, Domnall mac Aed of the Ailech had not returned to Eireann to claim it.

And, when he returned, Oswald took the route she had done, with Taghd and Feargus and Griogair, to Caer Ligualid, where Oswy united Cumbraland with Bernicia by marrying Reienmelth, a princess of the line of Urien. As Osthryth's own mother had been.

Such events were heavy on Osthryth's mind, then, when she got to the crossroads. And the direction she went she had not intended. In fact, all Osthryth had thought of when she had left Bebbanburg was travelling north, through the woods, through the ancient lands of the Picts, crossing the Tuide river near Berric, to where Eirik Thurgilson had said he had found his jewel.

The land of her birth, the land of her mother and her father had more in common with Alba than it had with the southern kingdoms.

But instead of North, Osthryth had doubled back, headed south Mercia needed her. She had sworn to Aethelred. It was not for the first time that she had left Northumbria and returned.

So, Osthryth was heading south. She intended to return to the Mercian army now, and Aethelred, to fight now the Norse of Eireann, who threatened mass invasion, coming, as they had been, down the Maerse and up the Saeferne. Mercia was under attack, and that was where Osthryth was going.

88888888

On the clifftop overlooking Bebbanburg, Sihtric looked down at the beach. The victory had been decisive, and it had come down to divided forces. He was happy to look down there, and consider the success that his lord had come by. Because the alternative, as Osfrith had chosen, was to watch as Uhtred pointed a sword at Finan's throat.

Thankfully, their conversation was far enough away not to hear; Sihtric did not want to hear. Instead, he wished they were returning to the camp and bringing the rest of Uhtred's household, or returning to Eoferwic to bring the women.

In the end, Osfrith nudged Sihtric, and he drew his eyes from the beach, and the incoming tide as it washed around the warriors of Alba, and pointed to Uhtred, who had helped Finan back his feet.

"She has been your shadow all these years and you didn't know it." Finan looked, unmoved, to his friend. "You are rightL she does have the ear of Constantine and..." But Uhtred was shaking his head.

"My sister?" Finan smiled

"Oh, yes, indeed, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"Aedre." Aedre. The name filtered through his brain like water through rock, an old memory, an ancient memory. "Beocca told me," he added.

"Ever since she here, she had called herself Osthryth." It would all be all right now, Finan thought, and put his hand to his hip.

"Queen of the Idings," murmured Uhtred.

"What?" Finan looked blank.

"Osthryth was queen of the Iddings, and she married Aethelred of Mercia," Uhtred said, as if reciting a memory from long ago. "She interred her uncle, Saint Oswald's body in Bardney, and when Oswy waged war at the Trent, she was murdered." Uhtred looked back to Finan

"Isn't that what you nearly did to her?" Uhtred put his hands to his hips, but said nothing. "Your uncle tried to trade her to Kjartan," Finan added, his temper, once hot, was cooling, "and took Thyra's and Beocca's daughter to safety to Alba, where she was cared for. Uhtred," Finan told his friend, "Thyra did not burn in a fire, you know? At the time we were racing from Alfred's funeral, Osthryth had already pulled her out of that burning building.

But Uhtred was saying nothing. Instead, he was looking over the moorland, at the top part of Bebbanburg, now his. Down at the beach. He was breathing heavily.

They had never fought before, not even over Mus, over nothing. Both men looked at one another for a split second then Uhtred, threw himself at Finan, wrestling him to the ground.

"I hate her," Uhtred growled.

"And I love her."

Then Uhtred, who was underneath Finan, threw him off and staggered to his feet. He stood over Finan, who was also getting up, and Uhtred, after a moment where, Sihtric thought, it might have gone either way, held out his hand. His second-in-command took it, and they were soon standing together.

"Uhtred, you have your land, your fortress. You should be happy."

"I will be," Uhtred replied, as he peered over the beach at Bebbanburg, then pointed out his cousin, who had not fled, and who had allowed Uhtred's men to do what Uhtred had thought his cousin had done: clear the army of Alba and weaken in the process.

"Not yet, it's not. It's not over."

88888888

It took Osthryth a week to get to the border of Mercia, into the heart of Aethelred's kingdom. But it was not to Aylesbury she was heading, or else she would have risked the main roads. Instead, she took the mainly eastern road, past Dunholm and Eoferwic, until she reached the Humber, and found the Trent. And caught a ferry that took her deep into Aethelred's lands, as the Danes had done a hundred years before.

