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

18. Dunholm

"Can she ride with us, Lord, is what she's asking." Finan looked between Osthryth and Uhtred, as she clung on to her horse, her knees to its flanks and his rein clasped between her fingers as the horse trod carefully through the open Mercian country.

They had been followed, there was no doubt about that, and were about to cross into the part of Mercia that was not Aethelred's. It was, in name, Mercia, but Danes lived there, and as such was the Danelaw. No outlaw here, was Uhtred of Bebbanburg, for he was no longer in Wessex. And Osthryth was free, too, for she had done what she had agreed with Alfred: guard the aethling until his wedding.

Osthryth had passed Oxford not far back, having passed Silchester, Dorchester and Bicester, up through the old Roman towns, using the less used but more direct routes to catch up with her brother. Uhtred was now beyond Waetling Street and going towards Leicester, over the metalled road, and north. It had not taken her long to catch up with her brother, but it wasn't until she had reached Abingdon that he had realised she was there.

And, she had not turned. It had not even crossed Osthryth's mind that she had done anything to warrant returning to that wretched place Winchester. At Oxford, there was a road north-east, which would have taken Osthryth on to Aylesbury. But she had resisted it, and continued towards them.

The land changed. No burhs stood here, no fortified Saxon towns. But life continued, settlements on which the Danes depended, into which they had begun to integrate themselves were dotted here and there. And they were at a place called Thoresby when Uhtred finally stopped his horse to speak to her.

But not before the blonde-haired woman, Skade, had spoken first. Uhtred had pulled up his dark horse at a ford and turned, but it had been the seer who had addressed her first.

"Who is he?" Osthryth pulled her horse still as she spoke, her eyes, pale grey and penetrating, attempting to draw her in. But it was Danish magic, and Osthryth was not in the least affected by her.

"She is not a man!" Uhtred spat, ostensibly addressing Skade, but to the effect of denigrating Osthryth. She said nothing as Uhtred brought his horse around to her, and she noticed a pallour to his skin, a greyness, his eyes not really focusing on her.

"What are you doing following us?" he frowned, widening his eyes to glare at Osthryth.

"Following you?" Osthryth asked, feigning innocence. Uhtred wasn't well, and that was probably why Osthryth had managed to gain on them.

"Didn't I make it clear that you she wasn't to come? No woman is to come, only her." Uhtred turned and was addressing Finan, while pointing back to Skade. Finan looked abashed. But Osthryth drew her horse between them.

"I am a warrior, not a woman," she declared.

"Could have fooled me," replied Finan, softly. A ripple of laughter went through the men. Osthryth ignored them, and continued her own stare back to Uhtred.

"You do not own Fosse Way, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"She's right," said Finan, laughing, "You don't own the Fosse Way." Osthryth raised her reins and got her horse to step a few steps forward, then, when Uhtred had not followed her, continued to ride adjacent, far enough away for no-one to think that she was with them as Uhtred's group continued.

"Can she ride with us, Lord, is what she's asking."

Osthryth opened her mouth to say something, to deny this, but it was true. Riding with them did offer her safety.

"She can do what she likes," Uhtred replied to Finan, loudly enough for Osthryth to hear. "The Danes do not own the Fosse Way, either."

That evening, as they crossed open countryside and were now in woodland, Osthryth watched Finan, Sihtric and Osferth make camp for them all, and watched still as Uhtred staggered, crumpling at the waist and vomited. He was ill, clearly ill, because of the Danish seer, no doubt, whose hands were firmly tied. Osferth had the misfortune of feeding her, and she had leapt at him to scare him, as the baby monk took off the rope around her wrists.

For her part, Osthryth flung up the cow hide she had managed to steal from the armoury over a low branch and had bundled up her blanket around her, as she cooked bread and meat over a small fire, which would act as heat for the night. Every so often, she glanced over at her brother, who was now lying down under his own shelter. Uhtred did not look well at all, and was shaking as snow was beginning to tumble as secondary fall from the high tree tops.

Then, inevitably, she met Finan's eye, and he crossed over to her. Although she didn't make room for him, he sat by Osthryth anyway, and she was glad of the instant warmth from his body beside hers.

"You will be cold, with such a small fire." Osthryth knew it. And she also knew she had not put her heart into this plan of fleeing Winchester. It was hopeless to get to Alba.

"I have suffered worse." Finan turned to look at her, as she looked at him.

"And why should you suffer at all? Why come out deep into the country? You'll not make it to Alba across the kingdoms, and you know it."

Osthryth did know it. She had little money, or rather, she had plenty of money for a boat fare, to find someone to take her north, if she got to the east coast. But that meant she had nothing to give to Domhnall as retribution for, as it were, kidnapping herself from her, thwarting his plans of union with Cumbraland through Guthred.

"Uhtred, what sickness ails him?" Osthryth asked. Finan looked at her as if she were taking nonsense. "He did not fly at me when I did not address him as "Lord"," Osthryth explained. "He looked as if he were...preserving his strength."

Finan moved as if he were going to stand up, as if her line of questioning was somehow an abberation to convention. But instead, he relented, and stayed put.

"That woman over there, the Dane," he replied, in Gaelish, "She has caused him to be ill. She has bound his path."

"What does that mean?"

"It means his life is forfeit because she has cursed him," Finan explained. "I know...it's hard for us to understand." It was the first time that he had ever acknowledged that he had Osthryth had a common heritage, but it would be a long time until Osthryth remembered that night. Instead, it was the instant shock of the idea of a curse on Uhtred that shook her. No matter his behaviour towards her, Osthryth still found that she cared for his wellbeing, and she stared at the back of Skade's head, willing that they were in Alba or Eireann where she could make a deal with the Morrigan, and break the curse, instead, give a little of herself - her time, or obedience to a cause - in exchange, to the most powerful of all the Sidhe.

"She controls it, or rather, the fates do." But Osthryth shook her head.

"I don't believe it," she continued, in Gaelish. "That cannot be done, you know it." And Finan looked sadly across to Uhtred.

"He believes it." Then, Osthryth realised, Finan had taken her hand. She was not inclined to shake him away from her, either. She wanted to say, to ask Finan to look after him, and that she would pray for Uhtred. But that would go too far: he may ask questions, or tell Uhtred who, if ever he should come across Beocca again, might discover the truth. Although there was little hope of Uhtred ever coming back to Winchester, after threatening a king at knifepoint.

"Can you help him?" And she felt Finan holding her hand more firmly and Osthryth watched him look back to his lord.

"Not I. Something that will free his mind. But I will do all I can to get him to someone who can."

They sat for a moment, hand in hand, as Sihtric strode over to Uhtred, and Osthryth was aware the Irishman's body was close to hers, his thigh by hers, his body next to hers.

"Yes, I will be cold," Osthryth admitted, as she curled her hand around his, and she let him pull her into his shoulder. "But I will find my way home again. If I go by ship, I will not have enough silver."

"You will not get past Eoferwic and Dunholm alone, that is certain." He leaned his head towards Osthryth, snow beginning to catch at the front of it. "We are close to the Mercian capital; you fought for Mercia, once, can you not go there a while? Earn some money, if that's what you need?"

And in truth, Osthryth had been considering the same. They were beyond High Cross, and towards Leicester. South lay Aylesbury.

She was about to say something when a flicker of movement made her move her head. Sihtric was approaching.

"Someone that speaks that babble that you spout, Finan?"

"English," Finan replied, and they laughed. Then Osthryth watched as the man's face clouded, and his eyes flicker towards Uhtred.

"He's talking to himself," Sihtric said, not quiet enough for Osthryth to miss as Finan stood beside him.

"Get the baby monk there to feed him anything you can; we have to keep moving," Finan told him, and Sihtric nodded. When he turned, he saw Osthryth had got up and was stamping down her fire.

"Going home?" Finan said, a smile flickering momentarily on his lips.

"Yes." And she had stowed her hide and was wearing her cloak.

"Will you go back? To Winchester?" He stepped towards her and noticed a twinkle of silver in her hands.

"Do I have a reason to?" Osthryth asked.

Finan gave her a reason, and then another, before a shout from Uhtred's camp got his attention.

"We will be back in Winchester," he whispered by Osthryth's ear, his breath warm and deliciously tempting.

Osthryth whispered back in Gaelish, "Finan Mor, I will try." And, watching him hurry to her brother's side, at that moment, she meant it.

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So her horse had rested enough to get her to the border. The night wore on and a pale blue stripe of dawn defined the horizon. How the mare had managed to pick her way south Osthryth did not know, but she did know she had stolen an exceedingly good beast. Her mouth still tingled from the extremely passionate kiss Finan had given to her, and if Osthryth was a different type of woman, she would be heading back to Winchester to wait for him.

But Osthryth was a warrior, and there was no waiting around for a man for her. She was going home.

To Aylesbury. But she wasn't there yet, nor would be that day, if she did not get past the frontier guards.

Osthryth recognised some of them, in their green and gold, but they were not trained to ask questions first, and Osthryth, being tired, had completely messed up as she had tried to step onto non-Danelaw soil.

The spear was the first clue to her error, and Osthryth had fallen from her mare, only for it to run, at speed, back in the direction of Danish territory, along with most of her belongings. She drew Buaidh.

"Tha mi a' Mercia!" Osthryth shouted, forgetting herself, which caused the four men to chase after her, in not a very effective tactical maneouvre, she thought, when she had decided where to run to. No point in trying to hide, they would be trained, at least, to search everywhere, and Osthryth meant everywhere: Aldhelm's training, disseminated through Merewalh was somewhat pedantic on that point. So, babies' cribs were upended, wells were inspected. Going to the barn, just delayed capture, for it was the first place anyone would look, whether they were a guard or not.

So, an active hiding place then, Osthryth thought, inhaling deeply, as she looked about the wooden homesteads that constituted this border hamlet's position, that was, to find somewhere to be, then move around as the guards moved around.

It was only when Osthryth looked about her that she realised, with joy, that she knew the place, and, too, the ceorl who acted as shire-reeve, though there were only three families in the place. Rich pickings, as families had moved from the turbulent frontier, yet always vulnerable, and it was to her astonishment that Osthryth realised a burh was being built around the settlement.

Why here, when the place was so small, Osthryth thought, as she crept into the back gate of a farmstead. The family of Godulf lived here, Danish father, Saxon mother, three children. A sheep baa'd gently as she clicked closed the door. Beyond the next was the hall, and above, where the family were sleeping.

As predicted, footsteps trod the mud at the back of the farmstead, and a "Shsh!" made it very clear to her, and to anyone else listening, that they were trying to be surreptitious, but not making a very good job of it.

Osthryth moved through into the hall. The smoke from the fire which had been allowed to burn out was almost gone. This was going to be easy, Osthryth thought, as she made her way to the front door, which was covered by a heavy curtain of cloth. Moving it to one side, she managed to get behind it and through the wooden door, into the beginnings of the morning. Osthryth could hear talking behind her, now in the hall: the guards had entered the hall and were looking for her, and she stopped dead as a thunder down a staircase rattled the whole of the structure. Godulf getting up and finding what intruders were in his hall no doubt.

Yes, Osthryth thought, to her satisfaction, as Saxon, Anglish and Anglish-Danish voices began to talk quickly, then Osthryth had the presence of mind to dash from the door, and pull herself up into the thatch.

Below, she could see through the rafters three men talking to the big estate owner: Godulf was haranguing the men, a blade in his hand, for, presumably, marauding through his home in the early hours of the morning.

But, where was the first? Osthryth eased herself around through the thatch, so that she could see down into the grounds. No-one.

By now, other people were talking loudly in the ground floor of the house, and a baby began to howl, presumably awakened by the racket. Osthryth could see that, if she could make it, quickly. through the beams to the mezzanine, where one person was sleeping, she would be able to make it down the other side of the structure, and still keep an eye out for one guard, who would surely be looking in as many places as he could, by now.

Keeping her right leg in contact with the beam, Osthryth made a leap, hoping it would be good enough. She landed beside the sleeping person, a girl, who woke with a start.

"Never mind me!" Osthryth said, as cheerily as she could, as the girl stared at her, but then began to scream as Osthryth hurried past her.

However, the scream was not because of Osthryth. Beside her, the fourth guard bore down a cudgel towards her, and she only just about leapt out of the way in time. And then, Osthryth realised, that the guard was not going for her, but for the girl, and was, now, pulling at her clothing while all the time the noise from below was disguising the attack.

But the guard did not figure on Osthryth. As the girl screamed again, a sound which was aborted about a second after the guard's hand clamped over her mouth, Osthryth brought the cudgel down onto the back of the man's head. She hoped she hadn't killed him. The girl stared at her in fright, as a hammering up steps came again. Godulf was furious, and even more furious when he saw Osthryth standing in the family's sleeping platform holding a big hammer.

"Him!" The girls pointed towards the unconscious man as Godulf raised his shoulders and had begun to bear down on Osthryth. Osthryth dropped the cudgel and leapt past Godulf, tumbling from the platform. She caught hold of a rope which was holding meat hanging to dry from the ceiling of the small hall, and somehow managed to right herself enough to land at the feet of the first three guards.

And looked into their faces for a brief moment.

"Oshere! Put down your sword! You too, Aeglfrith!" She glanced above. "Him, I don't know," Osthryth continued, as she moved towards the third man. "And him?"

"Eardwulf, captain!" Oshere's voice jumped as he spoke, in his astonishment at addressing his former leader.

"And he is a Mercian guard?" she asked, feigning doubt in her voice as two of her past warriors stood before her, much taller and broader, but the same keen faces, eager to do their duty, fierce at the idea that they had caught an intruder into both Mercia and Godulf's home. Eardwulf stood tall, his eyes glaring at Osthryth, hand wrapped overtly around his sword hilt.

"Who is this!" Godulf, who had leapt the distance down from the roof, turned Osthryth roughly by the shoulder. And then grinned. They had fought next to one another as they had guarded the frontier there many times before. "Osthryth!"

"Godulf!" Osthryth returned his greeting with equal enthusiasm. "I apologise for entering your home; I was crossing the border. She glanced up past Godulf, flicking her eyes to his wife. "Eadgifu, another baby?" The woman had only two the last time she was there, the girl, who was still upstairs, and the young boy by his mother's legs.

"Thora," Eadgifu said. It was a sign of a mixed marriage where names were bisected and remade, to bizarre effect. But at least this third name was wholly Danish, unlike her father's, brother's and sister's names, which were hybrids of two cultures.

And then Osthryth remembered the man above them, his arm falling over the boarding.

"Who is he?" Osthryth demanded of Oshere. She looked past him when the man did not answer, and across to Eardwulf when the usually chatty Aeglfrith did not answer either.

"Our captain," Eardwulf said eventually, and only when Osthryth had hand on Buaidh's hilt. "Sigefirth."

"And to whom do you report?" Osthryth asked. "Aldhelm?"

"The lord Aldhelm, yes," Eardwulf conceded. "For my lord Aethelred," he added, imperiously, which had no impact on Osthryth at all, and she turned to Godulf.

"The law of Mercia says that whosoever should violate a woman is stealing from her husband or father." She glanced up at the incapacitated Sigefirth again. "As such, his family owe you wergild, to the sum of - " She looked across at Eardwulf, who was now wearing an expression of silent outrage.

"Fourteen silver pieces," Eardwulf supplied.

"The man - !" Began Godulf. But Osthryth raised her hand.

"Your father was an Angle, was he not?" Godulf nodded. His mother had been a Dane, a Christian. "And lived to prosper on the Danelaw frontier. So, he accepted the law, and it is the law." She stepped to the householder, whose father had accepted the wergild clause when he himself had killed by accident a fellow Angle who had set up a farm not far from his settlement, and had been tried by Lord Ceowulf, ruler of Mercia.

Justice had been done, and Godulf's father, Godwin, had accepted it as an advantage of living with the law as meted out by the Mercian border guard. The other farmer's family had been trying to blackmail the guard, and instead, the brother, caught out, had been hanged for this. The story was well known in Aethelred's guard as what was necessary for law and order, and what distinguished them, more importantly, from the Danes.

"Siegeferth will come with us and justice will be done," she added, "you have my word."

For a moment, Godulf looked as if he were about to argue with Osthryth, and glanced at Eardwulf, who said nothing. Instead, the captain reached into his clothing and extracted a purse of money. It would already contain fourteen silver pieces, but Osthryth gestured towards the bag.

"It contains fourteen," Eardwulf insisted, sullenly.

"By all means count it," Osthryth said to Godulf as the man took the bag. But Osththryth took the bag from the ceorl and tipped it out onto the mean, wooden table. Some of the coins spun, but there were fourteen. Godulf scooped it up, before striding over to the sleeping platform, and pulled on the unconscious guard's arm, making him fall over the edge of it and thump heavily on the ground before Eadgifu, narrowly missing her son, Osfinn.

"Get him onto the horse," Osthryth insisted as Oshere and Aeglfrith carried the man who had attacked Godulf's daughter. The man was moaning, and clearly still alive, and they slung him over the saddle.

"So, you are out of Aylesbury."

"We are," Eadwulf confirmed, although he did not seem to like to answer. "And you are out of Daneland."

"Returning from Daneland, in pursuit of outlaws," Osthryth replied. Some facet of her words were true. Then, she turned to Godulf.

"Can you call your daughter? I would like to speak to her." Godulf said nothing at first, but then moved to his wife.

"Ealsfreya!" his wife called, and the girl, nearly a young woman, appeared at the steading's door, wrapped in a blanket. She was carrying the cudgel that Sigefirth had swung at her.

"I'll take that," Osthryth said, firmly, as she swung it backwards and forward in her hand, and the young woman was glaring, Osthryth noticed, at Sigefirth.

"Why was he triying to attack you?"

"He was trying to violate me." The girl's words were bare and cold in the morning light. No-one moved to interrupt her, and Osthryth continued to look at the girl's face, eyes as pale as the seer Skade, who had cursed Uhtred, hair as blonde, face as emotionless.

"Has he tried to violate you before?"

"Yes."

"And has he succeeded?"

"No." There was an audible sound of sighs from both of Ealsfreya's parents; this meant a good match for her - imminently, by the look of her age, Osthryth deduced.

