19.
"Come out, girl!" Steapa's voice was loud and clear, and spoke plainly, as usual. Osthryth hurried to remove Taghd's seax from her hip and she handed it to Aldhelm, with Buaidh.
Six months effectively a guard in Winchester, waiting for the arrival of the lord Aethelred, and now, who should appear at the palace as if he had just gone for a morning stroll beside the Itchen?
"Winchester; you deserve it," Aethelred had told Osthryth. But the Lord of Mercia's meaning was entirely at odds with the way Osthryth took it.
So she had reluctantly ridden back into Wessex and into Winchester, with the only consolation that she had: Aldhelm was coming with her.
It made sense: Aethelred was preparing the ground in Winchester, as if the crown was already his. But Alfred was not yet dead, though looked as if he were, and the aething was, of course, the aethling. Officially, the Witan had to meet and decide. But, who was credibly going to oppose Prince Edward?
"Why are you so downcast?" Aldhelm asked Osthryth, a week into arriving at Wessex's capital. "Do you still suffer from your wound?"
A little, Osthryth had to admit, but it was the place, the memories, her mistakes being here the last time. Gisela's death.
She had found Uhtred's house as she remembered it, as he had left it, even with a half-laid table and a jug of milk still in the boards, blue-tinged and mouldy. Above, however, was silver in the eaves, and Osthryth had retrieved as much as she could carry over the course of several nights, going at different times of the night, on different days of the week, so no-one who might be following her could discern a pattern. And her silver hoard, in the stables, began to grow.
"Is it your lodgings?" Osthryth had shaken her head, even though it had been difficult to re-initiate rent to the sour old woman whose rooms they were. She had complained that Osthryth had been missing for over a year, and had kept her room for her, and lost money. The fact that nobody else would want to sleep there - too far away from the palace to be a guard's room, too small to accommodate the family - was conventiently ignored. So Osthryth greased the woman's hand with silver and moved in the very day she had arrived back with Aldhelm.
She smiled weakly when Aldhelm moved his head to the side towards her. He wasn't giving up.
"I...something I did, when I was last here." Osthryth's vagueness did not deter Aldhelm, and a sharp pain caused her to breathe out sharply.
"You have my protection, as much as it is worth," Aldhelm assured her, as Osthyth tried to stifle the wince from a second sharp stab. "But now, you are needed - "
" - Girl - "
"Can it wait?" Osthryth called back. The door to the armoury was pushed open and Steapa stuck his head through.
"It cannot. You are to speak before the Witan."
"Remember," Aldhelm assured her, clapping a hand on Osthryth's, "You have my full support. Tell them the truth."
Who was going to credibly oppose Prince Edward? On the morning that a carriage arrived in Winchester, and a man jumped off the back of it, Osthryth would have said nobody. But now, flanked by the head of Alfred's household guards, there was one person.
Aethelwold.
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"May it please the Witan to ascertain why you yourself were in the company of Danes?" This question had come from Aethelhelm, the father of Edward's bride, Aelfflaed. It was a fair question, and Osthryth nodded her head in acquiescence.
"My lord Aethelred had sent me in his stead to duty. On returning from that duty, I misfortuned on a company of Danes."
"Indeed?" Aethelhelm again. He stroked his thin beard as he contemplated Osthryth, standing between the king and himself.
"I had mistaken the road to Aylesbury," Osthryth admitted, "and chanced upon High Cross again. So, I turned south, and then came in contact with Danes." She turned to look at Alfred. "I did kill two of them, but unfortunately, there were a dozen too many." But Aelthelhelm had now risen to his feet and was pondering Osthryth.
"No, I meant, what duty?" He asked. And Osthryth knew she must answer. But truthfully? That she and Aldhelm had been tasked by Aethelred to murder the lady Aethelflaed?. But it was the king that waved a hand before Osthryth could reply
"In this company was Aethelwold?" His voice, though thin, was still commanding, and Osthryth looked to Kng Alflred. She noticed he did not call Aethelwold "Lord".
"Yes, your Grace." Alfred waved a hand again.
"You have served me loyally, Osthryth Lackland; you served the lord Odda well, and my son." He briefly flicked his eyes right. Edward said nothing, but there was a flickering of acknowledgement at the aethling's lips. Osthryth made eye contact with the prince for a moment, before bowing her head back to Alfred. "And you have shown persistent loyalty to both my son-in-law and my daughter."
His daughter. Aethelflaed and Aethelred had arrived in Winchester the night before, presumably to be close to Alfred. Aethelred had brought both her and Aldhelm to him and praised their loyalty. Then Aldhelm had remained with Aethelred, and Osthryth had been dismissed.
"So, I ask once more," the king furthered, "was my nephew Aethelred with the Danes?"
"Yes, your Grace."
"It's a lie!" Aethelwold shouted at her furiously. But Steapa and Aelffrith were holding his arms and he couldn't fly at Osthryth.
"Which Danes?" Alfred pressed.
"Their leader was one by the name of Haesten," Osthryth clarified, refusing to look at Aethelwold. "Others were with him."
"Who?" Osthryth realised that the witan lords were inclining their heads towards her.
"A man known as Bloodhair travelled with them."
"Whence?"
"The fortress of Dunholm." A few of the lords shuffled forward, and this time Aethelhelm spoke.
"And who was at this fortress?" Osthryth swallowed, and shifted her weight.
"I was captured; I did not find out straight away." She looked to Alfred. "Ragnar Ragnarsson," she conceded. "And his brother."
"Uhtred." The name swirled around them as it was carried in the lips of the lords. Alfred had been expecting that, and he gave Osthryth a satisfied look.
And the witan proceeded when Osthryth had been dismissed. She had returned to the guard room in case she was needed again, as instructed by Steapa, but it was growing late when Alfred's man came to find her.
"Am I needed again?" Osthryth asked, moving from the window as she watched the guards up in the ramparts change their positions for the early night duty. But Steapa shook his head.
"Aethelwold has been sentenced to blinding," he told her, and at this, Osthryth's mouth began to fall open. "We are to carry it out tomorrow, in square outside the palace."
In public, Osthryth thought, grimly. If she had known in eight hundred years there would a man living in Italy called Machiavelli, who operated entirely in the idea of cunning and strength, she would liken him to Alfred. Shrewd, head-intelligence. He had forgiven his nephew, but at the same time rendered enough of a punishment that no man in his right mind would listen to Aethelwold.
"It is to happen at dawn," Steapa continued, "and I will need you."
For what, Osthryth found out in the morning. Little sleep came to her as she waited for the sun to show its face over the horizon, and when it did, Osthryth left her bed and made her way across the city.
The horses hrmph'd in their late sleep, dawn rousing equine brains to the promise of the next day as the same familiar pain came to her stomach. It was not her monthly pain; Osthryth had all but eliminated that inconvenience with regular doses of lily root, nor was it her stab wound - that had healed well, and only caused her stiffness and made her less flexible at her waist, but a dampness was now collecting in her breeches.
On getting to the guard room to find the mail she needed for whatever Steapa wanted her for, she lurched from the pain again and grabbed the railing side that held the spears, which all came down in a clatter.
"Osthryth!" Aldhelm was first into the room, his boots shuffling on the bare planks as Osthryth fought to keep herself upright. "Steapa help her!" He yelled, as Alfred's guard flung open the door.