And then to Watling Street, the dividing line of the Saxons and the Danes, one which seemed to be moving ever northward as Aethelred to the west and central, and Edward to the east, was moving the boundary, pressing the Danes north. And it had been working, except for the influx from Eireann.

Osthryth knew of a hoard of treasure buried on the Waetling Street section just south of Liccefeld. She was owed something, and, once he had found what was once church treasures of crosses and bible ornamentation, reburied it, in the hope that the owner - her brother - would no longer be able to locate it.

It was Northumbrian, in any case. Eanfrith had lost the treasure when he fought Aethelred - the husband of Osthryth who had buried Saint Oswald. It had come from Lindisfarne. It had been spoiled by Danes on the first incursion to Northumbria in 793. Osthryth would locate it again, when she could, and return it to the monastery.

What Osthryth did not expect, as she travelled west, past Pencrec and south, to Wodensfield, was to meet the Lady of the Mercians on the road. A young boy was with her, black haired, about ten years old, and a girl a little older, bright, fair hair down her back to her waist.

But the children who caused Osthryth's heart to stop when she looked into their faces were the image of their parents: the girl, long-faced, clear, bright eyes, was examining Osthryth as much as she was examining her. The boy, younger, was the image of his father. A stab of pain across her heart made Osthryth grip the reins of the horse she had bought at Weeford, and it was all she could do to stop herself from grasping at her chest.

Aethelflaed had the sense to wait until the children were settled with her servants before she strode the land, which would, one day, become an industrial powerhouse and six lane motorway. The green fields belied the battle that was to come.

"You are Uhtred's sister, you, who loves to fight," a haughty Aethelflaed began, not the most welcoming of beginnings. She had been looking at Osthryth as if her change of name was a grevious insult to her, personally.

"I have the skill to fight," Osthryth eyed her. Beyond, the hills of Waeles seemed to huddle together under a dark cloud which stretched from their rounded peaks to that of the Wrekin. "I gather you and Uhtred are lovers." Offa again. He was worth the price of the information.

"As are you and Edward." Aethelflaed's face was fixed, which gave Osthryth a feeling of pleasure at her discomfort.

"That is fair," Osthryth agreed. Was it about to rain? Yet, a southerly wind was bringing warmth on the air; this would surely dissipate the rainclouds.

"Then he must fight with me, to rid us of the scourge of Danelaw! Push them out, and back to Eireann!" When Osthryth said nothing, Aethelflaed added, with a glance at Osthryth's Thor's hammer, which she had never removed since her battle at Beamfleot, "Unless, you are not a Christian?"

"Do you believe people of Alba are not Christian?" Osthryth asked back, more sharply than she intended. "The Romans sent Saint John's gospel to the islands of Britain before even the Saxons and Angles came to these shores." Midsummer sunlight was beginning to push through brackish clouds. It was going to be a fine day.

"You are Pictish!" scoffed Aethelflaed, "Or so you would have us believe. Or Gaelish? Yet, you are Saxon."

"As Christian as a purity rite from your husband. And you both claim you are Christians. This is a pagan practise - British-pagan." Though, if Aethelflaed was surprised, she did not show it. "As Christian as Aelfwyn, though is she not Eiriksdottir?" This hit home, and Aethelflaed took a step towards Osthryth, who narrowed her eyes and reached instinctively for Buaidh. From the camp, guards began to hurry towards the women, as bright sunbeams illuminated where, within a month, the dead of thousands would be rotting.

"And yet you fornicate with the King of the Picts," she bit back.

"I am not married," Osthryth lied. She was, technically. "And we will never know whether you fornicated, Aethelflaed. Dear Beocca refused to finish the rite of bitter waters...oh, I was there," Osthrth assured her, as the lady's face clouded like the skies of the Cymric. "Your terror was genuine."

"Yet you fornicate wth my brother." Osthryth said nothing. She had done, it was true. But the truth did not hurt her, nor damage any reputation. She was no longer a captain, needing to be a model of a soldier for them to follow. She was Lackland once more, a mercenary, free.

"Did you ever wonder how you got out of Beamfleot? No need to thank me," Osthryth lied. And had won the gamble. She believed Uhtred must have been sent by her father, but Osthryth's feint now had her believe she had set it all up. How she hated the Lady of the Mercians. There had been a time when Osthryth believed that she could have been allies, when she had just left for Saltwic, and Osthryth had returned to Wessex.