"He will be dealt with as the law dictates," Osthryth reiterated, as Godulf's attention was drawn to Sigefirth again, and she strode over to take the cudgel from Ealsfreya, who exhaled deeply as she yielded it, as if she could finally breathe freely without worry and fear of predation. Osthryth knew that feeling.

"If he is not to be executed," Eardwulf pointed out as Osthryth looked south east, his thin face and dark brown eyes turned to Osthryth, "And he is to be taken to Aylesbury, and there are only four horses, how will you get there?"

"I will walk," Osthryth said, and proceeded to take the rein of the horse over which Sigefirth was slung.

"Captain-emissary!" Oshere declared at once. "Take my horse!" But Osthryth shook her head, and nodded to the company who were even now heading up the road to take their place. At the head of the four men, Aelffrith, and Osthryth saluted her arm to her astonished friend.

"Osthryth!" Beside her, she was aware of Eardwulf bridling at yet another respectful greeting by another man of position, after Osthryth had questioned his authority in front of his men, and in front of the ceorl he had been sent to protect.

But, at that moment, Osthryth didn't care, and she walked over to Aelffrith, who slid from his horse and slapped Osthryth on the back in greeting.

Aethel was well, he told her, and yes, all was the same at Aylesbury, Aldhelm would be the man to see about Sigefirth; Merewalh was still commander and how delightful that Osthryth was back where she belonged.

That, above everything, was everything Osthryth needed to hear. Her friend had welcomed her with such warmth, her position had been confirmed, and best of all, Aylesbury was unchanged in terms of its hierarchy. There had always been a possibility that Osthryth would have to negotiate and fight for her position against the will of a man who had not watched her prove herself all those long years in Mercia.

And so Osthryth walked the twenty miles south east to Mercia's capital, to see Aldhelm with the errant guard, and to request her position back. For that, she would have to speak to Lord Aethelred.

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It was Aelfkin who raised his spear to Eardwulf's men as they approached Aylesbury. More men, on the ramparts above, turned quickly at the boy's shout, and he stepped towards them with a loud, "Hwaet!" They stopped, and this time, Eardwulf slipped from his horse, hand in its rein.

"The lord Eardwulf!" Eardwulf declared, and Aelfkin raised his spear immediately. The tethered Sigefitrh struggled on his horse, but Osthryth slapped his head down, which brought Aelfkin over to her, and he poked his spear between Osthryth and Sigefirth.

"Prisoner!" He declared, but was addressing Osthryth.

"Not I, little elf!" Osthryth whispered to him, and the boy's face lit up in delight.

"Osthryth!" Throwing his spear to the floor, he jumped on her, hugging her tightly around the arms. Beside her, she heard muffled snorts from Oshere and Aeglfrith.

"Glad to see you've grown!" Osthryth declared, looking the boy up and down. Clearly good food had helped him, and he now stood just past Osthryth's shoulder. "In a couple of years you will be taller than me! Now," Osthryth added, "That is not becoming of a Mercian guard. Show me how I taught you!" Osthryth whispered, and the young boy pulled away from her and stood to attention again, spear raised.

She saw Eardwulf's disdain as they marched through the gates of Aylesbury, and into the inner yard. As was usual at this time, a market was coming together, and people were assembling to buy goods.

At the front of the gate, as the frontier men led their horses, Osthryth saw Merewalh before the hall. He broke into a smile when he saw Osthryth. Eardwulf strode past him, glowering at Osthryth.

"I thought you were in Winchester forever!" he declared, taking Osthryth round to the armoury. "You stink to high heaven!"

"Pigs," Osthryth replied, and while Merewalh busied himself finding her clothes, Osthryth found the horse's drinking water stripping down to her bindings and under breeches. As usual, Merewalh turned away, and began to speak to her, as if Osthryth had never left Mercia and she told the commander that, now Edward was married, she was free to leave Wessex and come to where she had pledged her word.

"Does Alfred know that you left?" Merewalh asked, handing her a freshly laundered shirt.

"I didn't tell anyone; I am sure they will have noticed. Besides, they were too busy with Uhtred of Bebbanburg." Merewalh did not know, so Osthryth informed him of how Uhtred, sick with grief for his wife, had challenged the king with his blade, then made a run for it, north.

"I expect Aethelred will know," Merewalh said, when he saw Osthryth straightened out. "I'll take you through and - " But the commander broke off as the tall, thin-faced advisor to the lord of Mercia stepped through the door.

"I heard you had come!" Aldhelm declared.

"I have come to honour my alliegance, to Aethelred," Osthryth announced.

"Of course." He held the door, and Osthryth stepped through, with Merewalh. "I understand you missed the road from Oxford and had to come back into Mercia. And met some of our guards.

"Indeed. I was pursued." It was true, in a way, if you assumed Finan was the pursuer. "So I got back onto the road when I could." Aldhelm held the door that led into the kitchens.

"Are we not going to Aethelred?" she asked, when Aldhelm gestured to the long kitchen table, which was becoming filled with food.

"You are just going to sit there and tell me everything." He gestured to one of the maids to bring Osthryth chicken and milk, which she did not deny she wanted, and Merewalh sat the other side of her as Osthryth told them of her being chased by the frontier men, whom she praised, and how she had disarmed a man intending to try to attack a young girl.

"Sigefirth," Aldhelm nodded. "Eardwulf confirmed the same thing," he added. "He is very put out that you came along." Osthryth lowered her chicken leg, which she was just about to bite into.

"He called himself "Lord Eardwulf,"" Osthryth questioned. Aldhelm nodded.

"Eardwulf is a lord, or at least, was. His father got into difficulty, and was stripped of his lands and titles."

"You might have met Eardwulf if he had been taken up by the lord Odda," Merewalh said, as he, too, ate some of the chicken. "However, the lord Aethelred chose to keep him close at hand, punish him for his father's misdeeds."

"Misdeeds?"

"The lord Eanfrith was cheating Aethelred handsomely from the treasury. Having been put to death, Eardwulf was put into military service." Osthryth looked from Aldhelm, to Merewalh, who had taken over the telling of the story.

"So, that is why he was a sent as a captain to a military division? I suppose I never saw him because he was always in a different place to me?" She saw Aldhelm frown at Merewalh, who was clearly enjoying himself.

"I lost money to gambling, and fairly and squarely was punished, and I hated it in Odda's service," Merewalh explained.

"I noticed," agreed Osthryth.

"But I was a captain, a leader." Merewalh took a piece of gammon from Osthryth's now-discarded plate and chewed it, thoroughly. "Eardwulf had to watch his father hanged for theft, and then be told that he was to begin in the army at the bottom. A mere guard. Him, a lord. Having to begin with the lowliest.

"But he said he was a lord now," Osthryth insisted, thinking how awful that must seem to a man in his position, to feel demeaned. It probably hadn't helped that Osthryth had further shamed him because of the wergild and ordered his division around.

"That is because the lord Aethelred has been generous. Eardwulf petitioned him, and Aethelred has changed, since the lady Aethelflaed moved to Saltwic. He is distracted and distant, he finds it hard to show an interest in his kingdom."

So, even though Alfred is ill, he has Mercia now, if its lord will not take an interest, Osthryth thought to herself, and drained the rest of the milk from the jar. And, Aethelflaed was no longer in Aylesbury? That was a delight. Osthryth tried not to grin too hard at that news.

"Will he be holding court today?" Osthryth asked, keen to be put to use again, in the Mercian army. "I want to ask him to take me back."

"He is," Aldhelm confirmed, and smiled to Osthryth. "But you need not worry about asking him for your position. By the very fact you are here means I can put you as captain at the head of any division I wish. I have already agreed this with the lord Aethelred: you will have a special role, of auxiliary captain." Osthryth lowered her jar.

"What does that mean?"

"That you are not fixed to a division. You don't need to be with just one set of men; I can place you anywhere I need you." Osthryth hoped that her disappointment showed on her face. She liked being head of a group of men, to learn them, for them to adapt a fighting protocol, to get the best out of them.

"Osthryth," Aldhelm concluded. "That you have returned to us is indeed fair news," and he dragged his stool back, standing up and smiled as if genuinely pleased to see Osthryth. He seemed to be, and Osthryth was genuinely pleased to see Aethelred's chief advisor.

"Think about it," Merewalh encouraged, for he had known Osthryth for longer, and sensed her disappointment. "Now, wait in the armoury. Aethelred will need to see you today to discuss the matter of Sigefrith."

In the end, Osthryth went to the stables. She had just cleaned herself, ready for the lord Aethelred's audience, but she felt that some work would do her good. He would not send her back to Winchester, Osthryth reckoned, with some degree of certainty. Indeed, Aethelred had wanted her back in Mercia.

But, he may have issues about her arrest of one of the guards, whatever he had done, for she was not Mercian, and Aethelred was strict on following the codes of practise. It put them distant from the Danes, he had always said, but he was not so fixated as Alfred was, with the Wessex law. At least Aethelred offered some flexibility, though the rules were followed, nonetheless. The Anglish, of Bernicia, had codes too, and probably the East and Middle Angles, but Osthryth knew little of them, for long had they been in the hands of the Danes and no Anglish government existed in either of these ancient kingdoms now.

As Osthryth maneouvred a pile of used hay into the centre of the courtyard, she noticed a young child, a girl of about the age of eleven, skipping about near the gardens. She stopped what she was doing and watched her seeming to bend to the flowers and talking to them.

She had red hair the colour of flames, reminded her of Aed Findlaith, Mael Muire's first husband, King of the Ailech and High King of Ireland. The girl looked up, as if sensing she was being watched, and then had no fear in coming over to talk to Osthryth.

"Are you a new guard?" she asked, not in the least apprehensive of talking to a guard.

"No," Osthryth shook her head. "I am a captain."

"No," the girl corrected her, with all the confidence of being right that a lot of children possessed. "You must be a guard; captains don't clean the stables."

"This one does," Osthryth replied. "For the job needed doing, and I had time." The girl laughed.

"You talk strangely. Are you a Briton?"

"I am Anglish," Osthryth replied. "From Alba. Have you heard of that land?"

"Dragons come from Alba," the girl replied. "I am looking for the dragons in this place."

"And do your parents live here? Is your father a lord to the lord Aethelred?" The girl laughed.

"My parents are both dead; my brother is here." She bent towards Osthryth. "My name is Eadith."

"Osthryth," Osthryth replied, holding out a hand. Eadith looked at it, then took it, and shook it gently. "And your brother...?"

Osthryth soon found out, but not from Eadith's lips, for the girl's brother had crossed over to them and put a hand on her shoulder.

"You are required in the hall," Eardwulf told Osthryth, in a tone that sounded like he was telling her off, and he took Eadith by the shoulder, and led her off through the garden and in through a door that took them to the chapel. Eadith looked over her shoulder just before they went in, and smiled sadly at Osthryth.

She was half way to the hall, entering it through the corridor that led from the courtyard, when Eardwulf caught up with her.

"You were supposed to be in front of the lord Aethelred by now, so he could talk to you about your arrest."

"I'm going, aren't I?" Osthryth asked, walking past two guards who knew her, and who greeted her with a nod and a smile as she passed. As they got to the door, Leofstan, her oldest warrior, pulled aside his spear with another man on the other side, and opened the door, his face also breaking out into a grin when latent recognition entered his brain.

"You should have been here!" Eardwulf hissed, to a silent hall. That, of course, brought Eardwulf and Osthryth to the attention of Aethelred, who glared at Eardwulf as he continued, oblivious to the situation around then, "And what the hell were you about to do to my sister?"

Osthryth found herself shocked - his sister? But recovered quickly.

"What was I going to do?" she repeated.

"We all know what," Eardwulf snarled. Osthryth collected her thoughts as she saw Aethelred raise a hand.

"What with, captain?" Osthryth shot back, and those who knew her laughed, including Merewalh and Aldhelm, who gave a polite, humour-laced cough. Those who did not stared at Osthryth in amazement. "I was cleaning the stables, and a young girl came over to talk to me, my lord," Osthryth explained to Aethelred. "And I did nothing to her except talk to her back. So I have no idea what the lord Eardwulf means."

"We all know what could have happened! Who are you anyway?" Eardwulf seemed unaware that the entire court of Mercian lords were standing about them.

"A captain of Mercia!" Osthryth retorted. "Auxiliary captain," she added. "And I am sworn to Lord Aethelred. But I do not have a cock!" More laughter. Even the dour Burghred had a glimpse of humour at his lips.

"Is that because they were removed by the last brother looking after his sister's honour?!" Eardwulf demanded.

"If you are concerned about her honour, captain, perhaps she should have remained at home."

A shhhhick sound made Osthryth look to Eardwulf, who had drawn his sword. Osthryth made a glance to Aethelred, who waved his hand in a disinterested manner.

"Put it away Eardwulf," he told the man, and Osthryth noticed with some satisfaction that Aethelred had not prefixed the man's name with the title he had claimed himself. As he was sheathing it, that was when Osthryth attacked, running across the wooden-floored building and leaping onto the man, who fell flat down onto his back, as Osthryth began to pummel his face with her fists. A discordant murmuring fell across the lords.

"Osthryth, get off the man," Aethelred's bored voice cut through the undercurrent.

"When he admits he was wrong about me!" she declared, and made to punch his face. Eardwulf had caught hold of both of her fists and was pushing her back. So she headbutted him at the top of the nose. He let go, his face streaming with blood.

"I said get off him!" Aethelred shouted. Osthryth stopped and clambered off him. But Eardwulf had decided to take a knee to Osthryth's testicles and he would have caused her a good deal of pain, of she had any. She stumbled back, but got to her feet quickly, and edged back towards Merewalh.

"Just stop!" Aethelred declared his hand waving. "Eardwulf, she is a woman. Osthryth, just - say what you need." He glanced at a piece of paper in his hand. "What did this...Sigefirth do that you hit him on the head with a cudgel and arrested him?"

"Attempted rape on a daughter of one of your ceorls," Osthryth replied.

"And has the weregild been paid?" Aethelred asked this of Eardwulf.

"It has," the man agreed, glowering at Osthryth, his mouth soaking up a lot of blood from his node.

"Then, that is the end of the matter." Aethelred stated. "The man shall hang in the morning, and you will go back on duty with your men, Eardwulf."

And that should have been the end of the matter. But instead, Eardwulf stepped towards the lord of Mercia.

"By what authority did this...woman have to take over my division?" he asked. There was a hush now, as the lords listened to Aethelred. He looked at Osthryth, and then back to Eardwulf.

"She is my oath taker; she has sworn to Mercia, and as such, has been extremely prodigious in ensuring my law has been carried out." But, Osthryth noticed, the man standing before his lord looked remarkably confident in himself, and he placed his hands behind his back, as if he were about to advise Aethelred.

"Osthryth," he began, looking at her. "That is your name?"

"It is," Osthryth replied.

"And is what the lord Aethelred said true? Being female?"

"It is."

"Then, unfortunately," Eardwulf paused, for effet, "As a female, you have no jurisdiction in Mercia, or any of Mercia's outside interests.

"Never!" "I don't believe it!" "Really?" These were the words Osthryth did catch in the buzz of hasty discussion amongst the lords. Aethelred held up a hand, and silence fell again.

"I do believe nothing is written," Aldhelm put in. "Your father, though a law keeper, was, however - "

"He was a debtor; this does not mean his keeping of the law was not true." Eardwulf had not moved, cleverly, Osthryth thought. It was as if he were advisor to Aethelred himself, rather than a possible lord fixed in a captain's role.

"Tell me Eardwulf," Aethelred replied, "You are going to keep bothering me until I let you speak, are you not?" Eardwulf bridled at Aethelred's indifference, but continued anyway.

"The law code, as written by Offa, states that a man may bring a commitment to his lord, not a woman." Eardwulf threw back his head. "Men of Mercia," he quoted, "Earls and free men, and those men under oath to the King." Or in your case, Lord," he added, with equanimity. "No women are mentioned."

"I accept the warrior Osthryth as one of my men," Aethelred replied, his eyes flashing, as he engaged with Eardwulf "She had already served me well for a number of years, and has never wavered from her commitment, am I not right, Aldhelm?" Aethelred looked across to his advisor. Aldhelm looked slowly between Aethelred, to Osthryth then to Eardwulf.

"Indeed, my lord. She has been a model of expediency." Osthryth watched as Aethelred looked back to her, and then to his demoted lord.

"There you have it, Eardwulf, a model of expediency." But Eardwulf had not moved. Instead, he seemed to have more to say. Aethelred sensed it too, and rolled his eyes.

"Then, if she is, as you say, one of your men, she was therefore a threat to my sister, and therefore I had every right to challenge her over her intentions." Osthryth still stood with her arms folded. If she was worried, she did not show it.

But it worried her anyway: Aethelred was not head-clever like Alfred. He was bored and disinterested in rule, and must be bothered by how much time his kingdom took up. Such rulers could make mistakes.

"But you could not think..." Aldhelm trailed off. "It's physically impossible for her to be any threat in the slightest to your sister!" Aethelred shuffled in his seat, aware that his lords were watching him pass judgment in this cognitive dissonant matter.

"Eardwulf," he said, exasperated, yet trying to sound patient, "Osthryth is one of my men in terms of her qualities on the battlefield. I do not accept she was a threat to your sister."

"But the logic still holds." Eardwulf was staring at her.

"Lord Aethelred, may I speak?" she asked.

"You may," he said, waving a hand in a disinterested way. "As long as you don't drop your breeches to prove the point; Ludeca here might die of a heart attack!" Titters of good humour. It boded well for her, Osthryth thought.

"May it be noted now that Osthryth Lackland has been declared here one of King Aethelred's men, and hereby is entitled to dispense justice on behalf of the king." Osthryth made sure she looked directly at Eardwulf as she said this, and ignore the glaring error she had deliberately made. If it made her look like an arse-licker, she didn't care.

"As such," Osthryth continued, "Any threat that I pose to your sister, I most humbly regret." Osthryth bowed to Eardwulf, as the given sign of deference that he had been slighted. Your move, Osthryth thought. You need to name your penalty. They all knew it.

"Lord Aethelred," Eardwulf began, "This man, in your service, was indeed once a female, a female who belonged to someone, husband, father, sister."

