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

21. Aethelred

A/N

Typing while watching Series 5 again - it has been worth the wait. I have put my own opinions of the series at the end on a different chapter. Let's just say...I am in AWE! And I can't wait for the film, "Seven Kings Must Die", I think I might have been in tears if S5 had been the last we had heard of Bebbanburg and the House of Wessex. Onwards, to Brunanburh...

Autumn 910

Osthryth held the parchment, stolen as it had been from Dunnottar, from Constantine's hand as he slept, no less, close to the sun, and read it again.

Not read it, but looked at the letters on it, looked at the ink and the skin. It was familiar to her, though Osthryth would not have been able to place it unless she had been at Kells and had had the privilege of serving Mael Muire in sourcing the squid ink that the monks needed to complete the illumination on the manuscipt.

She did not know whether it was Domnall's hand, but seemed like what he would write, his conversation, his style. In it, the words told the king of Alba the news that a great number of battles had been fought to prevent the Norse from ever re-establishing a hold in Midhe, Briefne and Leinster, and on the north coast of their territory.

Osthryth felt her blade scabbard, at the marks on it. It had been he, Domnall Ui Neill, at Dunadd, who had taught Osthryth to read and write the ogham lines, one such line across the Gaelish coronation stone into which she has witnessed Domhnall thrust his foot. They represented Latin letters first before representing Gaelish; and each set of lines represented not only an script letter but also a living thing, oak, willow, ash, thorn, and Osthryth smiled the warmth of their time, walking together, where the would-be king of the Ulaid told how he had been taught the script through the trees -bithe, lews, fearne, seall, nihn: birch, rowan, alder, willow, ash - in the form of a poem with rhythm.

The sun warmed Osthryth's back as she sat by the Tyne river and looked at the letter again. She sometimes missed her old friend who had, at last, gone back to his homeland, and she looked again at the Gaelish which told that Niall Glundubh - once a little grubby-kneed prince in her care - had struck an alliance with his step-father, Flann Sinna, but that Flann was losing his grip on the north. He - presumably Domnall, had sided with Niall when Flann sought to have Niall killed, but that Flann had deserted Doire and headed west after a vicious Norse raid.

Osthryth looked across the river, at approximately the point, by her reckoning, that her ancestor, Oswald, had seen his vision of ColmCille which told of his victory over his uncle Edwin, or of the time later when Cuthbert, having had a salmon dropped at his his feet by a passing eagle, cut the fish in half and threw one half back to the bird.

She looked at the sky, bright blue, the season-deceiver, as September was on the moon, and the whole world in Northumbria still felt as if it basked in high summer. A few more nights and, as if summer had turned its back on the land, winter frosts would begin.

The parchment fell open in Osthryth's fingers again. Any excuse to stop beside the river again, with her Morning Star lapping at the water with her tongue. If Domnall was indeed the was the author, then he meant all of the Ulaid princes living in the north were fighting beside Flann Sinna to repel the Norse and Danes from the coastal fringes.

Idly, Osthryth wondered where Faedersword was now, that of hers - and Uhtred's father - that she had taken when she had escaped Bebbanburg. Ninefingers was a prince still in Eireann. After all this time, Osthryth still did not know his name, nor that of his brother. Their land had been taken by Flann, as had Breifne. Were they dead? Osthryth sincerely hoped so.

And she pictured in her mind the blade, shorter, thinner, but no less strong than Buaidh. There had been so many times when the juvenile Osthryth imagining presenting it to Uhtred and he would have been overjoyed and welcomed her with open arms. How stupidly green that sounded now.

But no. Now she read it again, Osthryth could see that the author had not meant that Flann had fought the Norse, but had, instead, sided with the Norse. She had forgotten some of the grammar she had once known - Flann was the object, not the subject. It must have been written by Domnall, and when he spoke of fighting with the king, he must have meant Niall!

How Osthryth's heart began to sing, and she allowed her mind to wander back to her time there, at Doire, at Mael Muire's wedding, at Tara. All mellow memories to warm a heart, though not a place of warmth where bitter alliances had to be forged to continue to repel the Norse on their land. Then, she wondered how strange memory was, that brought back some things, but not others. Mainly, happy, safe things.

She crumpled the paper, then opened it again, allowing the sunlight to shine on the parchment, before folding it neatly away, then fixed her mind on the task in hand.