"Just - " Osthryth tried, but the pain creased her stomach and back, and she gripped Aldhelm, who supported her at the elbow, and she noticed a look pass between him and Steapa, as the Mercian lord looked at the trail of blood that Osthryth had brought with her.
"Come with me," Aldhelm urged, and he pushed past Steapa and into the back room which contained saddles and leathers, big boxes used for travelling and a makeshift bed, and he lowered her onto it. From the doorway, Steapa held up something which Osthryth had clearly dropped. Osthryth had visited Ula three nights before and handed over a good deal of silver for the lily root, for the healer was now under threat of death.
"The king has decreed that no heathens will supply medicines or herbs to anyone in the city," Steapa intoned, "On pain of death." Osthryth, who looked between Steapa and Aldhelm nodded.
"Nor was it," Osthryth panted, putting her hand to her groin. She was bleeding, and it was familiar. But she had not taken tansy, not had she needed to, for she had not lain with anyone since Finan at Dumholm, and that had been nearly a year ago. But the feeling was persistent.
"Steapa, get cloth, and water," Aldhelm called, "And I will treat this warrior, clearly suffering from her injury," and he turned to Osthryth and spoke under his voice as Steapa gave an affronted look at being asked to carry out such a menial task. "When it is got, I will go outside and you can treat yourself."
Osthryth flinched again, but the pain was less than it had been and Aldhelm narrowed his eyes to her, before spying the root that Steapa had thrown down. He bent and took it up, examining it before handing it to Osthryth.
"Steapa is right," Aldhelm told her. "Do not risk your life for this," and then his face opened up and he smiled at Osthryth. "You are to stand guard of the lord Aethelred as we witness Alfred's justice." Moments later, and taking the steaming wooden bowl that Steapa had brought with him as he came back into the annexe, he patted Osthryth on the arm.
"Care for yourself; I will wait outside. You should knock when you are ready to come with me to the courtyard.
It was indeed like an elimination of life, Osthryth thought, as clots left her body. She rinsed the cloth many times until the blood was less than it was, then rinsed the cloth out once more, and ringing it out, before placing it between her legs. She then climbed past the travelling cases and poured the waste out of the window, before knocking on the door for Aldhelm.
"Feeling better?" He asked, as he walked beside her down the long corridor from the armoury to the training ground.
"Much, thank you," Osthryth agreed, though she was concerned about what had happened: lily root had stemmed the flow of her womanly blood to virtually nothing, and she had no reason to suppose it could be anything else.
"May I say, you held yourself well before the witan," Aldhelm continued, as guards were preparing the ground before the front entrance of the palace. "Many other men would have trembled. You told the truth."
"As you asked," Osthryth confirmed, and Aldhelm asked, patting her jerkin into which Osthryth had pushed the lily root, "Is that the misdemeanour? Seeking assistance from the Britons?" And Osthryth nodded in agreement, her promise to not lie in her testimony.
Or at least, not the whole truth. That was some of it, but also because she had chosen to try to help Gisela, Uhtred's wife. Being so close now, as she was in Winchester was painful. But, at least Uhtred would not be back to chase her here, not pursue her. And much better, Finan was not there to torment the fantasy in her mind that they could be together.
A spear was thrust into her hand as she rounded the corner, and Steapa bade her stand where the lord of Mercia was going to stand, which turned out to be too close proximity to the punishment Aethelwold was about to endure.
For when Steapa thrust the white-hot poker into the would-be king's eye socket, making the man scream worse than she had witnessed on a battlefield, Aethelwold swivelled his head, and fixed his left eye on Osthryth.
And life continued, and the main objectives of Winchester were to protect Wessex, provide stability in the ever-approaching succession and to rid the lands which were not Wessex of Danes.
Only, life was not as Osthryth supposed. Her outlaw brother was on his way to the capital, as she continued to stand guard over Aethelred as he discussed strategy with Alfred in the scriptorium. And that night, one cousin would have words with another, about a dying sun and sorcery.
"Is that true, Aethelwold?" Aethelflaed, usually bored with her drunken cousin, was more than eager to hear gossip about the upstart guard of whom she was jealous, and she lingered to gain maximum fuel for any future conflict between them. Or any she could enginner.
"Apparently so," Aethelwold told her, shaking his head. "I know that she buys - or has bought - hers and roots from the Britons. In the past that is," he emphasised, placing a telling hand on Aethelflaed's shoulder. And, as Aethelflaed paid false concern to her cousin's gouged eye, gossip became fact, which because a weapon to wield. Aethelred had been right, Aethelflaed told herself as she went to find her husband, coming to Winchester was indeed proving to be profitable.
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And Osthryth did not return to her lodgings that night. Steapa wanted guards on the ramparts that night, and her mind, which had not disengaged from the day's troubling events, made her volunteer. She could walk, Osthryth told herself, and by the hour of the moon at its highest, she should be tired enough to sleep.
Aelffrith relieved her in the early hours of the morning, and they shared a few words about his wife, and her return to Winchester, and potential movements in the lower ground towards the bend in the river Itchen. That exchange made her feel much happier, for Aelffrith, having been a close comrade since their appointment together to the lord Odda's guard, was familiar, was trustworthy, and Osthryth found she was a good deal more relaxed as she climbed the stone steps into the stable courtyard.
She still had on her mail coat, she realised, as she had gone as far as the market place, so Osthryth doubled back and paced as quietly as she could through the armoury corridor and pushed open the door. In the annexe, she could hear Steapa snoring and she pushed the door open again, watching the huge man's chest heave up and down. Thank goodness for stolid men like him, who knew their duty unflinchingly. Him and Aelfgar, long gone, and Aelffrith and the men who were coming through the ranks now, like Godwin and Wulfhere, once skinny rats of young men who were now taller and muscular and reliable.
Scooping the iron from her frame, Osthryth gasped when she turned round and found a man staring at her, and her heart beat a little faster when she realised who it was.
"Edward," she breathed, and made to walk past him. The aethling did nothing to stop her save talk quietly near her ear as she passed.
"I watched you talk to the Witan, Osthryth," he said, slowly and carefully, and Osthryth found herself turning as he looked down to her earnestly. "It showed bravery beyond measure - some of those lords are ferocious." He laughed at his own joke for a second, and then reached out a hand to her shoulder.
Like your father-in law? Osthryth thought to herself, but could not bring herself to say it. Instead she nodded slowly.
"May I walk you to the gates?"
"Yes," Osthryth agreed. After all, it was merely a courteous gesture.
"What makes you so sad?" he asked, as they reached the door to the stable yard. The wind was blowing through the ash trees beyond the palace's outer walls and it caught her hair, pulling it out of shape. "Is it Uhtred?" At the name, Osthryth jerked her head to the aethling, and he smiled, as if he had just uncovered a secret.
"No, not Uhtred," Osthryth, she replied. "He is outlawed, is he not?"
Osthryth answered Edward, but not immediately. Instead there was a delay of perhaps two hours or more, and the aethling raised the matter again. Osthryth, for her part, breathed heavily onto his bare chest as the lord prince's hands fondled her breast, feeling her nipple gently with his fingers.
"Not Uhtred, but someone close to him? One of his men, perhaps? Do you wish that you were together?" Osthryth looked up from his arm.
"There cannot be a together," Osthryth replied.
"Because of the man you loved." Osthryth shuffled up in Edward's bed, turned over and looked at him.