"Yes, yes," Aethelred replied, waving a hand at him to make him hurry. "While I make enquiries, for the good of Mercia, whence she originates - " Osthryth looked across to Aldhelm, who made no move or action as Eardwulf made to continue.

" - you will make no enquiries," Aethelred interrupted him, and Eardwulf fell silent.

Yes he will, Osthryth thought, and it will not take a literate, well-connected man a long time to discover that not only is she not Lackland but that she was last seen in Alba, and that Aelfric, her uncle, still lived. He will do it, for spite, now.

"May I make a suggestion?" It was Aldhelm who had stepped forward now.

"Yes, yes, get on with it!" Aethelred snapped, clearly having lost the will to remain interested in the proceedings now. Aldhelm stepped closer to Aethelred. "May I suggest that the lord Aethelred makes a decision? For the good of our kingdom? For Mercia?" Osthryth looked across to the would-be king.

When she found out what it was that he had decided, in about ten minutes' time, when all of the lords had left, Osthryth really wished Aldhelm had just let Eardwulf choose. But he did not.

"Indeed, Eardwulf," Aethelred dismissed. "You will leave it with me."

88888888

"You are no assassin," Aldhelm cautioned Osthryth, as she readied an available horse. His face was grave, still and serious, and he placed his hand over Osthryth's, as she pulled the bridle over the horse's face. This black beast has been the best she had ridden since Finnolai and Taghd had taught her to ride, or rather, not fall off, through the lands of Stirling.

"May I formally now decline your offer of auxiliary captain, and perhaps you can give it to one who deserves it?" Osthryth bit back the words, trying not to let her emotions spill out. How could he? After everything she had done for the kingdom of Mercia?

"It is a job to do," she justified, making sure she acted well enough so that she could leave with dignity. "It is how I get to be in a place I want to be." A consolation reward for failing to reach Alba, she told herself. "It is how I cement my place here." Aldhelm shook his head, and placed his other hand on her arm, his eyes on hers.

"Osthryth, you have a place here, in perpetuity." His voice was low, steady. "You are more loyal to Mercia than ever anyone could be." He glanced at the gate, as wisps of snow began to sprinkle down onto the courtyard. "I wonder how it could be so; perhaps you came from here, before you were Lackland?"

"Perhaps," Osthryth replied, as she leapt onto the horse. No saddle for her, it made staying in all the worse and found the old lie on her tongue. "Though I remember my own family when we were in Alba, before the Norse murdered them. No doubt, Eardwulf will be able to tell me, and too, make up many lies about me - " she bent her head to Aldhelm.

"Stay, Osthryth, I will go alone," Aldhelm insisted. But Osthryth shook her head.

"And be shown to be a fool by that man? It is not as if I haven't killed a woman before," she added, her horse's head rocking backwards and forwards, anticipating leaving. Osthryth hadn't, unless there had been women amongst the Norse and Danes she had ever fought.

"How could he think I could harm his sister?"

Aldhelm did not answer at first. Instead, he pulled himself up on his own horse, his beard as brown as the bay's own coat. They got a good ten miles on the way to Oxford before Aldhelm slowed.

"It is needless to say to you that you play a very dangerous game for yourself being a warrior," Aldhelm began. "And now, because of this, you have been tricked into the assassination of Aethelred's wife by the man himself."

"Tricked?" Osthryth asked. "It is my guess, he asked you to do it, first, before he found a more convenient ruse." Aldhelm's horse shifted its hoofs, and Osthryth noticed because the man had said nothing.

"It could have been worse, I suppose," Aldhelm continued. "He has...appetites." Osthryth scoffed.

"Just because I have a cunt, I am not begging for it to be filled by a cock." Aldhelm said nothing, just pinked a little at the top of his sideburned cheeks.

They rode on, and winter bustled snowflakes at them. They would go to Gloucester first, and then north, to Saltwic.

"He is greatly annoyed by his defeat at Conwy," Aldhelm said, at length, when they had ridden for about an hour in silence. Osthryth had been brooding on the task, and wondering how ironic it was that she had spent so many hours, when she was at Winchester dreaming of ways of despatching Alfred's daughter, when now she couldn't think of a single decent way to do it. Perhaps there were no decent ways.

The road gave way to countryside as they skirted the city of Gloucester, and Aldhelm told Osthryth how, as an independent Mercian, Aethelred had chosen to invade the northern lands of Wales, and how he had been defeated and had to ask the southern kingdoms for help. They, in turn, begged for assistance from Alfred. So, in effect, the long-held desire to expand beyond Offa's dyke had failed and Aethelred had become beholden to his father-in-law.

In addition, Aethelflaed had chosen to live in her estate at Saltwic. From there, she could oversee the north-western interests of Mercia, including incursions beyond Waetling Street and reclaiming territory. So Aethelred was looking east.

"The reeve of the city will show us somewhere we can stay for the night," Aldhelm assured her, but he seemed disappointed to be shown the stables. At least the breath of the animals always Osthryth feel warm on cold nights, and she readily climbed the loft stairs.

"Perhaps there is somewhere else we can go," Aldhelm said, looking around the straw-strewn loft with disdain.

"Other than turn the steward's family out of their beds, you mean?"

"Hmm," Aldhelm replied. "It will do; we are only here for one night, not for a diplomatic meeting with the earldomen." He pushed himself along away from the hatch, and hung the lantern above them. "It will be good to be discreet."

Osthryth watched as Aldhelm pulled blankets from his pack and fashioned one into a pillow before putting his head upon it. Osthryth pulled her cloak around herself and turned with her back towards him.

How would she do it? To challenge Aethelflaed to a fight and killing her would draw too much attention. In her sleep? That had particular advantages and Osthryth was certainly stronger than the lady - she could hold down a cushion to her face.

Or slit her throat. Osthryth had never had the chance to do this, and she was not sure that was the best route. If she could not pull it off effectively then it would be too much of a blunder. Aethelred would certainly send more guards, maybe on the pretext of further guards for the lady of Mercia, only to discover she was dead. Osthryth needed to leave Aethelflaed in a position she could be found - rather than disappeared, or dead in a fire - but not too obviously murdered, if it could be seen to be an accident.

Osthryth's mind worked on. An accident held a certain appeal. "The Tragedy of the Lady of the Mercians" ran better off the lips of the story makers than dread murder. But how could she stage an accident?

"You do not have to do this."

Osthryth turned in Aldhelm's direction in the darkness, for the lamp was nearly burned out. She could hear his breathing in the coldness of the stable loft.

"And if I don't I have failed," she replied, a long ago memory of her and Domnall of the Ui Neill talking in a loft similar to this filled her mind. Then, they had wandered the glen of Orchy, and the Morrigan had come and rinsed her soul by her very presence. No Morrigan here, though they were close to Cymric lands. The Morrigan seemed to be strongest in the north, Osthryth had noticed.

"Do you have any other ideas than my going through with it?" In the semi-darkness, Osthryth turned in his direction. Aldhelm reached out and touched her hand. It was warm.

"I do not know. I cannot understand your choice."

"Then you must know I am in a position that gives me few choices," Osthryth replied, then pulled herself up to a sitting position.

"I can do it. I do not want you to be made into a murderer." Aldhelm shifted in the straw.

"We could tell her, and let her escape. Then you have no need to be a murderer yourself, lord."

"Tell her and let her escape," Aldhelm repeated. "That is the most palatable." Osthryth stared into the darkness as the course of action now decided settled between them.

"So, tell me, why do you want her killed? Why did you not say no?"

"My country needs a leader. It is being enveloped by Wessex, and Aethelred is no more than a puppet to Alfred after his Welsh disaster." He drew his hand back from Osthryth and lay down. "Mercia is all I have," he added. "I have been lucky to still remain a lord under Aethelred, after everything. He decides so much on whims and feelings..." His voice trailed off in the darkness.

And then Osthryth leaned up, searching for Aldhelm's hand in the darkness. When she found it, she searched for the other, pushing her fingers through his as she leaned upwards, to kiss him.

Aldhelm did not not respond as she pressed her lips to his, so Osthryth leaned over him, her body over his, taking his face in her hands, her palms touching his beard. It was too dark to see his reaction, and Osthryth kissing the man again, and deeper and more intensely when she felt him responding.

He let out a sigh before taking her hands from his face, and he pushed Osthryth back, folding her hands together, and pushing them away from him.

"Osthryth," he said slowly and deliberately, "While I would with no hesitation acquiesce to your offer," Aldhelm continued, looking at her with his still, intense fixed look that he gave when he was being serious, "And believe me, I would desire you, I believe that down that path would only lead to unhappiness for us both." Then more softly, patting her shoulder, added, "I value our friendship, which could be lost...would not be helped by...that." Aldhelm leaned away from her. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will leave you to rest."

But he did not turn away from her immediately, for Osthryth had had time as she listened to formulate the next words she was going to say, and said them quickly as she saw Aldhelm get to his feet.

"As we are friends, then I would prefer my friend to stay by me this night," she nodded and and reached up to pull his hand. Aldhelm sat back down next to her. "I promise not to kiss you again."

"Now I see what threat Eardwulf thought you would be to his sister," he quipped, and they both laughed.

"You worry about your task?" Aldhelm asked, when he was lying next to Osthryth bundled up in his blankets as she was her cloak.

"Not the task itself. She will be easy to despatch. Just the aftermath. Is Aethelred prepared for that? Is he prepared that by removing Alfred's daughter in Mercia the repercussions?" In the darkness, Osthryth felt Aldhelm shuffle nearer to her, and she was grateful for his warmth, for it was becoming a cold night.

"I think not, I think her role is central to everything. My parents were killed by Danes not far from Tamworth. They are a scourge to us and our way of life."

"Then we must have a plan," Osthryth replied. "It must appear that I have been thwarted not because I could not do it, but because she got wind of danger and fled." They lay in silence for a while, Osthryth could hear Aldhelm breathing, but it wasn't the slowness of slumber; he wasn't going to sleep.

"May I assure you, it is not because I do not find you an attractive woman," Aldhelm said, as if the idea had been on his mind all that time. "I just do not feel that it would be the right course for us to undertake."

Osthryth may have exhaled a little too loudly, because Aldhelm continued to explain futher. Osthryth's heart sank: it was clear he didn't want to: why prolong the justification? But Aldhelm was doing just that, and she listened to him in slience.

"There is another reason I would not wish to...lie with you, Osthryth," Aldhelm explained, quietly. "I believe your heart is with someone else?" When Osthryth said nothing, Aldhelm prompted, "I have seen the way you look at the lord Uhtred, for example?"

Very perceptive, Osthryth thought, and then aloud said, "If I wish it, it can no more come true. My life does not really shout "domesticity". But no, the lord Uhtred, traitor to Alfred and outlaw of Wessex, no, not in a million years. I mean, - euch!" She made a noise like a pig getting a surprise poke by the farmer and Aldhelm laughed.

"Not the lord Uhtred. But someone?" When Osthryth did not answer, Aldhelm added, "I wonder why you are so hard on yourself."

"Because after this, I must go, Lord Aldhelm," Osthryth replied, admitting more to her commander than she had dared to admit to her own brain.

"Please, not "Lord", not to you, Osthryth. And, where must you go that Mercia cannot accommodate you?"

"Because of what Eardwulf said," she clarified, not answering his question. "I do not know where I come from, but he is the sort of man who will find something, and I will be shipped off to somewhere, if he has enogh evidence I came from here or from there, set me up, have it pre-arranged." Osthryth felt herself losing her temper a little, and she forced herself to calm down. What was it Eirik Thurgilson said? Meet defeat and success in the same way?

"It will not come to that," Aldhelm sought to reassure her. "You are Aethelred's oath taker, and are of Mercia, you are auxiliary captain - should you wish to change your mind on that one - "

" - I won't - "

" - and I would not have suggested thst if I thought you couldn't do that role: those squads of men are vital to our defenses. Will you at least come back to Aylesbury first?" And Osthryth's heart melted a little more. A humanitarian was a rare thing in the world.

"Because it's you who has asked, Aldhelm, yes," Osthryth agreed. "So, let us discuss how we attempt to feign taking the life of the Lady of the Mercians. Who was there? Did she get away before we arrived? Did she slip away in our presence? And if she did, how? What preparations had she made? Did the go somewhere pre-planned? Near? Far?"

On the straw, Osthryth turned over to his direction, and laid a hand on his arm.

"Osthryth..."

"May I say what a good man you are," Osthryth said, then tucked her hand away.

"If you knew me, Osthryth, you would not believe so," Aldhelm replied.

"Perhaps you too should not be so hard on yourself, Aldhelm," she said, and patted his hand once more, before they talked into the night about how to stage a failed assassination of the Lady of the Mercians.

88888888

"Winchelcombe." The lady Aethelflaed was pacing her study, her sword not yet sheathed, Osthryth noticed. "I will...send word I am to be helped; those nuns have a keep, I will be quite safe.

"Quite safe, unless you undergo a siege," Aldhelm suggested. "The land is narrow, and there is little ground to run to, should you need to."

"And who do you think will chase me to a nunnery to murder me, Lord Aldhelm?"

"Perhaps the same man who sent us?" Osthryth was not known for subtlety, and Aethelflaed was affronted by her bluntness.

"Ah yes, my husband," Aethelflaed replied, giving Osthryth a shrivelling look, which had absolutely no effect on her whatsoever.

"So, why did you come?" she asked Aldhelm, still threatening him with her sword. Too flimsy, Osthryth thought, as she scrutinised the steel. Fine for close combat, but put that in the way of an axe and it will become an undersized seax. "My husband's hound..."

"He may not kill you," Osthryth growled at Aethelflaed, offended on Aldhelm's behalf - how dare she dismiss him like that! "I may yet; I am every bit a Mercian as the lord Aldhelm." Aethelflaed turned her pale brown eyes distainfully to Osthryth.

"My husband's Gaelish bitch." With a thrrrm, Buaidh was out and the lady's sword was on the floor. She gave an outraged look at Osthryth.

"Though I do not like the way he treats you, the law of Mercia says he is king," Osthryth reminded her. Aethelflaed looked at her sharply. "Or as close to king as possible." Osthryth picked up some silver coins which were on Aethelflaed's desk, holding one out to her.

"Your father ruled next to Ceowulf; Mercia knows that Wessex would like to rule it and fears for its safety. You have Aelfwyn, she could be queen after you both - you fight well; she could be taught by you, Mercia would be happy." But Aethelflaed was not.

"What you say is an outrage!" She stormed. But stopped, when Osthryth raised Buaidh again.

"Then take my sword from me and strike my head from my shoulders, bean," Osythryth offered, her heart sinking when she saw Aldhelm bridle.

"May I say," Aldhelm interjected, pushing away Osthryth's sword. "I have come to realise that the land would be poorer without the Lady of the Mercians," Aldhelm told her, as Osthryth stood motionless, only her sword blade vibrating very slightly in front of her.

"I will accompany you to this monastery," Osthryth offered.

"Why must I come with you?"

"Why must I come with you, you say? You have to escape and survive your escape." Mocking laughter entered Osthryth's voice added, "and you never will survive with a part-cooled blade and two maidservants."

"You are nothing but a - " But Aethelflaed broke off when Osthryth's sword point traced a line over her neck.

"I can kill you. I would, if I could." And as quick as she had removed Buaidh, Osthryth put away her blade. "And I will, if you let down this country of mine."

"It is adopted by you," Aethelflaed retorted.

"And by you - whose loyalty is more honourable? Given or taken?" Osthryth pointed to the sleeping girl. Aelfwyn would have to be protected. "She is the most important thing now." Osthryth was aware of Aldhelm watching the two of them, and listening, seemingly at a loss as to whether to intervene or not.

"Aethelred is her father, no matter what you think," Aethelflaed protested.

"What I think is what I know - you confided in me once," Osthryth reminded her, and the lady's eyes told her Aethelflaed knew. "You were pregnant before you ever met Eirik." Osthryth watched her flinch. Then, Aethelflaed leaned past Osthryth as if she were no more than a roof pillar and called to her servant.

"Go to Uhtred - tell him I am here," Aethelflaed instructed. But Osthryth dashed the note from the maid's surprised fingers.

"If you want that message delivered, you must find another way. Tell her, for she will not believe me." Osthryth said the last part to Aldhelm, who stepped towards Aethelflaed and bowed his head.

"It is true, lady. Uhtred chose to attack your father and, as such, made himself an outlaw to Wessex." Osthryth was gratified when she heard an intake of breath from the lady and she leaned closer to Aethelflaed. "Who can you trust in Winchester?"

Aethelflaed stared at her for a good few minutes, before bending to her desk and writing another letter. When she had finished, the lady sealed it in wax and then wrote another, called her servant to her, bending low to her ear.

"Very good, my lady," the servant said, accepting the letters, and hurried from the room. Aethelflaed then busied herself collecting things that she needed.

"No time!" Osthryth shouted. "Get what you need, and go! If we have been sent to do this to you, Aethelflaed, others may be sent to cause harm to your daughter, or ensure we have been successful." Osthryth gripped her arm to make her listen when Aethelflaed began to shovel papers into bags. "Food, blankets, horses. They are crucial, everything else can wait." Finally, Aethelflaed shook Osthryth free, and she went to wake up Aelfwyn.

"It failed because of me," Aldhelm counselled Osthryth as they left Aethelflaed to make her plans to flee. "That is what we will convey. Me he will forgive. He will kill you."

"Aldhelm - thank you," Osthryth said, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. He nodded, graciously.

As they rode away, as the sun began to rise, Osthryth turned to her commander as he said, "He needs a purpose. Aethelred. Alfred dictates all the opportunities now."

"Then perhaps you can suggest this," Osthryth replied, and began to explain a possible outlet to keep Aethelred from boredom. When she had finished, she looked across to the serious Aldhelm.

"So?" Osthryth asked. "What do you think?"

"I think it is a good plan, Osthryth," Aldhelm nodded. "Saint Oswald would certainly bring spirituality back to a broken Mercia." And when Osthryth made to go, he made sure he was smiling when she turned round, questioningly.

"I must ensure she has left safely, then I will catch you up. You are sure of the way?" Osthryth nodded to a single track road ahead of them.

"That way?" Aldhelm nodded.