But Aethelred, she had become too close, too much in his confidence, and he had grown to hate his wife - with good reason. No matter what either of them said, there was no proof that they began their affair after Gisela had...died...

Aethelflaed was still showing her outrage, and she was bearing down on Osthryth again, who was busily holding her ground. Aethelflaed was no match for her, and both of them knew it.

"Eirik would never - " She broke off, as her guards drew nearer. And, you don't entirely trust them, do you, Osthryth thought. They guard Aethelstan, as well as you, but all in your mind, your treachery to your husband means you can never entirely trust any Mercian guard.

"I knew him," Osthryth continued, turning the knife. "I knew him before he knew you. My lady," she scorned, as Oshere, her once soldier, gave her a look which asked Osthryth not to make life difficult for him and Aelfkin, who was standing beside him, wide eyed at his former captain.

"Why you - !" Began Aethelflaed, as the confrontation was beginning to draw others.

"Let us just leave it there," Osthryth continued, and made to turn away. But Aethelflaed put a hand hard on her shoulder. Osthryth whirled around, and it took all her willpower not to draw Buaidh.

"Led them to defeat, if you must know, though it was victory in Alba. It won Domhnall mac Caustin his throne." Osthryth lowered her head, and added in a hissed voice, "He was always going to yield to his brother."

"Who?" Aethelflaed was feigning ignorance now.

"You know who." But the lady of the Mercians shook away Oshere as he stepped between her and Osthryth and instead, Aethelflaed looked gravely at Osthryth. She recognised the look. It was the same one Aethelflaed had used when she was asking for her help against Aethelred.

"I need to know, will you go?"

And Osthryth knew where. To Wessex. To Edward. To ask the king of the West Saxons for aid in Mercia. It would mean, if victory was at hand, a huge swathe of Norse and Danes not vying for position in the east, and Alfred's dream of a united Englaland. And Aethelflaed knew Osthryth could do it.

Beside Aethelflaed, Uhtred and Gisela's daughter stared at Osthryth.

"Will you do as she asks?" Stiorra. How like her mother she was Osthryth considered

"You are much like Gisela," Osthryth echoed her thoughts. Aethelflaed jumped, as if she had been kicked, as Stiorra nodded.

"Many people have said so." Then a thought occurred: she was her aunt. Of course, she had seen her as a child and her brother, Uhtred, too, who she had helped into the world, as their mother lay dying, and the thought must gave occurred to Aethelflaed, too, for she was staring, interestedly, at Osthryth, as the sunlight shone on her kin.

It had been her who had brought Ula to Gisela, to save both son and mother. Stiorra seemed to know this, and she curtseyed. "You are our aunt," she added, to make sure it was clear everyone knew that.

"And you care for them, Aethelflaed?" asked Osthryth.

"Well, you very well cannot."

"Not when their existence in your company as only known to me five minutes ago, no," Osthryth agreed. Then she trod towards the lady, shaking her head just a little at her former men. She saw Oshere relax, and place a hand on Aelfkin's shoulder.

"I will go to your brother, Aethelflaed," Osthryth agreed.

"And ask him for his armies?"

"What else?" Aethelflaed was staring at her, unblinking. Osthryth stared back. Maybe this would have lasted forever; Stiorra began to speak to Aethelflaed about the food at the camp, however, and Aethelflaed could not go on ignoring her. But she still looked back to Osthryth.

"You'll go to Edward tomorrow?"

"Tonight." The horse was fed and she may have to detour into Devonshire, just to steady her nerves, and remember who she was. Follow the Saeferne south, cross the Avon, and to the little Kennet, before the wide, rich, lush lands that were once Odda's.

"Just who do you fight for?" Aethelflaed demanded, suddenly. "Wessex? Mercia? Uhtred?"

"Alba," said Osthryth, calmly. "For it had first call on my oath." And, because Aedre was there, and so was Constantine. "But since Alba is not fighting, then Mercia."

"You will speak to the lady with respect!" A third guard demanded. "Her father was the Great King, Alfred!"

"And if you remember, I told you through whose line I descend." There was no stopping Osthryth now. She took out Buaidh and thrust it between her and Aethelflaed. Go on, she goaded, in her mind. Strike me. And if I end up like my ancestor, in pieces at the hands of Mercians, so be it.