"Because at some point a man must make a commitment, and he will never leave Uhtred." Edward looked at her face and then smoothed his fingers through her hair.
"Have you asked him?" Osthryth shook her head.
"No, I never have," she admitted.
"And I thought you brave, Osthryth," he teased, gently, before reaching for her lips with his own.
"I cannot think about this now," Osthryth replied, pain in stomach again making her flinch.
"You are unwell?" Edward asked, concerned. He shuffled up the bed and helped to prop Osthryth up. She sat on the edge of his bed and flinched again.
"A little," she replied. She felt sick, as if the whole room was moving. Edward placed a tender hand on her back.
"Willow bark is a help, I am given to understand. The kitchen keep it," he added. Osthryth nodded, and began to dress. As was his custom, Edward watched her put on her clothes with as much fascination as he did when he relieved her of them. But, it was not that sort of pain, and Osthryth knew she needed to speak to Ula.
"Is Aelfflaed a help, can you talk to her as your father talks to your mother?" Osthryth asked, when she was clothed. Edward placed a hand over hers, but said nothing, and she realised this was the first time they had humped since Edward had married. "When you are king, Aethelhelm will have more influence than you realise."
And she realised he had picked up her hand, and was pressing his lips to her skin. She also realised he was still naked and his cock had definitely not been informed of her impending departure.
"Osthryth, I need you," Edward said, his voice catching in his throat as his breathing grew deeper. And no-one had informed Osthryth's hypothalamus, either.
"I will stop to guard you, nothing more." Those were the words, at least, that Osthryth's mouth had spoken.
"Then you should sleep this side of the door," was his practised answer, yet the aethling kissed down the back of her neck as his hands traced over her shoulders and soon Osthryth was on her back, having been eaten out as Edward rode her in his own firm passionate way, eyes never straying from her face, expression saying, you are being humped by a future king, and I am attentive to my lovers. And then, when they had come, and Osthryth was in his arms again he traced his finger over her hand's-width scar on her ribs, just under her left breast.
"Beamfleot," she replied, as Edward kissed her head, before nibbling her ear. He broke off and looked over at her.
"You were there?"
"I've fought there twice," Osthryth replied, then teased, "once more than you - my lord!"
And Edward laughed and turned her over again, so he was on top of her once more, vigorously showing Osthryth what he thought of her impertinence.
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Osthryth went from the bed of the aethling to the ramparts above his room as dawn began, tired, and still in a good deal of discomfort. At least the day was warm, and later, when she was dismissed from duty, she found herself walking briskly through the market place and westwards, towards the convenient bend in the river where she could bathe.
So she was just crossing back to her room, taking the route by the chapel when she saw a small figure, shawl pulled around their head, moving at speed along Aldgate. Behind her, a man was moving, striding in the direction of the first figure, raising a hand to throw something, and when the first figure turned, ducking into the shadows.
When it happened again, Osthryth jumped in front of a man, who gave her a sneery look, until Osthryth withdrew Buaidh. Then his expression changed, and he stepped back for a couple of steps and, with no words, turned to run.
But the first figure was running too, and it took a little time for Osthryth to catch up with them, who turned out to be a "her" when Osthryth ran past and stopped in front of them, and the her turned out to be -
"Thyra!" Osthryth's voice was enough to make Beocca's wife jump, and she placed a hand carefully on the woman's shoulder.
"Tell Beocca," Osthryth advised, when they walked a few steps with Thyra and then into her home rather than leaving her: the woman was insistent, and Osthryth felt sorry for her as she dropped a plank of wood in the iron brackets at either side of the front door frame, then moved to the back and barred that, too.
"No, I do not wish to shame Beocca," Thyra replied, her hand on her chest as she fought to regain control of her breathing. But her face betrayed her terror and Osthryth placed a hand on her arm.
"Shame Beocca? You would no more shame Beocca than the moon could shame the sun." And then the sun came out, as the Danish woman gave Osthryth a beaming smile.
"He told me about you," she told Osthryth, tipping away water from a jug before placing another in the table beside the window, two wooden beakers either side of it, and she gestured to the chairs opposite one of them.
But Osthryth was immobile as she asked, "What? What did he tell you?"
"You were a dear child when Uhtred left Bebbanburg," she sparkled. "You lost him; we gained him..." But then she looked at Osthryth as if she might have angered her. But Osthryth was thoughtful.
"It is why I am here, Thyra," Osthryth admitted. "Did Beocca tell you I escaped Bebbanburg? That I spent time with the Scoti, the Gaels? I stood beside the king's comnander as he slew Ivarr; I slew many Norse," she added, matter-of-factly.
"You?" Thyra looked astonished. "My father would have liked you - he wished for women warriors, but some of his men did not like the idea. I would have fought, but my mother did not want it."
Perhaps it would have been a good idea to have learned, Osthryth thought, looking at Thyra's earnest, happy, scarred face. She had done that to herself, Osthryth knew, after years as a sex slave. She had trained the dogs to guard her. Had she been at Dumholm longer, she may well have contrived to defeat Kjartan and Sven herself, through her own will.
"Will they come back?" Osthryth asked, and Thyra looked away.
"It is since Danes have been known to be coming to Wessex," she replied. "My brother - " and, at that, soft tears formed at her eyes.
"Ragnar?" She nodded, and Osthryth brought the woman round to her shoulder.
"It has been happening for some time?" And noticed her distended stomach. A pregnant woman, harrassed, no-one to stand up for her. But, could she stand up for herself.
Unbuckling her belt, she let it fall as she held Taghd's seax, before offering it to the Danish woman. She held the scabbard as Osthryth withdrew the blade.
"Can you use it? Pointy end first?" Thyra laughed, like glass tinkling. She was so beautiful, and she looked every inch a woman warrior that her father might have been proud of.
"I have a secret too," Thyra confided as she smoothed her dress over her stomach.
"Not many months," Osthryth guessed.
"She should be here by Jul."
"Jul," Osthryth repeating, and remembered cold snow and a fire-red dawn and drinking and merriment with Eirik's Northmen as they travelled towards Dunnottar.
"Christmas," Thyra assumed it was a question and translated it for her. She placed a hand on Osthryth's shoulder. "I worry for Uhtred, he was sickened by grief for his wife."
And it all came tumbling out, as Osthryth said, "I tried, Thyra. She was not herself, and was distressed. I tried to ask Ula to come." The Danish woman looked into her eyes.
"That was brave of you; the Britons won't, you see, so she told me what to do, I tried to help her and she died." And Osthryth was crying now, but not for Gisela and the situation, but for everything, and for nothing, and for all that was wrong with everything, that no matter how hard she tried to make things better, it always ended up worse.
"In your heart, you did what you could, and took a lot of risks for Gisela," Thyra consoled.
"But she died."
"People die, it was her time, there is a reason." And she looked at Osthryth's face. "Ragnar died."
"He has died?" Osthryth remembered a firm, handsome face, a good heart, someone who was fair and just, who cared for honour and for his men. A Dane, nonetheless, but a decent human.
"You are a Christian," she laughed again. "Perhaps there is not much difference between Christianity and Danish beliefs. Though," Thyra added, "don't tell Beocca I told you so." And Thyra went on to tell her how Ragnar had died without a blade in his hand, and that now he was in the coldness of hell - Niflheim - with but one chance to have it undone.