And so Osthryth took the track, which was indeed the correct way back to Oxford, and then Aylesbury. But not the way she took it, for she ended up on a different part of the Fosse Way, and it wasn't until dusk came that Osthryth realised that she must have gone wrong.

For there was Waetling Street in front of her, which should not be there if she had gone due east. Instead, she must have gone north east, which meant she was near High Cross again, and close to where she had been, usurping her brother's protection.

Uhtred was no longer anywhere near there now. Which was very unfortunate for Osthryth.

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Night fell when Osthryth recognised High Cross, the junction where the Fosse Way and Waetling Street met. She had gone the wrong way, that was clear. What was also clear was that it would be foolish to attempt to ride south again, taking the same path as she had done almost a week before.

Wherever Uhtred and his men, and the seer were was not here. Six days could take them to Alba.

It began to snow. Soft flakes settled around her, and Osthryth pulled her cloak about her. She had no food, no shelter, for she and Aldhelm had planned to ride through the night back to Aylesbury.

So she would rest here and wait until the morning. A small bourne was springing up just beyond Waetling Street and Osthryth crossed to it, splashing water into her mouth.

She had to hope that Aldhelm had realised she was lost, and intended to return to Aylesbury, rather than just gone off, and the desire to ride south grew so great that she untied her horse's rein and drew the beast round.

She had to get there, fast, Osthryth told herself. Water had refreshed her, and doubts had begun to invade her mind. What would Aethelred say when she got back to Aylesbury? What if she got back before Aldhelm? Or after?

Osthryth swung her leg over her horse and made to start the horse off to trot, his legs slipping under him as he fought for grip on the hard ground.

Then a bang to her head was the last thing Osthryth knew until she opened her eyes and found herself in a prison cell.

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"You have to let them in," Uhtred told his brother. They were standing on the ramparts of Dunholm, torches from the gates flickering down towards the men at the gate. It was firmly closed and Ragnar would have it stay that way.

"We request shelter," Bloodhair shouted up. Uhtred looked to Ragnar, knowing that they were all rivals and yet, all Danes.

"What are you doing here, Aethelwold?" It was more an accusation than a question, when finally Haesten and his men were admitted.

"This army is going south, to capture Wessex," he explained, happily. "Who else to be king, than the man who was meant to be king?" Uhtred rolled his eyes and began to stalk towards Dunholm's hall. Behind them, a man carried over the prisoner. Why they had captured someone rather than killed them, Aethelwold would never know. Yes, he had a good horse and sword, and a little silver. But why was he needed?

"Because a Saxon will cause no suspicion when we send him on for us," Haesten said, as he shoved the unconscious Osthryth into the cell, pulling off her hood. She fell against the floor and lay there.

From the other corner, the chained seer, Skade, floated to the bars.

"I do not wish to be imprisoned with a Saxon!" She demanded to Haesten. He sniffed, and scratched his hair, before shrugging.

"I don't care."

"You will care, when I take your soul and convene with the three spinners. Watch your fate be knitted with that of the world! Aah!" She gasped, as she stamped away from the cold gates and huddled down between two hay bales, the better to keep warm. Then, she noticed the Saxon's cloak, and strode over to him, untying it and pulling it over herself.

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When Osthryth woke up, she was shivering. Shivering, cold and hungry. Her horse was...nowhere. Had she not slept at High Cross? Was she not supposed to be going south?

Further inspection of her own person made Osthryth begin to panic: no Buaidh; no cloak nor the silver she had stolen from Aethelflaed's desk at Saltwic. When she blinked a few more times Osthryth was aware that someone was staring at her.

"My cloak!" Osthryth declared, trying to get to her feet.

"Mine," the woman replied, pulling the thick woollen garment about her shoulders. In her fuzzy state of mind Osthryth tried to get up, but her legs would not hold her, and she stumbled back against the side of the cell. A laugh from outside of the cell made Osthryth look outside. A guard was laughing at her incapacity. He spoke to Skade in Danish, and the woman replied, bitten, sharp words, a rebuke of some sort, Osthryth figured, for her Danish was not vey good.

So she was in Daneland then, Osthryth thought, with, presumably, Danes. She looked across to the woman again, who was giving Osthryth an insolent look. She knew her, of that Osthryth was certain. But she could not place her. Osthryth sighed. The last time she had been imprisoned with a Dane it had been Eirik Thurgilson, and he was a prisoner too.

"Your death, Saxon, will be mighty entertaining," Skade tormented.

"I am an Angle," Osthryth corrected her, in Danish. The woman must have been surprised, Osthryth thought, for her face froze, surprised at being addressed in Danish by a Saxon. Or Angle.

"Big difference," Skade shrugged. "When they pull you limb from limb for their entertainment it will not matter in the least." But the threats were not going in to Osthryth's brain; instead she looked out and into the courtyard of the fortress where she had been brought. Above the ramparts a partial body hung, crows feasting on its innards.

"You see," Skade said, reading Osthryth's actions and implying her thoughts. "That will be you tomorrow." Osthryth blinked and looked back to the woman again.

"And where is this, that I will be decorating? We must be north."

"Dunholm." And Osthryth stared around again. She was meant to come here, as a child. This would have been her home, when she had been forced to marry Sven Kjartansson, by her uncle. Dunholm, Osthryth thought, in wonder.

Then, she shot her head back to the woman, who was eating an apple curled up in Osthryth's cloak. Osthryth remembered her, the same insolence, the same arrogance. The seer.

"You made him ill," Osthryth said. "Uhtred." The woman widened her eyes, and stopped eating her apple.

"And you are the woman who followed him," Skade said. "You - " But she broke off. For a woman stood before the cell. She was shorter than Osthryth and her hair was braided in the Danish way. She seemed not to see Osthryth, or else, Osthryth was not her concern. The woman glared at Skade, who floated towards the woman.

They began to argue in Danish that was too fast for Osthryth to understand, which resulted in the brown-haired woman thrusting a staff with a ram's head atop outside the prison. The guard jumped, but that was nothing compared to what the white-haired seer did. Osthryth was certain she saw the woman recoil in what looked like a great deal of pain.

It was only after the woman began to walk away from the cell that she turned and seemed to notice Osthryth.

"And you are the Saxon stooge," she said to Osthryth, distainfully.

"I am what?" Osthryth asked. "I do not know how I came to be here; I was riding south."

"And now you are north," the woman replied, "Alive, until you have fulfilled your usefulness." And away she went.

Osthryth sank back to the cold floor, drawing her legs up to her chest. It was cold, and she sat staring at Dunholm's tall, straight walls, as if a forest of decapitated trees had been planted in lines to form its walls. Then, after a time, Osthryth realised the woman was staring at her.

"You are no warrior," Skade said, baiting her. "A warrior would have fought to gain his cloak back by now."

"Keep it," Osthryth said, and stared out again, feeling a lump in her bindings. The silver coin Finan had given to her as a token of their connection to one another. It was like a promise, like a suggestion of an interest in one another. Osthryth held it up in front of her, examining its surfaces. It was an Alfred coin, of course, for he had spent a good deal of his life in Winchester with Uhtred.

But, if she ever got out of Dunholm, she would have to give it back to him; Osthryth knew she could not promise what the coin suggested. He was not Taghd, who had agreed to let her fight shoulder to shoulder with him. He was Finan, who was bound to her brother by the words of an oath.

It was only when she heard laughter before the cell that Osthryth looked up. She musy have looked a state, and felt very hungry, and she gripped the coin in her hand. Then, before she could protest, Osthryth saw the gates of the cell open and two Danes gripped her arms by her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

"Excellent, excellent!" Haesten declared, as he turned Osthryth's face to his. "Bring him to the hall."

In the brighter lights, Osthryth blinked. Around her were Danes, many, many Danes, all staring at her, and other people gathered around the central fire pit. Osthryth stretched as the warmth infiltrated her muscles, and she was suddenly hungry again. And aware that the many, many Danes were staring at them.

There were two other prisoners, one who had clearly wronged one of the leaders. To her horror, and the jubilation of the Danes, the man who had brought her out of the cell pushed the back of one of them. He tumbled into the fire without even a chance to scream and the pale yellow flames consumed his body.

But not all corners of the hall celebrated. A vacuum of sound came from just behind one of the leaders standing next to the brown-haired woman who had argued with the blonde-haired captive. What shocked her most, Osthryth realised, was not the death, but the swiftness, and she forced herself to remain calm.

In the smoke and acrid smell which, to Osthryth, seemed to resemble smoked bacon, she could just make out figures who were not applauding, and she focused her eyes on them.

One of them was a Dane; he had long, braided hair and an upper arm bound in silver rings. He was clapping the tall leader on the shoulder and grinning. Beside him, two - no, three other men. A fourth was hovering beside the Dane, and was also reticent in celebration. Indeed, he had his arms folded.

"Take them away!" The brown haired woman's leader shouted, "Skol!" He added, raising a wooden cup. The rest greeted them with a, "Skol!" and the men who had dragged Osthryth there began to grab her arms.

Osthryth struggled, and kicked out at those men who would be, even now, thinking about throwing her in the fire pit, her heart thumping hard.

"We have entertainment!" The leader who had brought her out approached Osthryth and poked her shoulder. "We like that, do we not, Saxon bastard?"

"Gael," Osthryth corrected, and noticed almost at once a flicker behind the first leader. Someone had moved closer. "I am a Gael!"

"Well," Haesten said, mockingly, "That's almost as good as a Saxon - Hoyt, get your Frisian backside over here and show this...Gael...what it means to defy the lord Haesten!"

And Osthryth stopped struggling, her heart thumping in her chest. Not because Hoyt was so big - she had the advantage of outwitting him. But because she recognised the name. He was the Dane who had robbed Ulf and Gert on the ship, taken the silver she had given them for her passage. She examined Haesten's face, wondering if he remembered her too.

Sometimes Osthryth wondered why she had even try to bother, knowing what her brother was like, knowing she wasn't going to the ready-made family of her imaginings.

"We will make the square," Haesten roared, and men around him roared. But not all of them, Osthryth noticed. "The Gael can fight the Saxon, and whoever wins can fight my best fighter!" Haesten clapped the man on the back, as more shouts and roars of encouragement filled the hall. But Osthryth noticed the other leader stand more fully upright.

"No," Ragnar said, as he stared at Osthryth and the other prisoner. "They are more valuable alive, to work for us." This caused booing and roars of objection, and Haesten took a step to Ragnar.

"How has the great Ragnar Ragnarsson come to be such a bore!" The words were a challenge, but Ragnar did not respond to them. Instead, he stood by the ashes of the fallen prisoner and addressed the Danes at large.

"We are one army!" he declared. "We are heading south, we go to Wessex to take...everything!" Ragnar was circling all the warriors now, and clapping them on the back. "We will have time...later...to celebrate. But I need all of you to advance, as one, south. And then your champion can fight the Gael!" He grinned as he took Osthryth around the shoulders, raising a fist to hit her. But Osthryth was quicker than he expected, and ducked under his arm.

"He is quick," Finan remarked to Uhtred, bearded chin resting in hand. "Although I do say that I would not like to witness any more burnings," he added, as the other man met the fate of the first - Haesten pulled the man in over the flames, clearing the way for Ragnar and the Gael.

"We - have - entertainment!" Haesten declared, as Ragnar made to grab Osthryth. But she was again too quick, and Ragnar hit one of Bloodhair's men, sending him reeling into others. That caused the men to push the man back towards Ragnar, who hit him back, in the jaw.

"Just, everyone, stop!" It was Brida's voice. "Listen, all of you, we are not one army if we choose to fight one another!" Osthryth had taken some steps backwards, but was now being held by the shoulders by two of Ragnar's men.

"Get him, Ragnar!" One of them shouted, but instead of punching at Osthryth, he took a burning log from the fire and burned her arm. She screamed, and tried to struggle, but the men holding Osthryth's shoulders gave her no advantage. She waited, screwing up her eyes, for Ragnar to attack again, but it never came. Slowly, Osthryth opened them.

"A woman, Haesten?" Ragnar asked.

"I am no woman!" Osthryth declared, pain shooting up her left arm, her flesh throbbing from the burn.

"Does anyone know this woman?" Ragnar asked the assembled Danes.

"I would like to know her!" someone shouted, causing a ripple of laughter. Beside a Dane far from Ragnar and close to Uhtred, Finan spied something.

"Look here, lord," he said, pointing to the handle of a blade in the belt of the Dane. He pointed to a straight line cut into the leather where at various points lines had been cut, sometimes two, sometimes three or four, sometimes these lines were one side of the main line, or the other.

"So?"

"It spells something," Finan told him, turning his head to check the other end of the line.

"It spells nothing," Uhtred replied, "it's just decoration." But Finan had tapped the Dane on the shoulder.

"What is your sword called?" Finan asked. The Dane, drawn from the entertainment before him, turned to Finan.

"Nothing," he said, and looked back.

"Not, "Victory?"" The Dane looked back to Finan.

"No."

"For the last time," Ragnar declared, "does anyone claim this woman?"

"Get her on her back!" Declared Haesten, holding Osthryth's forearm. She shook him away, angrily.

"It's Osthryth!" Finan told Uhtred. His lord turned and gave him a frown.

"It is not!" He replied and shook his head to his friend. "You are obsessed, Finan."

"So why does that man have her sword?"

But the deliberation got no further, and nor did Haesten's insistence they shared Osthryth, because another man stood before them.

"Yes," Aethelwold said, standing in a way he thought was humble. "Though not well, she is a Gael, once in service to my uncle." He bowed superciliously, and offered his hand to Osthryth. The two Danes holding her shoulders loosed her, and Osthryth looked down to Aethelwold. And punched him in the face.

This brought howls of laughter from the Danes, and Ragnar too. Osthryth looked up at him, as he brought a hand to rest on her shoulder.

"You are indeed a warrior," Ragnar declared. Then noticed something in her hand, which he took from her. At the same time, Finan had withdrawn Osthryth's blade from the Dane's belt and had pushed past Uhtred.

"This is yours, is it not?" His question was in Gaelish, and Osthryth stared into his face. "Take it!" He declared, ignoring the commotion behind him, and Osthryth grasped the hilt, her hand falling over Finan's fingers as he let go. As he stepped back, Finan's eyes caught the coin.

"You recognise this?" Ragnar asked. Finan nodded.

"Then she is indeed your woman?" Behind him, Aethelwold was getting to his feet.

"Or the woman who is Edward's nursemaid," he put in, rubbing his face. "Tell me, does he suck hard on those tits of yours?"

"May I kill him?" Finan asked Osthryth, "Or do you want to do it?" Ragnar stepped between them.

"Stand in the queue!" Someone shouted.

"There will be no more killing," he declared, "And if this Gael is known to you, do you claim her?" Finan stared at Osthryth, who was looking back to him.

"He is a friend to me," Osthryth declared.

"This is true, brother," Uhtred put in, stepping past Brida. Osthryth looked up at this unexpected defense from her brother, and the guilt of Gisela slid into place once more.

"Yes," said Finan, quicky. Osthryth shot him a look and saw that the corners of his mouth turned up a little and he nodded his head. "I am her friend."

"There we have it, no more entertainment tonight," Ragnar declared, and Osthryth nodded a thanks to Finan, as she re-scabbarded Buaidh.

"What was that?" Uhtred asked, as Finan joined them at the table with Ragnar. Brida had crossed to where Osthryth was still standing, and was talking to her.

"Ogham," Finan replied, "It was an ancient Irish script, the Druidhe used to use it on stone - "

"The declaration!" Uhtred asked.

"Are you telling me you would let a woman be gang raped by these - " Finan made to choose his words carefully, "- Danes?" He leaned towards Uhtred, as Sihtric and Osferth leaned towards him too, desperate not to miss any of Finan's explaining of himself. "You wouldn't, I know you."

"Oh, they wouldn't have done that," Uhtred replied, airily. "Besides, she likes fighting."

"She wouldn't have liked burning in a fire like those other poor souls," Finan retorted, drinking heavily from the jar that servants had begun to bring round. "Look," he added, "I don't like this - an army to march into Wessex? We have families there - "at this point he looked at Sihtric, " - and you, you have children there. Bebbanburg," Finan declared, "Now that's a fight I can believe in!"

"Come." A hand on her shoulder made Osthryth jump. It was the brown haired woman who was with the warrior leader who had fought her. "You fought bravely. It takes real courage to stand up to Ragnar."

"Is he your husband?" Osthryth asked, as she led her to a table. Brida called one of the servants to her and gave her instructions to bring food.

"I think what saved your life with Ragnar was that you are a Gael, not a Saxon," Brida continued. "He fought in Irland; Cnut too," she added, indicating a flame-haired Dane eating two fowl legs at once beside Ragnar.

And a memory filtered into Osthryth's brain: did she know them? Had she faced them at Doire? It was likely: Ragnar was a very handsome man, and Cnut...she seemed to remember they were near one another. Bloodhair? This Jarl Sigurd? Had he travelled to Eireann to attempt an attack on a coastal monastery too?

"Ragnar always says how bravely the Irish fought him, not like the Saxons who run away, or fall to their knees and try to pray. How pathetic is that?" Brida bit into bread, pulled off a passing platter. "Even the Welsh women fight back, and we faced a few of those people when we attacked Caer Ligualid, believe me."

"So," Brida said, looking Osthryth up and down. "Why are you in Englaland?" Osthryth shrugged her shoulders.

"I was lost," Osthryth replied. "I was going north, to begin my search for my family. Unfortunately, Wessex got its claws into me, and I had to work to earn silver."

"I saw what you did to Aethelwold," Brida remarked. "And you hate Wessex?"

"Winchester," Osthryth corrected. "The backstabbing, the politics." Osthryth drank deeply from the jar containing goat's milk. Behind them, there was a roar as someone won at dice, and tankards smashed together in celebration.

"You should try living with Danes!" Brida replied, "Then you would know of political backstabbing. No..." she tailed off, and her gaze fell to her husband, Osthryth noticed, before coming back to her. "No, they are honest, in their way, fair minded to one another, not treacherous bastards undermining one another for personal gain like the Saxons." Brida smiled when she saw that Finan has caught Osthryth's eye.