"Our father's line is from Oswald, lady." It was Stiorra who filled in the narrative. "I remember him telling us." For once, Stiorra sided with her aunt, "And I think Saint Oswald deserves the epithet "Great", as well!" And Osthryth saw him take her little brother's hand, and squeeze it.

"Then you are the right warrior to place at the head of a stealth squad to retrieve him," Aethelflaed declared, much to the surprise of Osthryth. "An Osthryth placed him in Bardney and an Osthryth will retrieve him."

"An arm, and his heart are at Bebbanburg," Osthryth confided. "Penda, king of the Mercians, did a fine job at dismembering him. Where will he be interred?"

"Mercia, Glaswestre."

He should be back in Northumbria, Osthryth thought, grimly. And maybe, when the children of Alfred turn Englaland into a reality, I will be able take him from Glaswestre, along with the Waetling Street hoard.

"Your lord honours me, then," Osthryth conceded. "And he is?"

"In Aylesbury, in Eadith, most likely," Aethelflaed added, scornfully.

"He does not come to Teotenhalgh?" Osthryth was shocked. No wonder Osthryth wanted her brother beside her when Aethelred, Lord of Mercia, was not coming to meet his greatest threat since Beamfleot?

So, Osthryth left the battlefield and headed south, as she intended, and did indeed go to Devonshire. The lands were no longer Odda's, but Mildrith still had a little land to live on. Now, they belonged to the father of Edward's second wife, the Lord Aethelhelm.

Then, it was east, past the white horses of the Downs, past the burial chamber of a man long past, across the plains past rings of stone circles, until eventually she reached the Test valley, which she followed south until it reached the Itchen. And was greeted at the gate of the palace by none other than -

"Steapa!"

And it turned out that Osthryth need not have come; Aelswith had sent the priest, Pyrlig, for assistance from the Cymric. Hywel Dda was asked to join the Mercians, be their allies and put aside their long differences.

"You can realise your father's dream," Osthryth said softly, in Edward's ear, when they had finished.

"And what about Aethelred? Does he not believe in Mercia? Yet I am supposed to?" A flash in his eyes made Osthryth realise he knew she had a connection with the Lord of Mercia. It was only an alliegance, it could never be anything else: her heart was Mercian in the same way as it was Gaelish. Uhtred could have Bebbanburg, and be damned.

"Aethelflaed believes he does, yes. He is risking his men for a symbol of Mercia." Beside her, Edward sat up, pulling the covers from Osthryth's naked body for a moment.

"What symbol?"

"The body of Saint Oswald."

It took a long time for Osthryth's lover to say anything, as this information sank in. Then, he turned to her, and put one leg over both of hers.

"If Aethelred leaves it too late, it will be too late for Mercia," Edward mused, as he fondled Osthryth's breasts. "I hear he has lost a good deal from his foolish skirmish against Cnut and Haesten at the East Anglian border - " He broke off to suck Osthryth's nipples. She sighed several times at the pleasure of his attention. "How many times have I told him to concentrate his forces north? I can deal with Guthrem - as was."

When they had finished - again - Osthryth lay in Edward's arms, a familiar feeling of her body making a thought appear in her mind.

"Is it vital I go, Osthryth?" Edward asked eventually, as he began to trail a hand up her thigh. Three times? They were hardly as young as they had once been. And yet the King of Wessex was still hard.

"Danes are sailing down Severn, burning villages again. But more than this: they are meeting with their kin; they are strategising."

And, as Osthryth fucked Edward, she lay back and thought of Englaland.

Alfred wished to unite the Anglish and Saxon kingdoms; there would be no Englaland if Edward's sister did not win the battle north of Saltwic, if Aethelred did not return from the land of the East Angles to fight it.

This battle was as crucial than any their father had ever fought; it was their Ethandun, and it was going to happen in the valley of the Tame river, north of Aethelflaed's estate; west of Tamworth, east of the ancient British hill fort at the Wrekin, south of Pencrec, on the border between the Saxons and Danelaw: Waetling Street.

Few would remember the place, for it would be incorporated within a century and dedicated with other lands to the Lady Wulfruna in Aethelstan's time. But it was going to be vital, the most vital thing in either of the siblings' lives, Osthryth knew, more keenly in her heart than she had known anything before, to be at, and win the day at Teotenhalgh.