Osthryth was to be back in Mercia. Much she had to tell Constantine, so he could work it into his own domestic and international plans. She told him of Bebbanburg, and remembered the time she had nearly left the Danes and stood beside King Domhnall, beside Constantine and Domnall and Ceinid. She told him of Teotenhalgh, and of the injury Aethelred had received - substantial.

And she was to be back in Mercia, amongst the chaos of succession. If it had been her, Osthryth knew that she would be sending her back, too. Because therein lay the potential of everything. Whoever would take Mercia as its leader, wherever that person's allegiances lay, would determine the interactions of other kingdoms. And, like one rock placed in the sand next to another, stood up in their end, then pushed over, Mercia would knock into its neighbouring kingdoms, and eventually that knock would be felt in Alba. But not before the effect had passed through Pictland and restless Strathclyde.

He had been short with her. Unusually, Aedre was pleased to see Osthryth, and in her, she saw a beautiful young woman in the making, with the colouring and features of her mother, Thyra. As the girl showed Osthryth with bounteous enthusiasm, seven lines meaning the same thing, "the sun and the wind and the sky change not" translated into each of the languages she knew. And it was the first time Osthryth realised the girl's deep intelligence wrought from her father, Beocca.

"Mama, and I know the Pictish writing!" She declared, and took Osthryth into one of the rooms below the waterline, which must have cost a good deal for Constantine's grandfather to have made, for it was bone dry, and pointed to the large stones which had once been features of the Pictish kingdom, now brought to the Picts' capital for some unknown reason in the distant past. Indulf, or rather, Ildubh - "Of the Black Isle", was her dearest friend, first born of Constantine and never from her side.

Cellach, Constantine's firstborn, was with them too, but Aedre and Indulf would run off from the boy and pretend to hide, or ignore him and pretend that they never heard him calling them. In his turn, Constantine's eldest would pretend he didn't care, and go to seek out MaelColm, Domhnall's son, and talk to him about battles and war and strategy.

On the day that Osthryth had witnessed both her wilful adopted daughter and Constantine's image run off to the spinney outside the fortress, she saw Cellach's sad eyes follow them, and a pang of hopeful sadness pierced Osthryth's heart. How she had once wanted to feel like that with Uhtred, the brother of her imaginings. To Aedre, Ildubh would never be parted from her.

Yet, one day he would be - he had already fought Osthryth in the square beside the stables at Dunnottar, where Ceinid looked on, approvingly at the boy. One day, he would be amongst troops, then lead troops, all to strengthen their homeland, and not for the first time, Osthryth thought of how well Domhnall and then Constantine had united the petty kingdoms in Alba, and how well they held.

And yet...

Osthryth thought about the Picts' stones again. This was a different culture entirely to the Gaels, and she wondered, had Domhnall and Constantine left their homeland as Picts and come back as Gaels? Constantine's church reforms and his nobility restructure suggested so.

The stones could be read, so Aedre had told her, by a certain placement of certain symbols within the pictures, which told the reader which image to look at next. While it seemed easy to Aedre, Osthryth could not fathom it, much preferring ogham, which Aedre quickly informed her adoptive mother that she had mastered even before Norse.

It was more than Osthryth had been taught - she remembered when Constantine had mocked her ignorance, and locked her in, in the dark and cold one day, when she wouldn't do something he wanted. It had been Ceinid who had found her.

Ceinid. It must have been thirty years ago when she first met King Aed's guard. He must have been a young man then, though he was grown, and Osthryth was still a child. A good man, one who had done his duty to the crown of Alba - as now was, thanks to Domhnall's unifying ambition - for so many years. And he had greeted Osthryth as if she had merely been in the courtyard, or strolling by the Firth, rather than having spent two years away, at Bebbanburg, at Winchester, at Teotenhalgh.

And so it had been her dear friend with whom Osthryth had confided her secret, and not Constantine, not yet. It had been strange, for the potent life inside her, making itself known by the swelling of her stomach, by her voracious appetite, by her bouts of sudden lethargy, the babe was hers and Finan's alone. But she could not keep her joy from Ceinid, who had touched her hand in the reassuring way he had about him, and presumed nothing of her that Osthryth was not willing to share. When she had finished, Constantine's chief guard smiled warmly, as if it could have been his own child, and kissed Osthryth on the forehead.

She suspected Constantine knew she kept a secret, knew she concealed something, and he resented her for it. Not a hot anger, but a cold one, which is why it made it easy for Osthryth to take the letter from his hand, and headed south to her duty.