"And you intend to go north still?" Osthryth nodded. If she was indeed free to go, she had gained herself free passage almost to the border of Pictland. She watched Brida get to her feet and felt her cheeks flush as Finan crossed the straw-laden floor, sitting down next to her.

"Why are yer here?" he asked, urgently, reaching out a hand to Osthryth's.

"I decided to come overland," Osthryth remarked, waiting for his reaction.

"Yer never did!" Finan exclaimed. "What in the eejit - "

"I got lost," Osthryth admitted. "After I left you, I went south to Aethelred, and the Mercian army."

"Oh," Finan replied, "Them."

"And I was given a mission. But I was too late to carry it out. Regarding the lady Aethelflaed," Osthryth added, when Finan raised an eyebrow. "And I heard what you said about Bebbanburg," Osthryth continued, "But Uhtred will need to go south." She leaned over the table, talking close to Finan's ear. "Aethelflaed is hiding for her life in a place called Winchelcombe. And yes, I wish to go north."

"Osthryth!" Finan declared, reaching for her hand. Then, he spied the burn on her arm and asked, "Does it hurt very much?"

"It is cooling," Osthryth replied, for Brida had supplied her with a cloth and clean water to bathe her arm.

"And north, that is where you want to be?" Finan persisted. Osthryth shook her head.

"I do not know, truly. I dare not say any place, Finan Mor, for when my heart is set on something, I lose it," Osthryth admitted. From her shirt, Osthryth pulled out the silver piece again and held it out towards Finan. But Finan shook his head.

"Look after it for me," he asked, folding his hand around Osthryth's, then withdrawing it quickly when he saw Uhtred glaring at them disdainfully.

"And he has given up Bennanbutg now he is a Dane," Osthryth added, as if that was the topic they had just been discussing. Uhtred frowned, crossly.

"What do you know of Bebbanburg?" he asked, scornfully. Wouldn't you like to know, Osthryth thought.

"Only what Finan has told me: that your birthright was usurped." Uhtred shot a look of outrage to his friend.

"Finan should learn to keep his mouth shut! Did he say anything else?" Uhtred demanded of her.

"Wait for me in Wessex. But, since I will not get there before this army of Danes and Norse get there to destroy that kingdom, I do think that I habve the best of the deal."

"You should have gone," Uhtred told her, scraping back the bench on which he was sitting

"I'll do as I wish!" Osthryth returned, hotly.

"I hear you already do!" Osthryth looked up to Uhtred, who had his hands on his hips.

"Is your arse jealous of the amount of shit that's just come out of your mouth?" she asked. Laughter came from behind Osthryth, and Brida set a lump of bread onto Osthryth's plate.

"This girl seems to know you well, Uhtred," she commented, as Uhtred raised eyebrows.

"I'll do as I wish," Osthryth repeated, when Uhtred made to argue with her. Instead, it was Brida who had the next say.

"Stay here with us until the army marches," she said. "You will come to no harm." But Uhtred had already gripped Osthryth's forearm.

"And I say you'll do as Finan wishes, as he is your friend, and that is the only reason you are not being passed from Dane to Dane here." Brida leaned towards Finan.

"Is she staying?" Brida asked him.

"No, she's going," said Osthryth. "At first light. I figure someone had all of my wealth, so we are quits," she said to Brida. "North," she added.

"Lackland, are you?" Brida asked, shaking her head. "You can only be a Dane with a determination like that."

"Are you a Dane?" Osthryth asked her.

"I chose to be one, like Uhtred." She bent close to Osthryth's ear. "Where does you heart lie?"

"North," Osthryth replied, in Danish. "In Alba. As yours lies here." And she thanked Brida for the food, and Finan for his friendship, before making her way outside again. It was a few moments before she realised she was being followed.

"What is it that Uhtred has done to you?" It was Brida, and she had followed Osthryth outside. Many Danes were lying drunk from the night's entertainment, some were throwing up, others asleep between bales of hay, legs sticking out, in the case of one inebriated Dane. Osthryth waited for a moment to find a word that truly summed it up.

"Got in my way," she said at last.

"Then, you should go in fellowship, with Freya's blessing." Brida touched her cheek. "No man should hump you, though you should be with your friend," she added. But Osthryth shook her head.

"And when the Morrigan comes to you," Osthryth replied, "Let her pick you up, and give you strength." She saw Brida frown.

"And who is the Morrigan?"

"How far north have you been?" Osthryth asked.

"This far," Brida told her.

"When you get further north, your gods will retreat a little, for Alba is the land of the Sidhe, the land spirits," Osthryth added. "Like my God is there, yours will remain. But it is the Morrigan who shouts the loudest."

"But I am glad to see he is no longer close to death," Osthryth told Brida. And Brida told her how she had blocked the powers of the seer, Skade, who had been poisoning his mind.

"With the Nithstong," Brida explained.

"That's what it is," Osthryth replied, intrigued. "It looked as if it had an effect on her, yes."

"You must find somewhere safe to be," Brida cautioned again. "I have seen how Aethelwold has been looking at you, and I think he is the one you have truly had problems with." Osthryth nodded. It had been a shock to see Aethelwold. But there was no way in hell she was going to ask Uhtred's permission to be with his men for her safety.

In the end, when Brida turned and followed Ragnar back into the hall, Osthryth made her way to the cells. The guard was surprised when Osthryth asked in Danish to be put back inside again, and he looked about, as if this was some sort of trick. But, eventually Osthryth was back inside, and the lock clicked behind her.

Just like the gates at Caer Ligualid's prison, Osthryth noted, and reached for Eirik's jewel, which she now knew she could use to open that gate if she wanted to - two small turns and one big one would do it.

There was a rustle as the seer turned over. Then the blonde haired woman sat up.

"You came back," Skade commented, smoothing her hair from her face. She looked smaller and less threatening than when Osthryth first was thrown into the cell. Perhaps the threat of blocking of power had changed her. But there was still a sense of darkness, of power beyond the living. She turned her head to Skade.

"Who is the Morrigan?" Osthryth smiled in the darkness. "I heard you talk to that bitch Brida," she added.

"The oldest living goddess in this land," Osthryth replied. "The great queen of the sidhe."

"And the sidhe are...?"

"The embodiment of everything. The spirits of the land and sea and sky." Osthryth looked at Skade again, a realisation falling to her mind. "And you...fear me - why?"

"You have been touched by this great queen." Skade moved over to Osthryth, her body twisting in such a way that it put Osthryth in mind of a great snake.

"Yes."

"Powerful?

Oh powerful indeed! She has passed through my bones, so believe me when I say, your gods are nothing to her power!"

"And you are Christian?" Osthrtrh nodded.

"How do you think your God has served you?"

"God is not there to serve; we are there to serve Him."

"So you are in His favour, then?" Skade's eyes flashed with a brightness that Osthryth did not think possible, for the only light now was the setting sun.

"If I am here, it is because he needs to be." And then Skade turned away suddenly, and slunk back into the shadows.

"Talk to me no more!" The woman demanded. Then, she said one more thing, before saying no more to Osthryth and Osthryth always wondered whether she had heard it from Skade's lips or whether the thought had just arrived in her brain.

"You made the sun die."

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How could she have known? Skade, brought out into the company of Uhtred and the warrior Bloodhair the next morning refused to even look at Osthryth. And it was a good few hours before someone came to speak to her.

It was Ragnar. The huge Dane stood in front of the cells and laughed when he heard that Osthryth had decided to get herself locked back in.

"You should come out now," he asked, and grinned as Osthryth stood before him, his wife, Brida beside him.

"Why should we trust you?" It was Brida who spoke. "If we let you go north, you will report all you hear to Wessex." Osthryth smiled.

"For one, Wessex is in the south," she began. And then could think of no more reply. Why should they let her go? She wouldn't.

"And who would listen to you, anyway? One person?" Behind Brida, Aethelwold stood, his arms folded. "Apart from Steapa, the lord Aethelred, the lords Sigebridht and Aethelhelm - " Osthryth's mouth dropped open as he listed the lords of the Witan. "You are spy, and not a good one." Aethelwold took a step to Ragnar.

"As I offered last night, Jarl Ragnar, I could take this...spy..." Ragnar turned to look at Aethelwold, and narrowed his eyes.

"No!" He shot back, then turned back slower to Osthryth. His blue eyes twinkled as he spoke to her.

"My dear Brida points out that the Jarl Haesten relieved you of your silver." He nodded towards Haesten, who gave a reluctant grunt in reply. "As such, you are owed something. And if it is north you wish to go, then it's north you shall go!" He turned to Uhtred, who was being shadowed, as usual, by his men. Osthryth tried not to meet Finan's eye.

"My brother," Ragnar continued, clapping Uhtred on the back, "Has unfinished business in the north. He has agreed - " and at this, Osthryth looked at Uhtred, "for you to accompany him." Osthryth felt a weight lifting from her shoulders. If he was going to Bebbanburg, the border of Pictland was only a few miles away, and she should be able to walk easily to it, over it.

"Agreed," Osthryth declared, and, totally unprompted, she added, "I swear I will tell no-one of your army." She looked at the Jarl Ragnar, and nodded.

"Agreed!" Ragnar replied. "And now, we prepare for the entertainment, for tomorrow we march!"

The Danes dispersed, all except one. Osthryth glanced back to the cell in which Skade still lurked.

"You are free to move around the fortress," Brida told her, nodding around Dunholm, assuming that was Osthryth's question. "Lackland," she added savouring the words." She looked at Osthryth, and beckoned to her. "Come away from that accursed seer, come and walk with me."

So Osthryth and Brida began to walk around the fortress, then out through one of the side gates and beyond the fortress.

"It will be the end of Uhtedd when he goes back to Bebbanburg," Brida confided. "Here's an idea: you coukd go with him, Lackland. Before you go to Alba." She bent her head to Osthryth and added, "I know you are a formidable fighter - your enemy Aethelwold regaled us with your triumphs." But Osthryth turned back to the woman.

"Never will I set foot inside the place. Although, should he meet resistance on the way, I will do all I can." Then it was Osthryth's turn to ask something of Brida. "He can still be Dane and yet of Bebbanburg if he chooses?" Brida stopped walking and turned to face Osthryth fiercely.

"And why are you here? I don't buy that you are travelling home." Osthryth smiled. Time for the truth, one which she had carried deep inside her, despite her reluctance to admit it.

"He inspires warriors," said Osthryth. "I am inspired by him." Brida snorted, and then continued to walk in the ankle-length grass around the fortress.

"He inspires wonen to lie down for him," Brida shot back, then her tone became wistful. "But he wouldn't stay Dane for me."

"I am sorry for that," Osthryth said, and meant it. Clearly Brida had lost her heart to Uhtred in the past.

"No matter." The woman shook her head. "I am with Ragnar now."

"He is very handsome." Brida laughed.

"Do not get any ideas, Gael. Keep your own man."

"He is not my man," Osthryth admitted, feeling for the silver piece. "Like Uhtred, he values his oath over me."

"Then you are right to seek home," Brida concluded and, banging on the front gate, they entered Dunholm once more.

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The entertainment was not to his taste, Finan told her, as he took her by the hand. Feasting and drinking was all very well, and he had excused himself now.

He hadn't, Osthryth thought, as she glanced over to her brother. Uhtred was looking for Finan, she could tell. There was a tug-of-war to win, which Ragnar was talking up, with the help of a good deal of ale.

To the hay loft above the horses' store. It was a quiet place, Finan explained, and they would not be disturbed. And afterwards, they looked at the waning moon through the loft hatch.

"You should not be here," Finan told her. "You should never have come."

"Did I have a choice?" Osthryth asked, and she giggled, despite of herself, as Finan tickled her. Then he stopped and stroked her hair.

"Go away from this place," he told her.

"I intend to. North, remember? Alba?" Even in the darkness, Finan looked pained. Osthryth changed the subject.

"Finan? Finan!" A voice called in the darkness. Her brother, of course.

"I heard he had gone over the border of Waetling Street, into Danelaw, and spoke to a ead man called Bjorn. Uhtred," she added, when Finan said nothing. "He has been declared king of Mercia?" Osthryth supplied. "Tell me the truth, Finan," she added.

"It was true; that that is what we witnessed," he admitted, quietly as he looked out at the moon and the stars again.

"Finan!" Uhtred. Damn him, Osthryth thought.

"Of course, unless his declaration on Bebbanburg is only a ruse - " Finan moved next to her, getting up.

"No, he means it, to be sure, but to say it loudly and pretend to be drunk was the ruse against the Danes innading Wessex, and - " Finan said no more. It was complicated, and Osthryth felt herself getting lost in the intrigue. And then Finan turned to Osthryth again, and kissed her, before leaving the hay store above the horses and returning, she presumed, to the side of his lord.

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Many Danes lay drunk about Dunholm's fortress the next morning as Uhtred prepared to ride north. Horses were being saddled and food was being wrapped in leather cloths bound with cord.

"What happened to your cloak?" Finan asked, as Osthryth readied the black horse that Haesten and Aethelwold had taken from her. It scratched the ground with its hooves, and Osthryth wondered whether it was protesting about having her as a rider again.

"The seer took it," Osthryth replied. "It looked as if she needed it more than I did, so I didn't get it back."

The woman looked between Osthryth and Finan, and he strode to her, making to take Osthryth's cloak. But the seer pulled it from her shoulders and flung it at Osthryth, stepping back from her, looking away.

"I have never seen her like that before," Finan said, as Osthryth put her cloak back round her own shoulders again, and Osthryth shuddered at Skade's final words to her. It was as if she had actually seen Osthryth banish the sun. But, it was ridiculous: Osthryth had only said that to scare away Ninefingers and his brother - the sun was being hidden anyway.

She pulled herself up onto the black horse, Buaidh at her hip and Taghd's seax at her waist, moving her beast together next to Finan.

"At the back!" Uhtred demanded, waving his hand to show her where he wanted her to be. "Only my best warriors ride near me."

"The most dangerous place is always at the back," Ragnar commented, grinning at his brother.

"So I get to save your arse," Osthryth nodded, smiling faintly at Uhtred's annoyance. He stalked over to Osthryth and took her shoulder, pulling her down from her horse. She landed, her feet thumping into the mud, and she looked crossly at Uhtred.

"You - " he poked a finger at Osthryth, "will ride at the back, will say nothing, will do nothing, and will carry out your business at a time I see fit."

"And should you get an attack at your rear end?" Osthryth asked.

"You fight." He shoved her away by the shoulder, and stalked back to his own horse. Then, he turned back to Osthryth, as she was about to get back on her horse. "You got your wish. you are riding with us now!" He declared, and pulled Skade's horse's rein next to his own, as he led out of Dunholm. Behind him, Cnut pulled up with his piebald horse and rode beside Finan and Sihtric.

Cnut, Ragnar's cousin, had been sent because of the argument that had erupted between Uhtred and Bloodhair. The jarl Sigurd had fiercely protested Uhtred's taking of Skade with him, and had challenged him.

"When I return, which will not be long," Uhtred had dismissed. Bloodhair, angry, held onto his fury as Uhtred called for the gates to be opened and Ragnar had assured Sigurd Bloodhair that Cnut would ensure Uhtred's return.

Her brother's answer told Osthryth that whatever they were doing in the north, it was not taking Bebbanburg, although of course, "long" was undefined: one man's long may be different to the next. Beside Haesten, who was watching with a calculating expression, was Aethelwold. Osthryth tried not to make eye contact with Alfred's nephew and instead turned her attention to her horse again, stroking her long neck, feeling the warmth of her body on her fingers.

Osferth nodded to Osthryth as they got under way, and Osthryth noticed Alfred's firstborn still wore his cross in plain sight over his monk's woollen habit.

"It's better at the back," he made to assure her.

"Do you know, Osferth," Osthryth replied, "I rather think that there are some very fortunate people in this world." He looked across to Osthryth, puzzled. "Because there are some people who have never met your lord of Bebbanburg." Osferth said nothing, and looked ahead, and Osthryth wondered whether he had understood. However a laugh came from just in front of her and Sihtric turned round to look at her, clearly amused by her comment.

"What did I say about not speaking?" Uhtred called back to Osthryth without turning round.

"That you would save our ears by never doing it?" Osthryth called back, but much quieter, which caused Sihtric to snort in laughter.

"Do not underestimate me!" Uhtred roared, turning to stare at his men. They fell silent and made their faces still as he spoke, and only Sihtric smirked when Uhtred turned his back to them.

"It is impossible to underestimate you," Osthryth retorted, stone faced, and that did it for Osferth, and he and Sihtric laughed loudly until Uhtred drew his horse slower and threw stale bread lumps at them both until they stopped.

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But they did not go to Bebbanburg. It took most of the day for them to get deep into Bernicia, and Osthryth had a tough time riding her horse at the pace that Uhtred wanted to go. The fortress was clearly on the cliff, and Osthryth stared at her old home, feeling her hands tense around her reins. But instead of heading east, which clearly was a decision Uhtred took a long time to decide, for he slowed and then stopped for some time, they rode on, north.

It was darkening when Uhtred finally slowed down, and he bade them pull oil-coated cloths over tree branches.

"We rest here," Uhtred said, "and move north in the morning." And Sihtric and Osferth found as much dry wood as they could to make a fire at the centre of their shelters. It began to snow as Osthryth was given the job of feeding the rabbit caught by Finan onto stakes to be cooked over two crossed frames, and she skinned them deftly as she watched Skade pull her arms about herself, trying to keep warm.

Osthryth felt sorry for the woman - she saw Finan's point that the seer should not have taken it and Osthryth should have challenged her for it. But Osthryth was used to the cold, and had more layers than one flimsy dress. When the rabbits were roasting, their enticing scent enveloping the camp, Osthryth pulled off her cloak and handed it out to the woman.

"Why are you giving this to me?" Skade looked at the cloak suspiciously.

"It is merely cloth," Osthryth told her in Danish. "It will keep you warm."

"And dry," Skade added, and it brought to mind Ulf's identifying Osthryth as the sea-witch Wachilt, when she had travelled with the Frisian fishing boat from Dunnottar to Hamptun.

With an air of suspicion still, Skade shot out a thin arm and reached for Osthryth's cloak, and she told the seer she was to keep it.

"Shouldn't you be watching the coneys?" Uhtred's voice shouted to Osthryth, crossly. "Come away from her," he added, striding over to Osthryth and shooing her with his hands towards the fireplace.