How it was Thyra knew this, Osthryth didn't think to ask. Perhaps if she had, Osthryth's path might have been different. Perhaps she would have been there when the fire began, and she could have helped the woman escape to safety, rather than drag her charred body to the Briton healer and take a not yet term baby girl away with her to Alba.
But Osthryth was tired, and due to be back at the palace, to stand guard outside the lord Aethelred's chambers, so she accepted Thyra's thanks for the seax, and she thanked her back for the water, and did not see a pair of eyes belonging to a man who loved her watch her cross back into the main market square and go back to the palace.
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When she was dismissed from Aethelred's door in the early hours in the morning, after the third whore had left and presumably exhausted the lord of Mercia, Osthryth did not go back to her rooms.
She hated the place, if she was honest, and her mind was racing again, so instead, heading to the scriptorium, which was shared between the palace and the monastery, and decided to see what correspondence had come in from other monasteries.
Culdees was the one she wanted to know most about, the one monastery which faced Dunnottar across the mighty Forth river, and was a boat journey between them. She was decided, and was certain of the fact: once she had enough silver she would be travelling to her true home, Alba, and begging forgiveness of Domhnall.
If indeed he was still king, and her heart grew sore as she remembered the people who she loved the most standing before her, engaging in an agreement with Uhtred for the hostage value of Constantine's son. Would Cellach be back now? Presumably, as the Danes had marched, and she couldn't countenance that he had been put to death. Would Ceinid have led enough forces to wear down Aelfric's defenses, leaving Bebbanburg depleted of warriors and resources?
So it was heartening to find that Domhnall was indeed doing well, and had had enough peaceful years to reorganise the church and the governance of the land in Alba, where Mormaers - lords of terriory - had been appointed according to their ancient acreages, and reported to Domhnall with tribute and men for war, and were in turn rewarded with wealth. It was not too dissimilar, Osthryth realised, to the witan of the Angles and Saxon kingdoms. It showed Domhnall was moving away from the Eireann people, the pagans like Beatha, and had firmly established Irish Christianity in his kingdom.
As she made to leave, a noise made her start, and she reached for her non-existent seax. When she came up with nothing, Osthryth fixed herself still, and listened, as a board creaked near the door.
She was just passing over to it, when a hand caught her mouth. Osthryth fought, but she was slammed up against a wall. It was Aethelwold. Even before she could see his face in one of the candles' weak illumination, she could tell, and realised with horror that, as he blinked there was a kind of squelching noise, which was presumably the flesh around his missing eye.
"So, you visit the Britons for roots and medicines," Aethelwold began as he trailed a hand down her shirt. "You know, that is against the law now." Osthryth struggled, but he held her fast. "And, I know you to be a witch - " she struggled, but he placed a hand firmly over her nose and mouth, " - a witch who cast a spell on the wife of an earldorman who was giving birth and - she died!"
How? How did he know? Osthryth's head was spinning through lack of air and she struggled against suffocation as Aethelwold eased his other hand down her breeches.
"If you do not want this to be known," he continued, his fingers on her pubic hair as his digits scrabbled for her cunt, "You must come with recompense - a thousand silver pieces or - " he found her clitoris for a moment, but Osthryth struggled and his hand shifted away, " - another form of payment." He loosed her face, and Osthryth sagged against the door, trying to recover her breath. "Or I will go to the king."
And with that, he pushed the door against her and was gone.
With any other man, Osthryth knew, she would call his bluff. But Aethelwold had no scruples, he had no honour by which to attack back. He clearly wanted something from Osthryth, power, perhaps, and she wondered whether the hole in the stable floor where she had put aside some large aliquots of treasure for nearly a year, once belonging - temporarily - to Uhtred, would amount to a thousand pieces.
Osthryth adjusted her clothing, trying not to think of Aethelwold's hands on her intimate parts, and she crossed the market to get to her rooms, weighing up her options. No, it was the silver. Either that, or she would have to flee to Alba empty handed.
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It was nearly dawn when a knock came to her door. Struggling to disentangle herself from sheets, Osthryth was only just dressed in breeches and her shirt when she pulled on the door latch and peered into the bright sunlight.
"Aren't yer a little late fer yer duty, Osthryth Lackland?" Finan stepped over the threshold, and waited until Osthryth closed the door. He had many things planned, but none of them included the whole of the east end of the city watching them.
And then he saw her face. Was she happy to see him? Finan took her hand, and Osthryth smiled at last, letting go of the door.
"Finan!" She exclaimed. "What are you doing in Winchester?"
And he told her about the death of Ragnar, and how Uhtred had managed to find a way to kill Skade, and how he was in the process of trying to find out his brother's killer.
It all sounded strange to Osthyth as she thought about the fact that Uhtred and Ragnar considered each other as brothers, until Finan filled her in on that bit too.
"He went to help Aethelflaed, of course," she deduced.
"Yes," Finan agreed. "And because of that, Ragnar disowned him, telling him he was no longer a Dane if he considered putting Wessex above the oath he had sworn to be by his side when the great heathen army invaded.
"You look quite unwell, alainn," Finan said, as he stretched out an arm, and made to put it on her forearm. Osthryth did not resist, but she did not encourage, either. If Uhtred was back in Winchester, however secretly, he would be hostile to her, having shamed him. She looked at Finan's face, which seemed to confirm her thoughts.
"I feel it," Osthryth admitted. "I just want to lie down. But I have guard duty soon."
"I will send a message to the palace, to say you are unfit for duty," Finan said, and strode to the door, hailing a young boy who was playing in the street. Osthryth saw him hand the boy something, and the child looked at Finan before running off down the street. Then he sat down beside Osthryth, who had swung her legs back up onto the bed, before chancing his luck and lying beside her.
When he met no resistance, he stroked Osthryth's hair and began to sing a very quiet song by her ear. It had an up-and-down melody and Osthryth understood most of the words...it was about a man with hair as black as a raven from Eireann, who had the love of one Cailin
"But then then they come to take her, don't they?" Osthryth said, her mind almost in a trance.
"Yes," Finan smiled, "But I always thougjt it was a happy song. Stay with me, stay with me always, Osthryth."
"I can't promise on always," Osthryth replied, sleepily.
"We have spent a lot of time together," Finan broached, "Yet never a child."
"No, I fear."
"You fear?" he repeated, and Osthryth turned her face to look at him. Was it expectation on his face? Hope? Or outrage?
"My life is very physical, and when I was very young I was in need of a healer with special abilities."
"Your life in Pictland, with your great lord."
"Young lord," Osthryth corrected him.
"Like Edward?" he proposed.
"Not like Edward." Constamtine could be no more like Edward than if it were designed to be so.
"A king of the north once broke the peace to be rid of a woman and his kin," Finan continued.
"Aldfrith...Flann Fina."
"To marry another woman, and broke the church over her," Finan clarified.
"Oswy of Northumbria. He made people choose," Osthryth replied. "And lost a good deal of Bernicia to Alba, when those people chose the Irish church."
"Edward has done that, and Alfred has intervened. His new bride is pretty." Finan stroked Osthryth's cheek.
"Not broken the church; it causes a rift, and it will cause a rift, and right now a united Wessex with Mercia affixed to it is the only bulwark against the Danes and Norse. Northumbria could not overcome them alone, nor could Wessex. Finan asked her no more just stroked her stomach as she closed her eyes.