Osthryth wondered whether Finan would - if he ever would - take this path north to Alba. He had asked her to marry him, and she had agreed, only, if only, he came to fetch her. So it was up to him, and she would wait. And if he never came, Osthryth would never marry, and the child would grow up in Alba and spealk Gaelish. At least it was the language of his father, and the culture of his father. And he might yet come.

She had to go, Osthryth knew and she made to stand, from her very pleasant resting place beside the crackling water over small stones, and made to lead her horse through the trickle. East and these waters built, from a gentle dance over pebbles to a roaring tumult though deep channels until it met the eastern sea. She looked around again, at her land, at Northumbria, and then back to where the Roman wall demarked the end of their empire centuries before. The border which Constantine claimed the land, and over which, sooner or later, a conflict would be waged.

But not yet. Now, the conflict was in Mercia, where no one lord had a strong enough claim to hold Aylesbury, and trouble was boiling.

Crunching up the Eireann parchment and pushing it into her bindings, which she knew she would have to discard one of these days, Osthryth pulled herself up onto her horse, and thought again of Ceinid, and Alba, and peace. It was where she was going to give birth to their child, of that, Osthryth was determined, not in the war torn, nascent, nebulous kingdoms of Englaland, not Mercia, where she had sworn to fight, and could now no longer do that as a mother.

And under no circumstances that odious kingdom of Wessex.

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Yet, when she got to the ridge which gently sloped into the plain where Aylesbury lay, the familiar feeling of home passed over Osthryth, and her eye looked forgivingly upon Aylesbury, its serene position, glimmering at the point on the horizon that drew the viewer's eye, wondering how much peace the city really did hold.

Aethelred, if he was not dead, would be ill, and there were several family factions who would be fighting for power. She looked back over her shoulder again.

Go on? Or go back? And back to what? This is where the spying would be most effective, and she could gather a great deal of intelligence. It was not as if the road down had been peaceful, although Osthryth counted herself lucky she hadn't encountered much trouble down Ermine Street. Two thieves were easily dispatched, and she had come across another lone traveller, who had turned out to be a travelling entertainer, with his dog. Aeswi had seemed harmless enough, but still, Osthryth slept with one eye open. But it had not made much difference to Aeswi, who had slept, curled up nose to nose, with his dog, a blanket over him most of the night.

And now there was a dark smudge ahead of her, like a stormcloud fallen to earth. Unmistakeably a small band of soldiers, Osthryth gripped Morning Star's rein as she watched it move.

Danes? But she had passed over Waetling Street, and Danes would not dare to be so close to Aylesbury. Unless...it couldn't possibly...

It was unthinkable that Aylesbury had been taken - surely she would have heard. But if these were Mercians, why were they riding such, and where were their foot soldiers?

Osthryth had little time to consider much at the speed the riders were coming, and she slowed Morning Star to a brisk trot, all the better to ignite her muscles if Osthryth needed to make a quick getaway and she withdrew Buaidh. A rider from the group broke first, and charged at Osthryth, nearly knocking her blade from her hand with his own.

That was the distraction. The real movement was to distract her long enough to not notice the rest of the men circle her, but unfortunately for them, Aldhelm had trained her, and she could see the men split off. She circled Morning Star round, smashing her blade flat on towards the now offensively-swung blade.

It was not enough to stop the thrust, but enough to slow it, and it caught Osthryth's sleeve, leaving a red line across her upper arm. Another swung past her ear, and she only just ducked in time.

"Mercian Guard!" She called, as another blade attacked her. "I am an auxiliary captain, made so by the lord Aldhem himself!" Another, and this one even made the usually placid Morning Star stir on her hooves.

This had done it. All bar one blade drew back at once, and Osthyth turned Morning Star in a tight circle to find the wide edged weapon sweep near her temple.

"Stop I say!" Osthryth demanded. "Since when do the Mercian Guard attack a stranger without first making his intentions known to them beforehand?" The soldier looked as if he was about to swipe at her again, when another man dashed the blade from his hand. The man looked outraged, but the first drew his horse closer, and grinned at her.

"Osthryth?"

"Merewalh!" She exclaimed, then looked around at the green and gold-clad soldiers fall back into a clearly practised position. It was just that such a formation seemed to be practised now, one which would tire any company if every stranger were to be attacked first rather than conversed with. The warrior beside Merewalh held his sword high still, however. Osthryth ignored him.