"Nearly done," Osthryth told them, and Uhtred said nothing, just nodded at that evening's supper.

"And when they are, you are on guard duty," Uhtred said to her.

"All night?"

"All night," Uhtred confirmed, and scowled at Osthryth as she withdrew Buaidh. Osthryth made out that she had withdrawn her blade so close to him accidentally, but in actual fact she wanted to make sure that her brother knew she was as much of a warrior as any of them.

It had been a while since Osthryth had done a whole night duty, but she was used to them. It was the beyond midnight hours which were the hardest, as Venus dropped to the other side of the sky, and before dawn. At least she would be warm enough pacing around the camp.

"I can guard too," Cnut offered. Osthryth shrugged as the Dane looked intently at Uhtred.

"In fact, I will place you with Sihtric and Finan can guard with you, Cnut." Uhtred's changed plans caused all of his men to listen, and Osthryth saw Osferth's face fall.

"Are you saying I am not to be trusted with a Dane, Uhtred of Bebbanburg?" Osthryth asked. "That I may skewer this poor man as he stands beside me to watch for the enemy?" And Uhtred had shaken his head at Osthryth's challenge to him, but could do nothing much about it. Then, at least. Osthryth should have known he was adding up all of her insults to him until another point in the future.

In the end, it was decided that Osthryth would watch until the skinny moon was above and Finan would change position. Whatever Uhtred wanted, it was clear he needed his men to be fit and ready, and Osthryth laid more wood on the fire before wandering away from the camp and looked at the stars, as the men behind her laughed and joked, their raucousness filling their little glade where they were camped. One thing was certain, whoever Uhtred was planning to meet it did not matter if he were indiscreet.

As the joking and laughter ebbed away into the night and the men took to their shelters, Osthryth began to wonder whether she was doing the right thing. They were close to Pictland now, close to the border of Alba. Only a few miles north and they would be in Domhnall's territory, and Osthryth felt she could not guess what would happen when she finally stood before her king again.

Yes, she thought. Her king. Alfred may have thought that he had prior claim to her oath, but in fact, of course, it had been King Aed, and then King Domhnall. Alba was where her heart lay, and she was prepared to stand before her king and ask for her position back. In perpetuity, if necessary.

A crack of a twig behind her caused Osthryth to start, and she withdrew Buaidh from her scabbard, and turned.

"Some assassin you'd make!" Osthryth hissed loudly when she saw Finan before her, who stood beside her and, too, contemplated the starfield around them as Osthryth's stomach lurched at the word "assassin". Another reason to go, to be gone from the lady Aethelflaed.

"You'd've been dead long before now," Finan replied.

"It is not yet time for you to be on duty," Osthryth pointed out. Finan smiled at her.

"I thought you could do with some company; Uhtred is sleeping, as are the rest of them. And I have to admit, Cnut's snoring is pissing me off." He came closer to her, and rubbed his hand across her shoulder as Osthryth laughed.

"That was kind of you, to give that witch your cloak."

"Your lord needs her alive for some reason," Osthryth replied, though kindness had been her uppermost concern, "and I didn't like to see her cold."

"She's a bloodthirsty devil," Finan scoffed. "Who cares?"

"I do," Osthryth replied, "Because someone cared for me when I was a pariah."

She looked Finan's face, thinking of Ceinid, who had spoken her cause to king Aed of Alba, and he dared to reach for her hand. Osthryth let him, and he stopped as he found his coin within her fist. Osthryth dropped it into his hand.

"I am nearly in Alba," Osthryth told him, "And I plan to find my home." She turned to look at Finan. "Tha mi Gaelish. Tha mi a Alba."

"I know," Finan replied, and reached with his other hand to her hair. And then he drew Osthryth to him, his body warm and cosy against the stark chill of autumn, and she pushed herself up in tiptoe and kissed him.

"Tha gaol agam - " Osthryth began, and broke off when Finan placed a finger to her lips.

"Don't!" Finan then stepped away from her "Don't say it, Osthryth!" But he did not move away from her and they stood next to one another until dawn, Osthryth not leaving his side until a sharp call from Uhtred broke them apart in the morning.

"Get over here!" Uhtred shouted to her, as they prepared to leave. "The horses need fetching." As she passed him, Uhtred hissed, "I will be pleased to be rid of you this day." Osthryth turned her head to him, the relentless, background feeling of guilt because of Gisela receding even more at his harsh words.

"Never to see you again will be too soon!" She replied, and Uhtred stamped towards her, growling as Osthryth went to the horses.

It was around midday when, after travelling further north Osthryth noticed a group of people coming towards them. Around midday, for the day was light but a mist had begun to close in around them. They had ridden into a valley and at the other end horses carrying riders were waiting there to meet them.

It could only be one person, Osthryth realised, when they neared and definitions and features of the riders became more apparent. For leading the band, long black hair, pale eyes with a circlet of gold and a rich blue cape was her king.

Domhnall.

Uhtred raised a hand, which stopped all of the horses at the end of the valley. It looked to be that the king of Alba had bought about a dozen men. At first, Osthryth could not make them all out clearly, but then her heart began to beat faster, her skin prickled, as she saw people of Alba, Gaels, people she loved.

Domhnall too had stopped the procession, and was as if eight years had not passed. Her heart began to beat faster when she saw that, next to him was Domnall, and on his right flank the man who had helped her flee Dunnottar.

Ceinid looked no older than she remembered him, perhaps a little lighter around the ears. But his grey eyes were as bright as ever she remembered, lithe as if ready to spring to the defense of his king and held onto her reins as tight as ever she could to prevent her from fleeing her black mare and tearing over to them, to her family.

Sense cautioned her. Were these not the people, Domhnall and Constantine specifically, who had traded her to Guthred? Yet, that was a long time ago when she had fled. She had to stay level headed.

But the man was not Domhnall. But Constantine. How different he looks, deeper set in his looks, long dark hair, more intense blue eyes, his face sharper. Where there might have been a citrclet of gold, his hair had been combed in such a fashion. A clever ruse, to protect Domhnall, to come to a meeting of the enemy and not.

Osthryth bit the inside of her mouth for a moment to bring herself to her senses. She could so easily run to him, stand beside him, be another warrior with the men of Alba, as she always had been.

But Uhtred was now bringing his horse close to Constantine, and the prince had straightened up in his mount. Osthryth could not hear what was being said, but it was clear a careful exchange of words were being calmly conveyed.

Then, just as Osthryth thought she could stand it no longer, it was Finan who broke the spell. He approached Uhtred at her brother's beckon, and took the rein of the boy who Osthryth now realised must have been behind them.

"Please greet the lord Uhtred, Cellach," Constantine encouraged.

"Good morning, lord," Cellach said, earnestly, and Osthryth had to look twice at the boy, for he was the image of Mairi, thick, blonde hair that turned in gentle waves, mid-blue eyes like the northern sea around Eireann.

Then, into Constantine's hands Uhtred placed a bag, and not a small one, containing what Osthryth could only assume was silver before Finan led Cellach from his family, the boy casting a sad look towards his father. But not before Osthryth noticed both Constantine and Domnall look at Finan as if they knew him.

"A fine exchange!" Uhtred declared, "Our hostage," he added. Hostages were common amongst noble families, and as such were usually given an excellent education by their host family and only rarely being put to death.

"Our hostage," Uhtred continued, as Cellach began to ride between him and Finan as they turned and headed south, "In exchange for an agreement to begin a war on Bebbanburg!"

So that was it, Osthryth thought, grimly. Money had changed hands and Constantine was going to harry Bebbanburg on Uhtred's behalf, to reduce their uncle's men and deplete his resources. Uhtred had no need to go to Bebbanburg if the Scots could do it for him.

Being at the back was an advantage, Osthryth thought, as the party rode on. Not even Osferth said anything when Osthryth lingered back for a minute and turned to watch Constantine and his men retreat north into the mist.

And then a sudden thought struck her: if Uhtred had struck a bargain, and Constantine had agreed to attack Bebbanburg on his behalf, that implied no prior arrangement had been reached with Aelfric and Osthryth could come with them.

She pulled her horse up sharply, which rejected Osthryth's treatment of it by stamping its forefeet. Osthryth patted her neck and whispered low to its ear, because she had to say it aloud: she was going to Alba!

Only, she was not. After a hundred yards following Constantine Osthryth slowed down to a juddering stop as the urgent message her brain was trying to get across to her finally penetrated her mind: Aelfric did not matter. That she was married - on paper - to Guthred, meant that her alliance with Cumbraland still stood: Domhnall would still control that land and therefore control his cousin, Dyfnwal, as well as have a greater influence over Bebbanburg.

She galloped back to the rear of the group, and inhaled sharply when she realised Finan had been watching Osthryth all that time. In her hand, Osthryth still had her silver coin.

Osthryth slept beside Finan that night, as Sihtric and Uhtred kept watch. She had made herself a place to sleep in the lee of two rocks that kept most of the wind away and felt her heart melt as she felt the body of her lover press next to her.

"You did not go," Finan noticed, as he trailed his arms around her, bringing her close to him, feeling the satisfying sensation of Finan pressing his interest beside her leg.

"I could not," Osthryth replied. "As I rode to the border, as I crossed it, I knew I did not belong there. Mercia is my home, my land." She stopped, and they both held one another before Osthryth spoke again. "Uhtred has not given up Bebbanburg; it is a very good strategy to let the Scots weaken it for him."

"Will yer wait for me in Mercia, then?" Finan asked, pulling away from her as the leaves rustled about him. Damn Uhtred. He had clearly warned Finan from being with her.

And yet, here he was. Osthryth got up too, pressing his silver piece in her hand before turning to him and pressing her lips to his.

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As they approached Dunholm from the north later the next day, their party still together with a hostage in tow another party approached from the south. From her position at the back Osthryth could see that there was no more than three riders, then was astonished to discover that it was Thyra and Father Beocca, with a guard.

They were welcomed at the gate and in the hall, and Ragnar, on asking the priest his business, laughed heartily when Beocca announced that Uhtred had a formal banishment from Wessex.

"He is a Dane now!" Ragnar declared, and clapped Uhtred on the back. It was only when Beocca had come out of the hall so his wife and her brother could speak that he noticed Osthryth, who was at pains to keep out of his way.

"Aedre?"

Her old name betrayed Osthryth and she turned, saddle in hand, and looked at her former priest. Beocca simply stood before her, and it was enough for Osthryth to put down the saddle onto a haybale and stride towards him.

She was determined, though, not to give in to any soft talk about going with them to Wessex, for that was where Beocca had told Ragnar they were returning to the next day.

But it seemed that the priest's main concern was for her safety, and he embraced her briefly, and told her it was good to see her in the company of her brother.

"Thank you for your concern for me, Father Beocca," Osthryth replied, when he began to walk with her around the stable yard, and made sure she declined his offer before he had even made it.

"I worry you have no life, no strength, wandering around places like this," Beocca confided in Osthryth, but she shook her head.

"My life is good; I can fight."

"And Prince Edward?" It was an open question, and Osthryth fell into the trap.

"I have done wrong by lying with the aethling," she admitted, and saw a muscle twitch in his face. He had meant that she had left, but Beocca knew as well as anyone that her agreement had been to guard Edward until his marriage to Aelfflaed. Now, he had got Osthryth to admit to her indiscretions.

"And why are you here?" Beocca asked, plainly, when they had reached the kitchens. Osthryth looked across to Uhtred, beside him, Finan.

"Your brother?" A smile graced the priest's face. "You want to be by your brother?" But Osthryth folded her arms.

"I hate him!" She shot back, then conceded, "but I find I have more ties with him and Wessex than in Pictland. I was travelling north - we went right to the border of Alba - the current border," Osthryth added, for Beocca was of Melrose and knew better than anyone the transient nature of kingdom borders in that part of the world. "The royal family came to it. But I could not go."

"Then you should leave here, go north; go south anywhere that is not here!" Beocca insisted, loudly. "What is coming here, Aedre, you do not want to be involved in." Then he stepped towards her and pulled her to him, like he had when she was a child. "You are most precious; please make your choices wisely."

But it was Osthryth's talk to Thyra that afternoon that stuck with her for a long time. Perhaps, in hindsight, an older Osthryth thought, because of her violent death she had searched her mind for the times when she had spoken to the Danish woman.

"You are so happy," Osthryth told her, as they walked in the stableyard, too.

"I haven't always been so," Thyra replied in her light, stilted English. "After Sven, I did not know I was alive all these years." She turned to look upon her husband and Osthryth followed her gaze. "Beocca allowed me to live. He tells me that many great saints have come from Northumbria."

"You are a Christian?" Thyra nodded.

"And you?"

Yes," Osthryth replied, "Though I have spent a long time..away...in Alba," she added, laconically. "They have a different Christianity and I have found it has been hard to re-estabish my Anglish faith."

"Then, do not give up," Thyra implored, taking Osthryth's hands in her own, delicate ones. They were cold, and Osthryth buried them in her own to warm them for her. "Whatever route you must take, you should never stop trying." Then, she pulled away from Osthryth and looked up. The sky was brightening, and it was making to be a cold afternoon in the weak sun. "The saints are like the gods," she mused, half to herself, "Like, they are next to the Allfather - God."

Osthryth thought of those words as she was lying alone beside Finan, though at that time had not noticed the implication of Thyra bringing her hand to her lower stomach as she stood, thinking, before she and Beocca left Dunholm.

Finan was not himself, Osthryth thought, and when she began to kiss him again, to see whether it would lead to a second time. And she wanted that, for she had suspected that she would need to leave Dunholm quickly, maybe even as early as that night, and did not know when she would see him again.

"Here," Osthryth said, finding Finan;s hand and pressing the silver coin into it. She felt Finan's breath near her shoulder.

"Keep it," he murmured, folding her hand around it, then shuffled in the straw. Offered the silver back, he folded her hand around it. "It is dangerous here, Osthryth," he cautioned. "I have heard talk of - "

"Of?" Osthryth prompted.

"A fracture in this army. Uhtred for one is spoiling to challenge Sigurd Bloodhair; Ragnar is hosting that Scottish bastard's offspring for him for an alliance..." He sighed into her hair. "I would have you go quickly, tonight if yer can, Osthryth, if yer plan to." Finan reached to hold her tightly and Osthryth yielded to what would be their place together in one another's arms. "All the protection that you once had under Ragnar is now gone."

"What?" Osthryth sat up, her breasts brushing Finan's chest as she did so. From below, a voice called, for Finan to join him. Her brother. Osthryth felt a rise of anger.

"You have declared yourself to be a Mrcian, and as such, an enemy to Ragnar and his army," he explained, and then exclaimed, "Oh God, Osthryth, did yer not know?"

Osthryth scrambled to her feet, dressing as best as she could in the darkness, before turning to find Finan, kiss his lips once more.

"Go!" he insisted. "Take whatever you can. I asked yer before, but yer did not answer Osthryth - " He broke off, and then added, as if debating whether to ask the next question, "Will you wait for me in Mercia?"

Osthryth took Finan's face in her hands, and kissed him firmly.

"I will."

88888888

Over the stable roof Osthryth managed to creep, and across to the ramparts. It was a new moon, ideal for being unseen, and she got her leg over the wooden parapet.

It would have been alright, Osthryth considered, later, if she had not ignored the Danish guard, who was semi-recumbent, leaning against the palisade wall in a position implying he was looking out into the blackness, but really he was half-dozing.

You won't see many enemy by doing that, Osthryth scolded him, in her mind, and made to step over his leg when a pair of hands gripped her shoulder.

No time for Taghd's sword as the hands threw her to the wooden railing, and Osthryth fought, but to no avail. It was Haesten.

"Going somewhere?" The Danish leader growled near her ear, and Osthryth struggled until he slapped her face, and even then she kicked his shins, making him roar.

But she had miscalculated Haeten's swing, for it caught her head - Osthryth hadn't ducked in time and she lost her footing, tumbling down into the blackness. It wasn't a very long fall, but Osthryth fell on her chest, winded.

Beside her, Haesten sprang, his footsteps next to Osthryth. "And that is what happens when you trust a stinking Saxon!" Haesten declared, pulling Osthryth by the hair. "Escaping to sing to whoever she could find about a huge army at Dunholm marchinf south!"

Around them were gathered men, Danish guards, and in the courtyard strode the jarls, Ragnar Ragnarsson and Sigurd Bloodhair.

"I am - going - north!" Osthryth protested. "So you say," Haesten spat back. "Yet, you had the chance to go north yesterday, and you didn't take it. Anyone so desperate to get back to their homeland would no longer be in Dunholm tonight." And Haesten held her head back with her hair and punched her in the stomach.

"Stop!" Beside Haesten, Ragnar held up a hand. Haesten, who was about to hit her again, stopped.

"It can only be death," said Aethelwold, who was beside Ragnar, with glee.

"She could be kept; she would make a good whore," Bloodhair put in. Ragnar turned to look at him. "She would kill you when you slept," Brida replied, scornfully.

"Are you sure you are not a Dane?" Ragnar asked her, drily, to which Osthryth withdrew Buaidh. Haesten's eyes saw the blade, and Osthryth smiled.

"Is mise Gaelish! Wachilt!" She shouted, loudly, so everyone could hear her, and she knew by the flick of the boy's head that Constantine's son had heard her words, and understood them, and Osthryth found his eyes again, and smiled.

"Wachilt?" Ragnar repeated, shaking his head at the unknown word. But it had caused the effect Osthryth had wanted in the face of Haesten, who backed away from her quickly.

"Kriegerkvinde!" Osthryth clarified and Ragnar's eyes widened.

"How do you know that word?" He asked of her, and Osthryth realised that most if not all of the inhabitants of Dunholm were surrounding her now.

"What is kriegerkvinde?" Aethelwold asked, narrowing his eyes to Osthryth. Beside him, Brida and Uhtred stepped a little nearer, leaning in to hear the Ragnar the Fearless.

"The highest honour that a Northwoman can have." There was a change in the air, a murmuring which seemed to undulate around them all, as Danes spoke to Danes - the word was well known, almost mythical. The battle women had the highest status in Valhalla, beyond even the men. They were close to the gods. It didn't matter that Osthryth was a Gael or, more specifically, a Saxon. She had been declared kriegerkvinde, and that was what mattered.