The sun was high when she opened them again, and Finan was still beside her. Was this a dream, Osthryth asked herself, when she turned to him, and kissed him on the lips to make sure. No, then.
"You had a wife, once...Ethne..." Finan shot her a look, but said nothing. "We were talking about wives."
"No...Ethne...she died," Finan told her. But Osthryth turned over, so he was in front of her.
"And yet she was Aed Findlaith's daughter, a princess of the Ailech. An Uí Néill." It was from the monastery books that Osthryth had put that together. Finnolai, she had saved, but Ethne? Domnall's sister, Flann Sinna's first wife, who he got rid of by selling her to slavers at the beach by Teamreach. Osthryth had shivered when she had found that out, and remembered seeing a short, squat man, with a whip, and men who would make sure there were no escapees as poor unfortunates were herded onto a rowing boat. Ethne was one of them, and she had made sure that she had fought as much as she could.
"Was she?" Finan mused, and suddenly his face was far away. "You know she told me that herself, once."
"Her brother is Domnall of the Ailech; her half brother is Niall Glundubh." In fact, Finan had been face to face with Domnall at the Bernician-Alba border, when the bargain had been struck.
And then Finan laughed at her good joke. He clearly did not believe her, but Osthryth knew that it must have been true: she had come from the slaver ship with Finan and Uhtred; Finan had taken her under his wing, so to speak.
"So you have no children," Osthryth pressed. Finan did not answer and she let the subject drop. And she wondered how long Uhtred - and Finan - had been back in Winchester, and she found that it mattered to her that she had been in the aethling's company the previous night.
When Finan stroked Osthryth's hair, Osthryth asked, "Why is Uhtred in Winchester? He was banished."
"He feels he must help defend it. There is a Danish army in East Anglia ready to attack."
"Then I must rejoin the army," Osthryth decided.
"Perhaps yer should wait until at least tomorrow morning," Finan replied, and hung onto her. For the first time, she realised that, beside his becircled cross, that was typical in Eireann a hole had been drilled into the coin that she had given back to Ragnar. He had kept their coin - Finan still had hope that they would be together. And now Osthryth's life was back to being complicated.
"And yer want to fight in an army?"
"I will join," Osthryth insisted.
"Why?" asked Finan.
"Because I like the things you do: food, clothes, shelter. Ale."
"I have never seen you drink ale," Finan replied, his hand on her waist. Don't think I haven't noticed, Osthryth thought, wryly.
"And I like silver because it gives me choices, when I tire sooner than the men I command I can afford to rest."
"Never a child?" Finan persisted. Osthryth shook her head.
"Perhaps you were cursed, too," he whispered.
"What?" Finan shook his head, for his mind had been elsewhere."
"You?"
"I hope any children I will father I will teach the lessons of life well to," he replied, relenting to the question now.
"Like your father?"
"King of the Ulaid," Finan declared.
"Your father was a king?!" Osthryth declared, sitting up, running through her mind the names of the kings she had known, when she had been in Doire with Domhnall and Constantine. Finan laughed.
"Not like kings here," he explained. "Kings in Ireland have maybe an area the size of Winchester, maybe a little more. There are a lot of kings." And Osthryth thought back to those kings at Teamreach - Tara - and how many had stood before Flann Sinna and pledged their oaths. Had he been there, that day, Finan's father? She remembered the brightness, the warmth of the sun, how happy everyone was. And she remembered a man who has proposed that he, too, could be the next High King, who had challenged Flann Sinna.
"And he was a good father?" Finan's fingers were smoothing through her hair, and Osthryth pulled out Eirik's jewel and clipped it to her shirt so as not to get it lost.
"He would beat the shit out of me every day," Finan replied. "Me and my..." He shook his head, then changed tack. "Every lesson came with a fistful of fingers." Osthryth shuddered, rememvering the beatings she had had, across her back and buttocks and legs from Aelfric. Her mind wandered...king of the Ulaid... And put her fingers lightly to the side of his face.
"I am happier that you are Edward's household guard rather than on the battlefield," Finan said, aftrer a time. He kissed her but did not press her for more, although the kiss became deeper and she pressed her fingers to his temple, trailing it down his face. Then, she took hold of their coin.
"I kept it for you," he said, as Osthryth held it up so it caught the sunlight, then she looked back to Finan. "Does Uhtred know you're here?"
"I am allied to him, nothing more."
And they held one another, until it was Finan's turn to sleep. Osthryth moved out of his way as his dream became a nightmare, and he began to thrash about on her bed, calling out words, Gaelish words that she didn't understand, shaking and begging an invisible someone to let him go. It had happened before, when they had shared the hay together at Dunholm, above the horses.
Osthryth thought about the time he had told her that he had bonded with Uhtred on a slave ship, and she thought now that the ship she had seen that morning when Ethne was taken and she had freed Finnolai must have contained both of them, and she shuddered herself at the realisation.
If she were a different woman she may ask Finan by now to have abandoned Uhtred. But she had tasted battle and knew that bonds between warriors were not easily cast aside. Finan was Uhtred's man. Yet the day she had walked through the market square to the palace amd he had accosted him Finan had stepped between them, and it had only been upon her initiation that they had ever come to blows.
"You made to return to Pictland, once."
In the glory of the afternoon sunlight flooding through her window, Osthryth turned to look at Finan.
"To Alba."
"If I go, I will be going to a land which had attained peace and prosperity. Few Norse attempt to take its cities. Guerilla warfare and local lords protect every square inch of Alba.
"You'll come back?" Finan said this urgently, and Osthryth smiled.
"Yes, I will," she promised.
"Once it is done?"
"Yes."
"In the north? Pictland?"
"Yes." Finan stroked her hair.
"Tell me about your wife. Ethne," she prompted, half expecting Finan to clam up. But he took Osthryth's hand and looked at her.
"She was angry with the slaver, and became thin, very thin. She fasted against the people who had sold her, her family." He looked at Osthryth and half-giggled. "She would say, she was a Gaelish princess; it made me laugh."
"And now you know that it is true." And she told Finan of the morning that Ethne ingen Finnlaith Uí Néill was sold into slavery, the once queen to Flann Sinna, sold off to convenience his plan of marrying Finnlaith's wife, Mael Muire. He listened silently as tis gigantic tale unfolded, then took Osthryth in his arms when she had finished.
"And you were in Eireann?"
"With Domhnall mac Caustin, of tbe house Àlpin." A memory passed over Finan's features as sonething stirred in his own mind. Then he began to pull at her clothing, kissing her body as he exposed it, and Osthryth knelt astride him. He held her hips parallel to his own, watching her rounded breasts move as she got into a rhythm. He remembered those, in a far distant corner of his mind. But soon those thoughts were put away as Osthryth bore down on his hips, squeezing her cunt around his cock so thay before long, he had exploded his seed into her, slowing down as he came, watching his face contort in excstasy as waves of in pleasure filled his body.
Finan moved her over into his arms, holding her close, and then, moved her onto her back, Osthryth's ankles on his shouders, he returned the pleasure.
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"What do you want, Aethelwold?"
Uhtred had stopped his striding down a narrow street that led from the market to Thyra's house. He turned, and placed his hands on his hips.
"In fact, whatever you have to say to me, I am not interested." Aethelwold stopped, but the expression in his face, slightly manic, made Uhtred think he hadn't heard him.