"Why do you ride such?" she asked, as the company turned to ride back to Aylesbury, and only then she realised how long ago it was since she had last been there. She a

"We have enemies."

"Enemies. Everywhere." But Osthryth laughed. Surely not! But Merewalh was not laughing, and Osthryth straightened her face and remembered the dire situation she remembered her lord to be in.

"Aethelred? Is he dead?" At this, Merewalh shook his head. "He is not dead, and I fear this is the problem. The lords do fight, and promise faction, because no decision can be made, no leadership can lead, Danes threaten.

"And who is this lord here, scowling at me?" Merewalh grinned again.

"This is Burghweard, the lord Burghred's son," he nodded towards the unremitting young man, whose blade was still not sheathed. It was down, though, for Merewalh had lowered the boy's fist with his own firm hand.

"I think I remember you," Osthryth told Burghweard. "You must have been a child when last I was here. Are you in your fifteenth...sixteenth year?" Burghweard stared at her, and said nothing. For that, Merewalh gave him a slap around the back of his head.

"She is your captain!" Merewalh declared, "She is every Mercian's captain," he continued, then, as the rest of the guards cheered softly their approval. "You will answer her. Now."

Burghweard turned his head slowly, insolently, towards Osthryth.

"Sixteen," he agreed, and Osthryth's mind remembered a small child, of about three, who had been chasing around after the young girl Eadith in the gardens, whose brother had forced Aethelred's hand. She had no more assassinated Aethelflaed as she had harmed the girl. But there had been a vengeful - no, a calculated look in Eardwulf's eye, one conveying his resignation to life's struggles and deciding what was worth his effort.

Aldhelm had told her their father had lost money gambling, but not at cards, at estates, between Earldormen. Alfred had forbidden that sort of thing in Wessex, but, thankfully, Mercia was independent of Wessex and could decide itself.

Plus, being a border country, rather than a stable, richer kingdom, Mercia's stakes were much higher, given that one could be a Ceorl in the morning and in the afternoon a Lord. Plus, it benefited Aethelred, who would fine people on an ad hoc basis if a land dispute became personanal and threatened the peace of Mercia.

A royal guard was on the ramparts of the city of Aylesbury as Osthryth slowed Morning Star. As she looked again, she realised it was not Mercian, but Wessex, and she felt her stomach lurch. More dire than even Merewalh suggested, if Edward had chanced to make his presence felt in Mercia. It meant he could smell the crown, he could feel more steps being taken towards a unified Saxon land, with Mercian identity anneled into one Saxon identity.

"Care," Merewalh told her, as they rode through the gates, opened, at least nominally, by Mercians, "For feelings run high." He allowed his guard to ride to the stables, nodding Osthryth through past another of the guards, and he put out a hand to help Osthryth down. "We cannot talk here," he added.

They walked through the wide streets of Aylesbury, not cramped and tightly packed like the former Roman city of Winchester was. Aylesbury had the advantage of space around it, and though vulnerable to attack, was a well fortified burgh. At just above eye height the inner palisade wall ran, with an outer, taller and thicker main wall just beyond. Soldiers patrolled the palisade, and operated in the sun's turn pattern, each man moving to their right as the sun moved. This gave the advantage of being able to see different views about the city and, where a man may become complacent, staring at the same scenery, the view was always fresh and the soldier alert.

Merewalh led Osthryth towards the nothern end of the city. From above, the soldiers here would be able to see Waetling Street, the border of Daneland, and more soldiers were concentrated on this area of the fortifications.

Ahead of them, a row of houses clearly belonging to some of the more well-to-do residents of Aylesbury - the houses were larger, the rooms bigger. One house stood just beyond, abutting, almost, the northern section of the palisade, the tree-thick supports were mere inches from the outer wall.

"It was built by Roman stone," Merewalh explained. "This was once the palace."

"Once the palace?" Osthryth exclaimed, as she looked at the well-placed, irregular stones as they fitted into one another. There did not seem any mortar to hold them in place, and Osthryth wondered how it held up.

"Does it meet with your approval?" Merewalh asked, when they stepped inside. Underfoot were tiny mosaics, of the Roman style, their bright blues and oranges seeming to glow with the morning sun as she held open the door.

"More than Roman style," Merewalh toldher, when she said this, "This floor is Roman. The people who built this rebuilt it on a Roman site. But no-one uses it now. So?" He swung his hand around the room, and smiled as Osthryth.