"And so," Osthryth pressed on, in the Norse that Eirik had taught her, "I use my right as Kriegerkvinde to press that my word is true. She watched Ragnar carefully, and he shifted his weight between is feet. "I understand you offer freedom for a fight successfully won?"

"No Dane will fight you," Ragnar replied.

"Eirik fought me," Osthryth said in Norse. Ragnar's brow pinched as he though about the unusual words.

"He was a fool; he could not take Alba."

"And you could?" She watched as Ragnar shook his head momentarily, his eye drifting to their Gaelish hostage. Prince Cellach stared back to Osthryth, but said nothing.

"There is strength in Alba that there is not in the south."

"What does that mean?" asked Aethelwold asked, assuming, rightly, that Osthryth was not going to be put to death on the say-so of Haesten.

"That she has the protection of every Dane here," Ragnar explained, and turned to Osthryth, clapping her on the shoulder. "Then fight for your right, Kriegerkvinde!" He declared, and the fortress rang with cheering and hooting and thumping on the ground with feet and spear butts, approving the entertainment as decreed by their leader.

"But who?" It was the jarl Sigurd who asked Ragnar, standing next to the Fearless. "No Dane will fight a kriegerkvinde." But Osthryth had already decided.

"Uhtred!" She declared, pointing Buaidh at he brother. He had pissed her off enought, and she was about to humiliate himself in front of the people he claimed to belong. He did not belong with Danes - he would be gone as soon as the army had left Dunholm, to find the lady Aethelflaed. Though it was clear she had Finan were forming an attachment, he was going out of his way to divide them. Why? Spite?

How was it, Osthryth thought - and not for the first time - that her brother could make monumental mistakes and still brazen his way to the top of everything? He was a fraud.

"Uhtred," Ragnar repeated, then looked at Osthryth curiously. "Uhtred, why?"

"Why? Because he is neither a Dane nor a Saxon," Osthryth declared. Ragnar closed in on Osthryth, and stood inches from her.

"Explain to me what you mean, Gael?"

"Because of the oath he has sworn to the Lady of the Mercians and the oath he had by family." Osthryth heard herself bite the word. "Who will he choose? One thing I know, he will not think with his head."

"That is a lie!" Uhtred stormed to her, approaching Osthryth beside his Danish brother. But a calm had overtaken Osthryth, and she made sure that she did not take her eyes off Ragnar the Fearless.

"If it is, ask him, Jarl Ragnar, is he joining you?" With satisfaction, Osthryth watched as Ragnar turned to Uhtred.

"Well?" Uhtred did not answer, and Osthryth did not deny that she enjoyed Uhtred's adopted brother shrink a little at his words, feeling then as she had felt since she had found him.

"Unless he will not fight you," Ragnar replied. It was subtle, and Osthryth applauded the Danish warrior for his covert use of language. She deduced that, what Ragnar meant was, if he were indeed a Dane, he would not accept the challenge.

"He will fight you!" Uhtred declared, bearing down on her. And fell into the trap.

"Oh, Osthryth what have yer done?" Finan said, under his breath, and it was only then that Osthryth realised he was standing beside Uhtred. She ignored him, and continued to stare down Uhtred as he stared back at her, with equal vehemence.

"It is agreed, Jarl Ragnar?" Osthryth concluded, turning at last to the Danish leader. "I defeat Uhtred of Bebbanburg, this secures my release?"

"Agreed," Ragnar replied, and Osthryth watched Haesten fold his arms, disgruntled. Osthryth knew very well what he would have liked to happen to her, though maybe reminding him that she had been sub-named after the vengeful goddess of the sea might have quieted him.

"Agreed," Ragnar repeated. "And if you lose?"

"Your death." This was Aethelwold, and he looked gleefully at her.

"Harsh, lord Aethelwold," Haesten piped up. "I think, this witch could be of use."

"My death," Osthryth agreed, making sure she did not look at Finan - she had no capacity to deal with how he might be feeling at this time. "And I go free when I win." She saw out of the corner of her eye Uhtred bristle at the word "when". But now Haesten was keeping quiet no longer.

"What is to stop her from telling people our plan?" It was a fair point, and one which a lot of the Danes were agreeing with one another about.

"Me? Alone?" Osthryth dismissed, with a laugh. "Who would listen to one person alone?"

And then Ragnar the Fearless said something which, if she had had a mind to do, would definitely had put her brother's nose out of joint.

"You could stay here - fight with us." There was a plan forming in Ragnar's mind, and Osthryth admired the man. A Kriegerkvinde on the side of this huge army marching on Wessex? He would have been mad not to make that offer to her. Osthryth inhaled, deeply, as if giving his idea a good deal of thought. Then, she shook her head.

"None of this is my fight, though I am Anglish, my heart, my core is of Alba, of Eireann," Osthryth added, making sure she was loud enough for Finan to hear her. And she was amazed to see Uhtred back away from her.

But it was a ruse, though it had fooled some of the watching Danes, who gasped at the ferocity of Uhtred's attack. She had this, Osthryth knew and Buaidh matched the blow, and she pushed him back, forcing her legs to drive Uhtred back. With her frame, it wouldn't last too long, but it was enought for Osthryth, the more lithe of the two, to be able to step away in time for Uhtred to stagger, her hair flying round like a mane.

"I bested you twice!" she reminded him as Uhtred flew back at her.

Kneel before me and call me Lord!" her brother demanded. "And while you're down there..." Osthryth thrust Buaidh towards his arm, scoring a line of red in his jerkin, which did, quite satisfyingly, wipe the grin off Uhtred's face.

"I kneel before God, unless that's who you think you are these days!" Another clash of blades. She would need to steal more of Uhtred's silver when she next went to a blacksmith, Osthryth thought.

"I have often been called it," Uhtred gasped, trying the trick of making his enemy hold their sword high, having blocked an overhead parry, "Especially when I've been up to my hilt in a woman, there might be anything in there!"

"Or nothing!" Osthryth shot back, plunging Buaidh near his chest, Uhtred moving just in time. Finan shook his head.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," he muttered, as Osthryth went for his leg, then levelled Serpent Breath, but Osthryth had now abandoned her sword and had run at his legs, tackling Uhtred to the ground, laying blow on blow, not caring now that to her this wasn't a fight to prove her place. This was her anger at his uncalled for resentment to her, at the fact that not one person in the monastery thought to send for help for Gisela. At having been left there in Bebbanburg, by the brother she had dreamed of.

Then, Osthryth stopped, and leaned close to Uhtred's ear, telling him that what Beocca said was true. His eyes widened at her words, and at this mistake of listening to an enemy rather than fighting them, Osthryth pulled out Taghd's seax, making to plunge it into him. Around her, no Dane made to move to help Uhtred; no Dane said a word.

And then Osthryth moved aside and got to her feet, sheathing Taghd's sword, and reaching for Buaidh, which was in the dirt beside her brother, and finding its scabbard too.

"I declare you victor," Ragnar said, as his eyes moved from Uhtred, now sitting himself up, pain from Osthryth's blows to his body causing him to wince, and back to Osthryth, who was standing still and silent, but with her weapons not so far from her hands that she could use them. Ragnar strode to her. "You are free to go." And he beckoned to Jackdaw, who pushed through the Danes and called for him to bring a horse, ignoring Aethelwold's plaintive objections to it being improperly concluded, and the fight forefeit.

"Tell me the truth, will he go?" Ragnar asked, as he walked with her to Dunholm's gate. Osthryth looked into a face with as much honour as she could imagin anyone to have. It was no wonder Brida clung to him, no wonder she had given up entirely her original life to be with him.

"I cannot say for sure," Osthryth said, honestly. "What does your heart tell you, Ragnar the Fearless?" Ragnar stopped and lowered his hand from her shoulder.

"I have to believe he is my brother, and in his word," he replied, then lowered his head to Osthryth. "What is he to you?" And Osthryth told him. Ragnar said nothing at first, then nodded his head, once, firmly.

"That you have not told him...I will not tell him," Ragnar said. Looking back, Osthryth wondered whether a lot of things would be better if Ragnar had done so. "If he leaves, it is only the same as what he did to you," he concluded.

"No," Osthryth shook her head. "You were a family to him."

"And you lost your home because we came, you lost a brother - two brothers - as I am about to lose a brother."

"And others lost their homes when the Saxons came, and others lost their homes when the Gaels came, when the Cymru came, when all the nations that have come ever to this land." Ragnar smiled, and clapped her on the shoulder.

"I hope the best for you Osthryth Lackland, and when we meet in the battlefield - "

Don't! Osthryth thought. Don't say you will turn from me.

"May your God be with you." Osthryth smiled at the Dane.

"May yours be for you. All of them. And if you ever get to Alba..." Ragnar gave her a wry smile, and turned to go as Osthryth readied to mount the horse he had so generously given to her.

"Jarl Ragnar," Osthryth said, as he began to stride away, and she followed him for a few steps. "You did not take every scrap of silver of mine." Osthryth reached for his hand and pressed the silver piece into it. It was a dream lost, of her and Finan.

"I will return it," he said, and then stode off back inside his fortress.

88888888

Osthryth rode north. But this did not last very long and within a few miles her her horse was turning south. And she would soon be in Aylesbury. And indeed it was, three days later, as she stood before the capital of Wessex.

She would see no-one other than Aethelred, waiting for whatever was going to happen, and her arrival was so sudden that Aldhelm had not had time to even see that she was coming.

He was standing beside Aethelred, which was a good sign, but with such a pained expression in his face that Osthryth felt sorry for the man. It was only after a few moments into her discussion with the lord of Mercia that she realised Aldhelm probably thought she was going to admit their part in Saltwic and the lady Aethelflaed.

"Aldhelm has made me aware of your aversion to Wessex," Aethelred told her, in what seemed to Osthryth like a shift in mood. "You chose to return to me when you could have gone anywhere. You are loyal to Mercia, and to Aethelred, and shall be rewarded."

Osthryth stepped lightly from foot to foot as she waited for Aethelred's decision. And, as she watched, Osthryth saw the figure of Eardwulf. Aethelred must have noticed too, but he alluded little to the last time she and Eardwulf were before him, in that very room. All Aethelred said was, "Your debt is paid. Go, and be in my army." Nothing was mentioned of assassination, failed, or otherwise.

Merewalh was the first to see Osthryth as she stalked along the corridor to the armoury. He challenged her, that men were forbidden with the officers, and that Osthryth, who he assumed to be a Mercian soldier - which is she indeed was - should not be there.

"Will you be bringing me my clothing then, Lord Merewalh?" Osthryth asked, and watched with satisfaction when the man's face changed as he recognised her.

"Osthryth!" He declared, clapping her on the back, and he was shortly followed by Aldhelm, who was also following.

"I take it you have reconsidered your decision to be auxiliary captain?" Aldhelm asked, taking Osthryth into the armoury.

"Yes," she conceded.

"And it took you nearly a month to decide?"

"A month having been captured by Danes. And Aethelwold." And Osthryth watched Aldhelm's face as he told him of where she had gone and what she had done.

"They let you go?"

"Only after I had fought their bravest warrior. Only, their bravest warrior turned out to be Uhtred." Aldhelm exhaled, realisation showing in his features.

"So, that is where he is?" Osthryth nodded. "And Aethelwold is with him," Aldhelm nodded, grimly.

"The lord Aethelred seems happy," Osthryth changed the subject.

"Indeed. Alfred sickens, so he tells himself that he is not far away from the throne of Wessex. I," Aldhelm looked embarrassed, but pressed on, "I took the liberty of telling the lord Aethelred your story of Oswald, that you told, of when the Danes came to Northumbria, and you were comforted by the monk Bede's stories."

"We know that Oswald brought light into the dark place," Osthryth agreed. Aldhelm put a hand on her shoulder.

"You're absolved of this, Osthryth," said Aldhelm, seriously, "All of it. You may leave the army." Osthryth was shocked.

"May? You mean must?" Surely not! It is all that was good in the world, a place she was respected for her ability to fight, not what she could do on her back, or what she could be consigned to when one man or another decided what she was to be fit for.

"Have you no other options in life?" asked Aldhelm, gently, and Osthryth realised that he meant to be kind.

"None. Give me command, any command, if you don't think I can command a battallion!" But Aldhelm knew her better than that - she had commanded a battallion; she had commanded a squadron which had not only survived a battle against Danes at Beamfleot, but had lost not one single man.

"I will suggest again the role of auxiliary captain," Aldhelm went on, "Which means the men know you are a commander in any part of the Mercian army. They will know and trust you, you can lead any men, at any time."

And Osthryth agreed. She was grateful for this, though she had proved her worth often enough. But there was nothing like knowing your men to get effectiveness in war.

"Danes are near; some Danes, though not the ones you have told me about," Aldhelm summarised. And he gave her new clothes, and armour which, for once fitted well. She was back.

88888888

Danes were near. Small bands of them were still raiding across Waetling Street, although they seemed to have focused their attentions to the stretch of the border between Hunstanton and Lundene. It might have been a ruse, she suggested to Merewalh, beside whom she commanded in her first assignation, as they stood in the dark of the night, watching for incursions.

"Or other factions," he suggested, and they played the game of "Most" as they waited in the darkness, about their now long-departed Lord Offa, and their shared experiences in Devonshire, "Most ugly...most cowardly...most stupid," and so on, as they raked the night for flickers of life.

It was after one such night on a return patrol that they arrived at the gates of Aylesbury's hall to find see the rear of a train of carts that were heading into the city.

"The king," declared a priest, when Merewalh asked. "Of Wessex," the man added when he spotted the colours of Mercia, green and gold, in Merewalh's clothing, and Osthryth felt a little embarrassed at herself when she recognised him, as he returned to King Alfred's retinue.

They watched as the king got down from of the carriages, refusing to be helped by anyone, and keeping a stiff, upright form. But it was that stiffness which betrayed him, that Alfred was indeed very ill. Yet, he had seen fit to travel all this way to speak to, presumably, the lord Aethelred.

But it was the person who came next out of the carriage which would occupy Osthryth's thoughts as she was given leave, went with Merewalh to the Bull Inn, near the eastern part of Aylesbury, and enjoyed a jar of milk as Merewalh relaxed in the company of two other commanders also given leave.

"We met at Lundene," came the same voice who had spoken to them that day and Osthryth turned her head full of distracted thoughts to look at the priest. It was Father Pyrlig, and Osthryth realised at once where she had seen him before. Besides being Alfred's priest, Osthryth had watched him fight for his freedom, under terms agreed by Eirik and Siegfried. In fact, it was that fight that had given her inspiration at Dunholm.

"I think you fought bravely, Father," Osthryth said, when she had told him she remembered the day. But it became clear that Pyrlig had not come for small talk.

"The aethling, Edward, asked me to find you," Pyrlig went on, "and make you aware he is in Aylesbury. Though what for, I cannot imagine," he added, looking at her, disapprovingly.

"There is only one way to find out," Osthryth replied, with stiff politeness. "If you will excuse me," she added, this time to Merewalh, and he nodded as she got up. To her disappointment Pyrlig followed her.

"I should add, he is married," Pyrlig said. Osthryth stopped, and turned to face him. If Siegfried's best warrior could not defeat him, then perhaps Osthryth the Mercian would try.

"What is it that you suppose of me, Father Pyrlig?" Osthryth asked, her guilt at his probable correct assumptions swamped by overweening self-righteousness. "Is it because I am a female?"

"No," Pyrlig replied, placing a hand firmly on her forearm, and looking at her intently. "Because he is a male." Osthryth nodded slowly. He was being cautious for her, which was touching.

"Do you know why he wants to speak to me?"

"I do not."

And, as she turned to go to find the lord Edward, Osthryth noticed, with disappointed resignation that, despite what he could have done, Uhtred of Bebbanburg had not stayed with his brother, but brought his men, Skade and the lady Aethelflaed to Aylesbury.

88888888

"It is good to see you." Edward was in a script room at the far end of the palace at Aylesbury when Osthryth found him. He was looking at some manuscripts, his hair neatly styled as his eyes strayed over illuminated letter after illuminated letter.

Osthryth said nothing for some time, her eye half hypnotised by a guttering candle near one of the windows, and so lost in thought she became that it took the aethling's low, clear sounding of her name for Osthryth to look at him.

"You sent for me, lord Prince?" Edward nodded his head once, and stepped towards her.

"A Danish army is heading our way, did you know?" He circled back to the table, which held, Osthryth could see, a map of "Brittaniae", of the country. At the top, in a wide section, which almost looked like a peninsula, was "Alba", and she scanned down it at the Heptarchy marked out. A landmass, almost rectangular in size but with scant markings was labelled, "Ireland."

"I...cannot take on an army of this magnitude by myself," Edward told her, plainly. "I have asked for Pyrlig to wait outside, for I do not wish anyone, least not the king, to know I am speaking to you. You are not of the witan, but - " and here it was when the prince made the corner of Osthryth's heart disintegrate, and with it, the rest of her senses, " - it is your opinion I value the most, Osthryth. For you can see things I cannot. Tell me," he continued, placing a hand on Osthryth's shoulder, his face agonisingly earnest, " - what chance would I, alone, have, of defeating this army in its entirety?"

Osthryth looked from Edward's hand, along his arm and up to his face. Though he was a man, a young man, there was still a certain vulnerability about his character that made Osthryth turn to him.

"Do you believe that dividing the army in some way would make a difference?" And Edward's face regained a little more of his composure, for he knew then that his old guard and lover understood exactly his concern."

"I believe it could slow them down, far better than one big battle. Osthryth, I cannot manage a great army, command all our allies, not yet. I do not have the strength, or the influence over men my father counts on." Sigebridh of Kent, Osthryth thought. You took Ecgwynn from him, married her, fathered twins. Only now you realise the value of playing the long game, where an alliance might make all the difference, and the rest is just base entertainment.

"Was your father ready?" Osthryth asked him, concern showing on her face. "No, he just had to act and do what he could; he had little time to think."

She crossed to the map, looking at the markings upon it, new marks, perhaps troop maps, in the western section of East Anglia, where little bands of Angles willing to fight with Mercia against the Danes were depicted, where Cent was added, with a big arrow from the bottom right.