"I said - "
"What would you do if I told you I knew the identity of the person who killed your wife?" Aethelwold said, swaying slightly. Drunk, Uhtred thought.
"No-one killed my wife, she died in childbirth," he replied. But Aethelwold gave him a manic grin.
"Yes, yes, that was what you were told," Aethelwold replied, and stepped forward to Uhtred as if his words were being shared in confidence.
"She died in childbirth." Uhtred repeated, pushing him aside, "And I do not want to speak of it again with you." He walked past Aethelwold a few steps. But the pretender to the throne of Wessex turned.
"What would you do?" Uhtred stopped walking, and turned back to face him.
"Hang him, cut him down while still alive, take his balls and make him eat them - make him swallow them - rip open his chest, remove his still beating heart, cut through his sinews and tie his limbs to four horses." Aethelwold nodded, as if Uhtred's words were weighing heavy as he considered things.
"Hmmm, that could be difficult?"
"Why?"
"Because although she fights as a man, she is still a "she"." Realisation flooded Uhtred's face and he widened his eyes. "You know of whom I speak?" Aethelwold pressed.
"She? Killed Gisela? That Scottish bitch?" Uhtred shook his head. "I have seen how you look at her, no," he shook his head again. "You are playing a game, Aethelwold."
"This is no game, Uhtred," Aethelwold replied, fervently. "I have found something out. Supposing a girl fled her home and ended up in the fortress of the King of the Picts...supposing she went in hiding with the princes - say nothing, for I am sure of what I know," Aethelwold held up a hand. "Suppose the sun died at her command, and she was compelled to drown , but spirited herself away back to Alba." He bent towards Uhtred again. "Suppose she hates the lord Uhtred for some slight and used her magic to destroy his wife." None of this could be substantiated, but most of the facts fitted, and it was a convenient lie.
"Say nothing more, Aethelwold!" Uhtred replied. "Because that sounds like nonsense to me. She has not fled to Alba - she is still here, as a warrior for Mercia." But Aethelwold looked insistent. "I speak away from your Irishman, Uhtred. Alfred has decreed no margin on a tolerance on witches."
"It will be up to the king to decide," said Uhtred, shrugging his shoulders. "If any of what you say has any truth to it." But Aethelwold was bearing down on Uhtred again.
"She gave Gisela herbs...where did she get them from? If she is innocent she will admit it."
And this caused Uhtred to pause, rather than take Aethelwold by the throat. When Sihtric had come back from his time masquerading as his enemy, and gone to the Danes for information, he had come back with a similar story, that a girl declared Krieger-kvinde was the same woman who controlled the sun once to avoid being put to death as a witch. In Eireann.
"She was trying to help, or so she says," Aethelwold continued, simpering towards Uhtred, "She was using a good deal of heathen magic, she s a witch they say."
"And she used heathen magic?"
"And your child lived, Uhtred, but she did not save your wife, why would that be?" And that was enough to anger Uhtred of Bebbanburg.
"I will - " he began. But Aethelwold shook his head.
"No; she is too well peotected. She works inside the palace, stays there a-nights, with Edward - " Uhtred snorted his disbelief. "Steapa protects her; Aldhem, Aethelred." Another snort, to indicate what Uhtred thought of them. "Should she come to trial, she would be hanged, certainly, as pagans always are, oh there's the ordeal by ducking, or carrying a white hot bar, or eating of tbe ash cake...but your reputation, Uhtred...that of your wife -"
"You deal with her," Uhtred snapped.
"As you described? Hang her, cut her balls...remove her heart... tear off her limbs?" Uhtred thought for a moment
"No, not in public."
"How so then, Lord Uhtred?" And this time, Uhtred stepped towards Aethelwold, and whispered by his ear. "Make her wish she was still in that Godforsaken country of Alba. Do what you will, Aethelwold, then kill her."
A slow smile crept across Aethelwold's face. "I had a more long term solution in mind, Lord, that will draw out her pain over a long time, huniliate her every day for the rest of her life."
"You wish to take her?" Uhtred pulled back and stared at Aethelwold.
"Yes, eventually...after I've...played a while." He drew forward. "You must get her to me, Uhtred."
"I will bring her," Uhtred promised, then strode away from Aethelwold as if he were an unsavoury nuisance.
And Uhtred thought about his words, as he thought about the words that his new lover had breathed into his ear that night, hasty, full of illegitimate pleasure. Osthryth was a sorceress, or so it was said. Words, potent spells, which would mean the change in the course of her fate.
Not hers, the lover, for Aethelflaed who had found Uhtred in his old home and presumed her company on him, and then her body, her fate was fortune. Nothing would alter the course of her life now, and she knew it.
So when she let herself be taken by the man with whom she was besotted, Aethelflaed laid words beside his ears of a woman who had been conjured by the sea and doused the sun, just as she had told her brother earlier that day. And many pieces of information in a mind could be just that, fragments, unconnected. Or they may fuse together in many unlikely combinations, only one of which was a reflection of the truth.
But did truth matter when it was far easier to believe the image that matched the reflection of a person's feelings? He hated Osthryth for shaming him before Ragnar, who was now dead and he could not unite with him. He hated her for the interest his friend and comrade showed in her, something she could give him and Uhtred could not - where was he that night, for example? And he hated most of all that she had bettered him in every conflict that had taken place between the both of them.
Uhtred of Bebbanburg lay with Alfred's daughter tucked into the crook of her arm as he mulled the pieces. And decided that Osthryth was indeed guilty of witchcraft and, worse, for murdering his wife.
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As Uhtred was fucking Aethelflaed, her brother was fingering Uhtred's sister. When Osthryth had come, she lay next to Edward and listened to him tell her that Aelfflaed complained that she was not yet pregnant, and that he hoped his two children were being cared for well at the nunnery they were in, in Mercia.
Alfred was dying, and that was on his mind also, and he was angry, too, with Aelfflaed's demands, she wants to be queen when he became king.
"You can do that for her," Osthryth soothed.
"What do you know?" He snapped back, and then looked instantly sorry. But then, his anger caused him to push Osthryth away.
"I know that you could," she persisted, and Edward turned his back to her. Talk of being king meant that the present king would no longer be alive. "Mercia had queens; Bebbanburg had queens. All of the Welsh kingdoms - " But she broke off when Edward held a piece of paper towards her. It was in Gaelish, and must have fallen from her bindings in Edward's haste to get to her tits.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"It is in Gaelish; I copied it from the scriptorium." The wrong thing to admit, Osthryth realised as Edward got out of bed and stalked, still naked, across his room. Then he turned and held it towards her again.
"You - were spying?" In a way she had been, but Osthryth shook her head, anyway as she, too, got up.
"It is a poem," Osthryth replied, "One I remember from the longest time ago. So, I copied it down."
The wrong thing, and Edward hit her across the face. Osthryth, not expecting it, reeled.
"Were the herbs my father had yours?" He demanded. A healer had attended Alfred. But that was the first time Osthryth had ever heard of it.
"I don't know what you - " Another slap, but Osthryth moved out of the way. If she knew she would not be hanged for assaulting a member of the royal family, she would have hit Edward back. Instead, she made for her clothes. But Edward stood in her way.
"But I know you hide silver - do not deny it!"