It was beautiful. Well furnished, a bed was beyond a little alcove, and a low wooden bench sat opposite a table. A chimney had been fashioned, rather than a hole in the ceiling, and cooking could go on there. Merewalh went towards the back, where a small courtyard lay beyond a double-hinged door, enclosed by more stone walls fixed together by nothing, it seemed, with the thatches of other buildings overhanging the walls. It gave Osthryth the impression of a tucked away, secluded dwelling that was hard to chance upon.

"I like it," Osthryth agreed, the sunlight catching her hair. "But, what are you showing me?"

"Your home, should you want it, in Aylesbury," he told her, then stepped back inside, carefully closing the doors behind him. "Should anyone ask, you are visiting me. It used to be rooms of the Mercian royal family. Nobody cared that I took it." He turned, and smiled, then waved a hand at the stone-built room. It was high quality, and spacious. It was fit, indeed, for royalty.

"Yours, should you want it, while you visit."

Osthryth opened her mouth in amazement. She was expecting a struggle to enter the city in any case, but to be escorted in, and shown accommodation was amazingly generous, if not a little confusing.

"I must tell you, Merewalh," Osthryth began, "I did not seek to rejoin the Mercian army." She looked around the room again.

"And nor should you - that man who you offended, all those years ago, Eardwulf, he has risen high. High enough to influence Aethelred. Or has influenced him, shall we say." He shook his head. "Clearly, you are here for some purpose, and I will not have you involved in the intrigue which has gripped the city." He did not press it, however, but there was a gap in the conversation available for Osthryth to fill.

It was not that she was looking to be part of Mercia again - indeed, she was spying for Alba, for Constantine. But Osthryth had been feeling that certain detached feeling that she remembered from pregnancy, and the flying away of cares of conniving plotting, intricate detailsof other people's problems.

"I do not wish to be involved in Mercia's problems, though I confess, I came here for the safety Aylesbury offers, and to earn that safety by working. I," she glanced at the door, "Left Wessex - " she almost spat the name, "under a bad name, a bad reputation shortly after Alfred's death." Osthryth closed her mouth, so that she would sat no more.

"But you returned to Mercia," Merewalh observed, gesturing towards the table's bench, and Osthryth found she was grateful to sit. "And you fought well at Teotenhalgh against the Danes and Norse." He leaned towards Osthryth. "I saw you try to save Aldhelm." Osthryth closed her eyes for a moment, as she remembered, feeling her own hand meet her forehead. Aldhelm. He was a dear, dear friend, the like of whom she would never again know.

"So, whatever your business is here, Lackland, here is a place to be. No-one need know if you so desire it."

"I am placing you in danger," Osthryth suggested, trying to rid herself of the image of being just that little too late to save her commander, to save a good man, a moral man, to whom land was first and duty second. She stepped towards Merewalh. But Merewalh laughed and shook his head.

"No-one will notice. No-one will care. This land is about to be wrenched apart unless a suitable successor is found. More than it is already," he added. "And I suggest you keep away from the actual palace, or at least conceal yourself. People who had heard the rumour before, of murder and sorcery, will still remember, and in these turbulent times, mistakes can be made in the name of security."

"You knew?!" Osthryth gasped. She found she had gripped the oak bench with her other hand and was holding onto it, hard.

"I knew. I also know these to be false - how could they be?" he added, to reassure her. "I spent years and years working alongside you, Osthryth, saw you fight, saw you command men. People spread lies, people spread rumour, to gain influence, to gain power. You are safe here, Osthryth," he reassured her. "And you can stay here. It is out of the way, it is unused."

"It is generous," she nodded.

"It is haunted, so they say," Merewalh confessed. "No-one will bother you here." But Osthryth shook her head. Even north of Wessex, there were no sidhe here, no Morrigan. Nothing would harm her here.

"Nothing haunts here, for me, at least."

"Shadow walkers," Merewalh said, with a quickness that betrayed thought. Osthryth laughed, for she neither believed in nor had experienced these particular other worldly creatures.

"This is kind," Osthryth replied nodding in agreement, deciding there and then that there would be no Osthryth in Mercia when she was gone so far that her condition could not be concealed. That would bring more trouble, more difficulty. Constantine would have to put up with her in Alba, and for that, again, she would need silver. She could work, she would work, and would have enough to begin a life for the child in Alba.

"You do not help me entirely out of the goodness of your heart," Osthryth replied, "And I may say you have a good heart, Merewalh." He laughed again.