Where Mercia and some allies in the border regions of Cymru would add to the fight. But Edward did not have one, clear consistent voice as Alfred did: Ethandun, though mightily knife-edge, had given one thing to Edward's father that Edward could not attain: unity based on a common cause.

Yes, there were Danes, there always were. But what the aethling didn't see was what it was that tied all of these disparate peoples together, that he could use to wield them. Osthryth couldn't tell the aethling what it was, either. He had to discover it for himself.

"This is a long term strategy," Osthryth said, looking back to him, "And sometimes unsavoury things have to be done, quick decisions made, and that is the other part of you, you have the grace and ability to make people listen to you." It was Osthryth's turn to approach Edward now, and touch him on the arm. "You should do what you believe is right, if in your heart you feel it is the right thing to do."

"I feel this is the right thing to do," Edward said, and pulled Osthryth to him, kissing her deeply, longingly, needfully. Pyrlig was right, Osthryth knew, when the aethling tried to reach for her body, and she pulled away, firmly, fervently hoping that he had listened to her words. She broke off, and stepped from Edward. No! She scolded him, silently. Listen to my words, they are more valuable than your libido.

Yet, Osthryth knew it was not just the physical act that Edward felt: there was a closeness between them, he trusted her, to a point. He had just asked her for her advice and for someone else to find her. There was a genuineness to the aethling, and that made the difference.

"Find a way," Osthryth urged, "Your way, that unites every one of your factions against them." She trailed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, finishing by taking his hands. "Go to Beocca, to Pyrlig, ask them for help: they are neutral." And then Osthryth kissed Edward this time and told him it was good to see him too, before he strode out of the room, and down the corridor to Mercia's throne room.

88888888

"Ale or milk?" Osthryth stood in the front of the "Bear Inn" this time, and watched as Osferth moved shamefaced away from the table at which were assembled Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric and Edward and Aethelflaed. The earnest-faced man looked up to her and on recognising her, shook his head.

It was no wonder Aethelwold wanted to drink those days back in Winchester as decisions passed him by, and she smiled encouragingly at Osferth.

"It could be worse," she nodded towards them.

"It could be worse; my mother could have been married to Alfred rather than be his maidservant." Osthryth nodded again and placed a hand on Osferth's arm.

"I wish I understood; I think it must be difficult."

"Difficult?" Osferth said, with a sudden brightness. "No. No expectations have ever been placed on me, except by the lord Uhtred. Nobody ever needed me to be educated, or expected me to be scintillating company or offer brilliant insights." He nodded towards Edward. "My half-brother - it is he who I pity. Imagine having Aethelflaed as a sister - " I can imagine, thought Osthryth, " - who is only not aethling because she is a woman. What a burden."

"Milk, then?" Osthryth asked, and this time Osferth nodded.

"I'll keep a table for us here, lady," Osferth gestured to a small, rude wooden block that could only really be described as a table because there were two stools beside it.

So, he was pleased about not being royalty for the responsibility it demanded, Osthryth thought, as she brought out the goat's milk. But what of other things? He dressed as a priest, but did he yearn for the comforts of monarchy, like his cousin?

As Osferth sipped his drink, Osthryth asked him why he had taken up the offer by Uhtred to be one of his warriors.

"I had an uncle who fought," Osferth replied, and then put down his cup. "I have seen you fight, can you tell me, lady, who taught you? How can you do it so well?"

"Not "lady", please," she asked, of him. "Warrior, if you must. Or commander. I am a commander of the Mercian troops." Osferth looked at her in wonder.

"How is it you can fight, la - commander? I mean," he looked away for a moment. "You are - "

"Not a man? No, I am not," Osthryth shook her head, and then drew herself closer to Osferth. "Can I tell you something it cannot be repeated?" He nodded, not taking his wide, pale grey eyes from her face.

"I was on the battlefield, aged 12," she confided. "When I saw parents dead at the hands of the Norse, I felt in my heart I could. And I did." Osthryth's mind took her back to that day, men like giants around her, a terrified boy hiding in the boat she had taken across from Culdees monastery with the family she had been fostered to by accident, the father of which trying to rob her at every opportunity. Faedersword in his hand, which she took, then lost to Ninefingers.

"I don't have that," Osferth said, sadly.

"Why not? Do you not hate the Danes as much as anyone?" She looked back to him. "I saw you cross to Uhtred, to accept a place. But you knew you didn't have it in you?"

"Tradition," admitted Osferth, as if it were the worst thing in the world to admit.

"So is monastery," Osthryth replied. But Osferth hung his head even lower.

"When I hear of battle, I can feel it, calling to me. But I don't know how to fight. I try to," Osferth continued, "For the sake of my grandfather, King Wulfhere, and my uncle."

"Your uncle?"

"His name was Leofric." And at once, the shy young man brightened at memories in his mind.

"I have heard his name, once spoken by a lady I was guarding." Osferth smiled, and sipped his goat's milk.

"Was that lady called Mildrith by any chance."

"It was," Osthryth admitted.

"And your uncle was brave?" Osferth smiled again, his eyes lighting up.

"He was, indeed he was, commander," and bent his head to Osthryth. "He would have loved you! He always said he wanted a woman who was a warrior and beautiful!" Osthryth laughed at that.

"Then you can do it," Osthryth concluded, as she watched her brother get to his feet. "Find that again, Osferth. Begin by observing, watching how others behave, think why they are doing it - everything has a purpose."

Incuding the dressing down Edward received from his father that night, for promising Uhtred men.

Osthryth had meant to listen, and had done so by finding the space between the antechamber to the hall of the palace at Aylesbury, and dropped down between two inner walls built presumably, for air flow, to move the smoke produced in the central hall fire away from it.

She had seen him enter, Beocca just behind them, and saw the priest fold his arms as Edward stood up to Alfred. Osthryth couldn't have been prouder of him for speaking to his father and, most importantly, speaking of his limitations. That was leadership, observing one's limitations as well as strengths, before orientating troops to stand for battle.

The next thing, Osthryth knew, was to actually march out. Where to? Osthryth listened carefully, and the name of this fortress came to her ears. They had been there before. The battle was to be Beamfleot.

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The army mobilised that afternoon. Supplies were found, men saddled and the long marching column established. At the front, the king of Wessex, the aethling, Steapa and the assembled Mercia lords. More Wessex soldiers were joining them on the way, and Osthryth nodded with approval as she collected her armour and helmet of Mercia. He was meeting them before they got to Wessex or Mercia; her brother was already going to be there to reduce their number. Edward's first command as acting king, while his father lived, just. It was a great move.

Even greater was his speech. Edward put aside country and royalty, faction and hierarchy. Instead, he spoke to all men of their land, that had been worked by their fathers and their father's fathers, back into time. There was a love to the land - they were the land, Edward told every man before him, and they stood for those who could not fight in this war who loved the land as much as they did.

And, as Osthryth began to walk at the back of the column with the foot soldiers, a hand landed on her shoulder.

"Not you Osthryth." She turned, and it was Merewalh. He tried to smile at her, but he could not, and Osthryth wondered why. She protested anyway.

"Aldhelm has given me a position, and I will not fall to failing." And she carried on marching as Merewalh rode beside her.

"Osthryth!" His voice betrayed both pride and exasperation. "You command no-one here," he tried.

"I command everyone here," Osthryth replied, with unassailable logic. "That is what auxilliary captain means, does it not?"

"But - "

"So I command myself to fight for the land that I find I love," she concluded.

"And you may die for it - is that what you want?"

"Is that what they want?" she asked. "A person does not live forever; I cannot be left behind, Merewalh." He slowed his horse a little, until he was trotting his horse just next to her, then slipped from the saddle.

"Take my horse," he insisted, and Osthryth found herself scrambling into the saddle of "Morning Star", named so for his white patch on his forehead. She turned and watched Merewalh go back to the stable and bring out another horse, and they rode side by side next to the Mercian army, beyond Waetling Street and into the land of the East Angles.

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Osthryth watched as snow littered the battlefield outside the fortress of Beamfleot. The sun was hidden through thick winter clouds and the light was failing. As was her nerve. For she now found herself atop a saddle, waiting to withdraw her sword at the king's command.

Which was not coming.

The Mercian and West Saxons lined the grove of trees, which overlooked Beamfleot, and she could see that, indeed, not all of the men from Dunholm were on the battlefield. Across from them fewer men. Uhtred's men.

She did not look for Finan. That was a future that never was. There was only one path open to her now, and she regretted most dearly not attempting to leave from Bernicia's borders with the Gaelish party of nobles and warriors. With Constantine and Domnall and Ceinid by her side.

Bcause he is not Taghd, Osthryth told herself, as she gripped her seax, watching the battle begin. Finan is not Taghd, that future had closed; his oath was worth more than pursuing a life with her. And she vaguely wondered whether Ragnar the Fearless had actually given Finan back his coin.

Osthryth blinked her eyes, trying to concentrate. The numbers were not on his side, but then, she realised, as Merewalh pointed back along the line and tidied up the stragglers, thet were the numbers. Edward had done what he had promised. He had been a king.

Yet, looking up the line, she could see Alfred, poker straight, Steapa on his right, hold firm as Edward became edgy. Why could they not engage? Osthryth wondered that too, and her eye moved to the field. She was running, in her mind - she would join her brother, stand beside Finan. But she would never get to them. For the Danes had formed a tight circle around Uhtred's faction and were pressing them tight.

Then at last, when Osthryth thought she could take the tension no longer, Edward's voice called out to fight. The thunder of hooves was terrific as all men shouted and roared their advance.

Two hours before, and the column was taking up position in the trees. Food was eaten and rest was being had. Steapa had seen her and had strode over to her, his half-grin of bemusement on his features.

"I had no instruction from Merewalh," Osthryth began, putting her protest in before he had opened his mouth. "I am not just for skirmishes or guarding aethlings." Steapa had laughed.

"Perhaps you didn't stay long enough in Wessex to find out what you are good for," Steapa said, patting Morning Star's flank.

"I am content in Mercia," Osthryth replied. "You have never seen me on a battlefield - "

"I have - here, on this battlefield." Steapa nodded towaeds Beamfleot. And then, he pulled Osthryth towards him, quite unexpectedly. The hug lasted no more than a second or two, and neither of them had anything to say after that.

Now, charging towards the Danes, breaking the circle, it seemed to be one of those things that was important at the time, some kind of acceptance. Acceptance that she had chosen to fight with the Saxons, and not with the Danes, some of whom she must have sat and dined with at Dunholm.

The first Dane she killed flopped before Morning Star, whose hooves beat over the man's body. He whinnied as Osthryth drew her sword arm around and sliced with menace at the Dane who was approaching on her left. Ahead of her, Osferth was fighting a brilliant battle, and had managed to stand Dane after Dane who got in his way, wielding his axe to great effect.

There was little time to evaluate others' successes, however, and when Osthryth swung towards another man, this caused her to slide from the ill-suited saddle and flop into the ground. She turned quickly missing a hammer blow that would surely have ended her, and struggled to her knees, where Taghd's seax caused a good deal of successful work to be done on the calves of two men who had hurried to her for an easy kill.

Beside her, two West Saxons had managed to down three Danes, and were finishing them off with short stabs to the chest. One of them had his leg entangled around the leg of one of the men and he had been brought down, but quickly moved out of the way as another Dane swung back with his axe and then brought it down onto where the West Saxon would have been if he had not rolled out of the way, and the Dane instead landed his weapon into the stomach of his comrade.

Beside her, a great cluster of allies were forming, like an informal shield wall as the Danes fought on two fronts, with no organisation. Osthryth called for the lines to be met, and an onslaught coming from the centre struck the line. They had formed just in time, and the Danes met shield and might behind shield, blunting their attack. Seaxes poked between the interfaces between the shields, forming a lethal wall of spikes onto which the Danes could not help but fall.

"Back!" Osthryth called, and the onslaught happened again as another band of Danes attempted the same trick, inculcating the Saxons in their impromptu defensive stance by repeating and repeating the same instructions, to startlingly effectiveness.

Beside her, though, more disorganised skirmishes were happening, and she spied Merewalh having difficulty with a huge, broad, yellow-haired Dane, who was beating her commander back and further back. There was little she could do herself, Osthryth knew, but at least her blows could slow him down, so she ran to him, slipping a little in the bloody mud, which was beginning to become endemic throughout the ground layer, and she caught the Dane mid shin with Taghd's seax.

It stopped his drive, at least, but this presented Osthryth with a second problem: the Dane was now interested in fighting her, Osthryth having injured him.

And he struck, hard into her stomach, his knife driving into her ribs as she slipped over.

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Beamfleot was recovered. That was the first, and the only piece of news Osthryth was interested in. Where she was, Osthryth could only guess, and recognised the room as only that, with walls and a window. A thick, linen sheet was covering her.

She had tried to move several times, but pain in her chest prevented her, and she lay quite still for some time, wondering where she was. Somewhere safe, obviously, Osthryth's mind deduced, and somewhere she was wanted.

Merewalh visited her that afternoon, and Aldhelm shortly afterwards. Beamfleot was recovered, they told her, and it took a week of making sure she could move, and could stand, to ensure that Osthryth was convinced in herself that, though she was injured, she was recovering. She would need her strength.

And it was from that window, two weeks after Beamfleot, that she watched Uhtred, along with Finan, Sihtric, Osferth and Skade leave.

"They are going Saltwic," Merewalh told her, when he came to see her that afternoon. So it was decided then, and Osthryth told herself she had to harden her heart to Finan the Agile, to make it easier for herself.

And she must make a plan, a long plan, one which would include several months of planning to execute to greatest effect. She was going to Alba, that unconquerable place, and offer herself back to King Domhnall, for service.

"You had a chest injury, I, er, took the liberty to treat you myself, under the circumstsnces," Aldhelm explained to her that evening.

"And am I going to recover?" Her question seemed to amuse him, and she smiled as Aldhelm smiled.

"Osthryth, you received a six inch blade in betweeen your ribs, but by some miracle you lived when you should have died." Osthryth felt towads her side.

"I know where you went," he added. "Dunholm. It is where Beocca and Thyra went. He spoke of you to me."

"Does Lord Aethelred?"

"He does not." And Osthryth leaned forward, kissing Aldhelm's cheek.

"Thank you for being a friend," she added, and hee nodded in acknowledgement, taking her hand. Then, his face took on a grave expression. He dropped Osthryth's hand, turned as if to go, and then turned back.

"If you had to choose, Osthryth, between Aethelflaed and Aethelred? For the good of Mercia?" Osthryth stared back at him. There was no question in her mind, at all.

"I would choose Alfred's daughter, Lord Aldhelm."

Aldhem held her gaze for a second, then closed his eyes as he nodded briefly at Osthryth. He made it to the door before he turned and looked at her again, and smiled, half-heartedly. Osthryth waited for the news, wondering how bad it was going to be.

"You have new orders, auxilliary captain," he added. "You are to leave for Wessex, under Aethelred's orders. You retain your position but are to serve him there for the time that we are next in Winchester."

Bad then, Osthryth thought, and looked back out of the window again, at the gates of Aylesbury.

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Dawn light flooded the eastern sky as the army of the Danes found the river Ouse, two weeks before the Great Heathen Army split in half. They were marching at the border of East Anglia. Ahead, a small rise of hills separated the lands once ruled by King Aethelstan - Guthrum as was - and that of Mercia.

"Tell me again," Aethelwold asked of Cnut, for want of something to say, "What is meant if someone is a Krieger-kvinde?" Cnut turned his head and examined Aethelwold's face.

"Do you not have women warriors in Wessex?"

"Not generally, no," Aethelwold replied. "Yet, she is the exception."

Ahead, more men were de-camping and getting their horses. The attack would come swiftly and it would come strongly that day. With luck, the Mercians would still be rubbing sleep from their eyes.

"They are common in Denmark, though few travel to Englaland," Cnut explained. "Women who choose to fight are called Krieger-kvinge."

"Oh, so, women warriors?" Cnut nodded.

"Quite so. But there is an honour about them - no Dane is to take them, no harm must come to them, no man is to challenge them. And yet - "

"Yet?" Aethelwold prompted.

"This Krieger-kvinge I have heard of. And if she is who I think she is...she is the same woman. I have seen her before..." Aethelwold stared at Cnut.

"Can you speak plainer?" Cnut drew his horse to a stop, and turned to stare at the Aethelwold.

"That woman, who was not a Dane," Cnut said, "Was made Krieger-kvinde by Eirik Thurgilson, a distinction all of us must honour. However, this Gaelish woman - " He broke off and wiped his hand through his beard, "She was in Eireann."

"So I have heard," Aethelwold replied.

"So, she must be a witch." Aethelwold contemplated that infomation, which fitted very neatly with the intelligence he had gained from a guard he had bribed about her nightly visits to the heathen Britons.

"She made the sun die," Cnut added, and Aethelwold was certain he saw the man shiver.

"The sun is vey much alive," Aethelwold replied, nodding east, as if to prove a point. "Look." But Aethelwold was not counting on the big, red-haired Dane leaning from his saddle and pulling Aethelwold by the neck of this clothes.

"Do you not know?" He whispered with a fearsome hiss. "Sometimes, the sun can disappear; a witch can make that permanent."

"And she was that witch?" Aethelwold suggested, choking a little under Cnut's grasp.

"I heard say that she was then drowned," Cnut mused, loosening his grasp on Aethelwold, as he looked towards Mercia.

"Then what was she doing here, if drowned?" Aethelwold asked, disbelievingly.

"And transformed into Wachilt, water sorceress," Haesten reasoned, thoughtfully.

"Why must you make everything worse?" Behind them, Ragnar, on the last morning of his life hurried his horse to be the other side of Aethelwold, and he drew a short blade towards him. "That woman has every right to her choice, her duty, her reputation." He narrowed his eyes. "Has she spurned you?"

When Aethelwold did not reply, Ragnar leaned back into his saddle. "Then she is a thousand times your worth Aethelwold," he said, "So remember, you are here for one purpose and one purpose only, for your intelligence in Wessex." Then Ragnar stood up in his stirrups, sword unsheathed and he thrust it hard into the air, so all of the army could see.

"We go on!"