"It is my own," Osthryth admitted, refusing to look from him. "As you hid from me, once." And she dressed, and made to leave. But Edward took Osthryth in his arms and began to kiss her, before breaking off and waving his hand towards her and she took of her jerkin and shirt. All of which was too slow for him.
Frantically, Edward began to pull down her bindings. When they wouldn't come, he yanked them down rather than off, and Osthryth's breasts spilled out over the top, and bobbed near his face. No question, Osthryth's hind-brain told her, as the aethling snuffled and rooted her nipples, taking them every so often, and pulling them away then releasing them, and watching as they sprang back towards her, watching her face as her pleasure grew. When he wasn't doing that to one of them, his hand was on the other, twisting it backwards and forwards, then matching the pulling he was doing on the other one using his teeth.
Osthryth threw her head back in pleasure; he knew how much this mild pain from the aethling's fingers and grinding teeth was pleasure enough to get her off, and she was immediately getting wet.
But then he stopped, and backed away watching the blush of arousal sweep across Osthryth's chest, at her nipples, large and dark-red from his proficient attention and Osthryth inhaled deeply, watching his face as it changed, becoming the moody, uncertain boy she once knew.
"You were in my father's Chronicle," he accused, looking at her, crossly. "Not just Gaelish...you...have been searching for information about that northern land, Alba? What relationship do you have there? Are you a traitor?"
"I am no traitor!" Osthryth's words were ragged and breathy, as she recovered herself. Edward's face was still stormy.
"I saw what you were reading, I have read what was said...are you really a witch?"
"I am not!" Osthryth insisted. She shook her head as Edward advanced on her. "Do you think I am?" Where had he heard it? Osthryth's mind questioned.
But her reply was not good enough for Edward, and he challenged, "Is that why you took off, so desperate that you were to get there?"
"I did not go!" Osthryth protested. But Edward looked at her, triumph on his face, as if he had caught her out in a lie.
"No, you returned with the Danes, I know this." The aethling backed off from her, looking at her strangely. "Tell me what you were doing there, tonight? At Crepelgate?" Osthryth shook her head.
"Britons live there," he continued. "Is this where you get medicines from?" At his words, Osthryth's whole life in Alba begain to unfold in her mind, a swirling cloud of memories, with no start, and no end.
Then, he dashed to her, and kissed her, hard, on the mouth, lovingly, as he had first done at Aylesbury, when they were becoming confidantes to one another, and Osthryth sank into his arms, her tits liberated by his hands, pressing to his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. When Edward finally stopped, he held her close, and she sighed into his shoulder.
"Believe me, I did not," Osthryth denied, and perhaps that was where her downfall began. "You are unsettled, about your father." It was understandable. But Edward's arms stopped pulling her close, and he pushed her away as he stepped back.
"My lord?" Osthryth asked.
But it was a considerable time before he spoke, and when he did, he muttered, "Osthryth, I saw you."
"My lord?" Osthryth's heart beat faster, but Edward stood away from her, his face creased, like he was in some sort of pain. It took a moment for Osthryth to find out what was causing his pain, and when she looked down waist-height, she realised the aethling had his cock in his hand, and was wanking himself furiously, as if the thriving or fall of Wessex depended in his orgasm.
Osthryth made to approach him, but with his other hand Edward slapped her face, making her reel. But she did not fall because Edward had grabbed her shoulder, and was gripping her, tightly.
The aethling looked at Osthryth for a second, and made to kiss her, but then he stopped, and instead, pushed her towards wall by the door. Osthryth yelled as the wood made her bump against it, and was about to push away when she realised that Edward was parting her legs with his hands and feeling her cunt, feeling for dampness as he pushed a finger a little way in, and circled her clitoris, as he used to do. Osthryth shivered at the sensations.
But that was clearly a mistake and Edward drew her back and slammed her against the wall again.
"No!" Osthryth protested. "Edward no!"
But he either did not hear or ignored her and within seconds his ample cock was in her, pressing her walls apart. At this angle, it was painful, and with his hands on her hips, pulling her onto him and riding her. Osthryth began to think that he meant it to be.
It wasn't long until he came, Edward's rhythm slowing down as his ejaculate welled inside her. But, when the aethling broke away from her, he was coated in blood, it hung from his seed-coated cock, before dripping onto the floor, but Edward said nothing, and he wiped himself on a cloth, Osthryth recognised it to be the blanket she used to sleep under, aware of the dampness on her inner thighs, and Osthryth put her hand to it. When she drew it back, she was certain then what ad caused it.
"Edward," Osthryth said, softer this time. But when he looked at her again, his eyes were full of sadness. Osthryth turned, making to approach him, as a pain shot though her stomach. She had never felt such intensity before, and her heart sank as Edward held up a hand, as if defending himself from her.
"Go!" The word reverberated in her ears as she scrambled backwards, another wave of pain flooding her and Osthryth bent over, trying to counteract it, he had thumped her face
"Edward!"
"Go, I said!" And he stamped a foot towards her, as one might stamp before a cat to scare them, and Osthryth bundled out of the door, clothes in her arms, her old blanket around her, past an astonished Aldred. She turned to him, clothes pressed to her, and drove him to the wall, face to it.
"You mention this to anyone and I will cut off your balls, got it?" Osthryth asked, then a contraction in her stomach, made her dart down the corridor, not waiting for a reply. Aldred did turn, and noted with satisfaction his ex-captain's naked back view, noting her rounded buttocks as she tore away, and into the armoury which was, fortunately, empty.
He was the reason Aethelwold had found out about the medicines from the Britons, for he had been on duty the day Steapa had given her the root back and warned her of the penalty of witchcraft. And Aethelwold had been amazingly generous.
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Osthryth tore the blanket into strips, sandwiching some between her legs and got dressed, thoughts racing through her mind...
...the information from the Chronicle; the herbs...the fact that unless she concealed all she knew of the Britons, they could be taken and killed, like the pagans at Dunnottar had been. Most importantly, Osthryth knew, she had to get away to deal with this haemhorraging. And, whatever she said now, to anyone, would seem like an excuse.
When she was dressed, Osthryth made to stride through the practise ground, which would lead her to the main street of Winchester. Just got to get back to her lodging, which was a thought, Osthryth realised, wryly, she never thought that she would ever be thinking.
Which was why she did not notice an inebriated Uhtred advancing on her.
"You were with my woman when she died." His voice was quiet, his words a statement. Osthryth, who said nothing, as her brain fought to engage some sort of defence as Uhtred's fist came in her direction. She flailed her arm and blocked Uhtred, his own arm colliding with the side of the wall.
But it was a ruse, and Osthryth felt herself being dragged by the wrist, as Uhtred held her hand over one of the torches held in a bracket beside the courtyard. She screamed and landed a kick into his groin.
"Stop them! Someone!" A voice rang out, and Finan, Sihtric charged over to them.
"Steapa!" Edward's words rang clear. "Fetch Steapa!" But Uhtred had not finished yet, as he caught both hands and brought Osthryth to her knees.
"Spies are hanged. Witches," he savoured the word, "Hanged. But I am sure the king can make an exception for you. Where did you get the herbs, witch?" Osthryth turned her head, as if to be compliant, docile, and then leaned towards him, as if about to confess something.
And if she told him, it would condemn all of the Britons who lived a knife edge existence at Crepelgate, leaving for the west in dribs and drabs, as Ula earned the silver to pay their passage. Her brother was grinning at her, the look of someone who feels they have won and need only the guilty party to confess their guilt.
Osthryth drew her head back and cracked her forehead against Uhtred's nose, and he fell backwards as Osthryth got to her feet, withdrawing Buaidh. To her right, Steapa stood, looking between them both, not knowing whether he was more astounded at Uhtred, the outlaw, being in Wessex, or Osthryth busy assaulting him.
"I have murdered women for less," Uhtred screamed at her, jumping to his feet, Serpent Breath in his own hand. Osthryth parried his blow then plunged her blade towards his chest. It tore the fabric and grazed his ribcage.
"Your hatred of women is clear!" She screamed back, as Uhtred began another onslaught. "If you can not dominate them by lying with them you murder them, like Skade." Satisfaction: Uhtred did not know Osthryth knew about the seer's death, by drowning, at his hand.
"As soon as they get stronger than you, its the only way for you! Brida, for example!" The cloth between her legs was now saturated with blood and Osthryth could feel it collecting in her breeches. Not home, not now. Somewhere to deal with whatever this was.
"You know nothing about it!" screamed back Uhtred and again, Osthryth was satisfied; he was clearly denying the truth. Another blow from her brother; another defense, which caused his sword to skitter away. Osthryth lowered Buaidh.
"Don't let your mind wander...it's far too small to be out on its own!" One or two people who there watching laughed.
"Uhtred!" A woman's voice called in alarm. It was Hild, and behind her, Father Pyrlig.
"Stop fighting, Uhtred." Edward's voice, intending to be commanding, ran between them. But it dod not have the power his father's had. Uhtred lunged for her again but stumbled. Osthryth swung her sword hilt into huis chest and he staggered back, stunned for a moment.
"Steapa!" This was Edward again. And if the guard got involved, there would be no explaining it, no matter how she had served everyone in the past. Men got another chance if they made an error of judgment; women got condemnation.
She had to get out of there, she had to see Ula. Osthryth made to hurry past Uhtred, but he had now got to his feet and lunged at her again. Osthryth, in a bad position, lost her footing and flailed. Uhtred caught her shoulder and slammed her face against the wall. Something crunched, but Osthryth broke free.
"You are a witch and killed my son!" Uhtred hissed near her ear.
"If I had not tried something , your second son would have died! You should be grateful! Your friemd, Hild - " But Osthryth ran out of ideas as she caught the eye of the abbess. "What do you understand about birth except for conception?"
But it had been too much. The blood from her uterus had soaked through her breeches now and a trail was forming on the flagstones.
She ran. But did not get very far until she collapsed into the street just outside the palace.
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"She has gone too far." Ula, with an unconscious Osthryth in her home, frowned at Finan. She closed the curtain behind Osthryth and stood before Finan. "I warned her." Finan looked between Ula and the curtain. He had followed her once, and knew that part of Uhtred's accusation may be true.
"Did you do this to her? She is bruised, battered. Whoever did this to her...I cannot save the child." Finan's mouth fell open.
"The child...? There is a child?" Ula folded her arms.
"Can you save her?" He asked, frantically. "Please ..I will do anything..." Ula looked towards Osthryth again, her arms still folded. Pagans never did anything for nothing.
"Silver, I have silver! I can get silver!" But Ula sighed, as she moved towards her cooking pot. "She may be beyond silver. Leave her with me." And the Briton waited for Finan to go. But Finan stood there, and refused, so Ula relented and pointed to a chair.
Four days Finan waited, until Osthryth regained enough strength to sit up, and Ula explained that whatever she had taken had unwittingly begun an expulsion of what would be a child. When she could walk Finan, true to his word, returned with silver, enough to make even Ula's eyes widen, and he carried Osthryth back to her lodging.
After a week of looking after her, sending even Osferth away, Finan finally got her to sit on her own, and sat next to her.
"That bastard Edward did that to you," he said, when she could finally drink some warm goat's milk. Osthryth did not deny it. Osferth came back the next day, and Finan sent him away again. But, Aldhelm gained entry, and Finan stood, his arms folded at the end of Osthryth's bed as the Mercian lord, her friend, spoke to her.
"What happened?" Aldhelm asked Osthryth. She was about to speak, when Finan stepped towards him.
"That fecking shite of an aethling happened, that's what!" And then, adjusting Soul Stealer, Finan strode to the door. "Look after her, while I go and beat the shit out of him!"
It was a lie to say that, on the day above Bebbanburg's beach ten years in the future had been the first time he and Uhtred had fought over Osthryth. Then, he would be telling his best friend that he was her sister, just before he was about to shoot an arrow at her.
To be fair, Osthryth had just burned up the only evidence that existed that Uhtred was the heir to Bebbanburg.
That was the second; this was the first.
Finan had already headbutted Steapa and made the man reel as he charged through the courtyard and was almost at the hall gates when Uhtred landed such a punch, enough to stop the Irishman in his rage.
"What happened?" Uhtred demanded, a question he repeated several times, and Finan failed to answer.
"Take him to my home, and keep him there," Uhtred told Osferth and Sihtric, but Finan was in no mood to be taken. Instead, glaring with hatred at the palace walls, he stalked away.
Perhaps that should have been the end of the matter, and Uhtred would forget that Finan had been missing from his side for nearly a week. Worse, it had been with her, that nuisance who was always around them.
That nuisance who, as Aethelwold had been unusually correct about. For Osthryth had not denied witchcraft to Uhtred, and he had asked her several times. She was a Krieger-kvinde, and one woman such named had had the power to make the sun disappear. If a witch was powerful enough to do that, then they were powerful enough to make herbs with such efficacy that they would kill a vulnerable woman in childbirth.
Uhtred thought all of that as his best friend stalked away, his concerns being not Uhtred for once. And so, he was resolved: a witch merely had to be brought to another earldorman for justice - the king did not even need to be bothered. For, why should Gisela's excursions to the Britons be brought into disrepute? And Thyra's?
So he was resolved. And he would wait. Until there was no other option for Osthryth Lackland to submit to the lord in question. Uhtred knew it would be a pleasure to watch justice be carried out in Wessex, at last.
But, it would not take Finan from him. Uhtred, ordering his men to follow Finan, chased after him, and it took them and Steapa to restrain him before he got to Prince Edward.
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Aethelwold, who would get drunk very quickly that night, would tell someone who would tell someone else, and so on, that Osthryth was a witch who could drown the sun, and also killed Lord Uhtred's wife. Uhtred, on the other hand, after a swift, but productive argument with Finan after taking him to the edge of the city to remind him of his oath, and the circumstances that had caused Finan to declare that oath. When Finan had returned, Uhtred would find the very person who would, after the next chapter, tell him who really killed Ragnar.
But that is the future. Tonight, revenge was uppermost in the lord Uhtred's mind as he came along with deep resentment that someone he did not know, a woman, no less, had violated his relationship with his wife, with his best friend.
He plotted.
And so, dead of night, came to where Osthryth slept a fortnight later, alone, with no-one following him, for Uhtred had made sure he had paid for the best whores for them all, and, having punched her enough times in her stomach that he felt satisfied, dragged her to a palace dungeon, as a now very sober Aethelwold was waiting for Osthryth Lackland.
Aethelwold had been patient, and now she was his reward. And he had lived long enough with the Danes long enough to have learned some very entertaining ways with which to extract information.