"No, indeed. I confess, I saw an opportunity, though you flatter me," Merewalh laughed. "Mercia needs guards, Mercia needs men, although in your case, men who are women, to guard its walls. You will be anonymous, one of Aethelred's guards. However, you must rescind your role of auxiliary commander."

"Gladly," Osthryth agreed. "Though may I say, I have been honoured to receive such a position, Merewalh. Aldhelm..." Her voice tailed to nothing, and she swallowed the lump that had formed, then changed tack. "So yes, I will be a soldier, I will serve, quietly, soberly, and conceal myself for intelligence for you." For that serves both of our purposes, she told herself, and reminded herself of the good fortune that had fallen across her path.

"What of the men under your command?" She was thinking of Burghweard, who had taken a dislike to her almost instantly, and would have to be watched.

"I will think of something. You swore to Aethelred, and have come to avail yourself of sanctuary...that is true, is it not?" Osthryth nodded.

"Stay here, Osthryth," Merewalh said, "I will send clothing for you, a guard's uniform. Under mail and a helmet, no-one will ever know it's you. He crossed the straw-covered floor, and took the handle of the door.

"Just one thing. Eardwulf, as I said." Osthryth watched Merewalh's face frown.

"Eardwulf?" Osthryth asked. She recognised the name, but could not place it, until Merewalh said, "You don't remember? He had a sister, he made a fuss about you to Lord Aethelred, had Aethelred send you away." Eardwulf, Osthryth thought, dully. Aldhelm had been right - though she killed in battle, she was no assassin.

"What about him?"

"He commands the Mercian guard, in fact he commands all the guard, and not well. He has advised Lord Aethelred very poorly in the past. We fought in East Anglia, which is what delayed us in Teotenhalgh. There was no need to go east, when we needed to secure our own land west and north, and that has resulted in Edward feeling he must play caretaker.

"Aethelred, Unraed," Osthryth murmured.

"Badly advised," Merewalh translated. "Hmm," he chuckled, but there was no humour in it. "He has indeed been that. But the lord lingers, and the situation is growing more unsteady by the day. Edward seeks to interfere in the Witan, the Mercian lords, of course, do not welcome that. The lady Aethelflaed - "

"She is here?" Osthryth did not mean to interrupt so loudly, and she fell silent again.

"She is here, to be beside her husband," Merewalh said, pointedly.

For show, Osthryth thought, wryly. To be close to power. And if she is here, so will my brother, the absolute heel. And then a faint glow in the gloom of her mind ignited - Finan would be there too. Then, she shook her head, chiding herself from thinking of him, her hand slipping to her jerkin, where, within, her coin was concealed.

"So, not to the palace. Not anywhere you might endanger yourself, of course. But I know the guard speak amongst themselves, and I would very much like to know what they are saying." He brightened. "And there are three people who would very much like to see you again, I am sure," he added.

"Aelfkin? Aeglfrith? Oshere?"

"The very same. All fought bravely at Teotenhalgh, all won themselves glory." Merewalh got up, and strode to the front door, holding it open, Osthryth got to her feet and surprised herself when she her head swam. He looked at her for a moment, but Osthryth was striding towards him as good as she ever walked.

"Eat in the palace kitchens, use the armoury, but please remain anonymous. There is too much going on, and it changes hourly. Osthryth nodded, and they walked back along the street to where these larger nobles' houses fell apart to a courtyard beside the palace proper.

"Merewalh, I have to know," Osthryth caught him by the shoulder. He stopped and looked at her as she continued, "Where do you lie on the matter? A union of Saxons, or an independent Mercia?" Her once adversary smiled.

"It matters not to me," Merewalh said, "So long as there is no war between us. And at the moment, I can very much see that one may start over this." He lowered his head to her ear. "I need to know what the men think. They feel they cannot talk freely amongst themselves for fear of Eardwulf's men, and this will only get compounded when Edward of Wessex appears with the West Saxons." Osthryth nodded.

"So, I need you to tell me anything that you hear, anything passed to you in confidence. It is vital all Aldhelm's men remain Mercian in their heart."

And that told Osthryth the answer to her question. Independence of the Mercian kingdom was most important to him, and to everyone else in Aylesbury. Except they had no lord to whom to look for guidance.

"Will you do it?" He asked. And Osthryth found herself nodding.

"Yes," she agreed, before hailing a farewell and heading back to her new home. A new role, as double spy, in what what could not be described as poor living conditions at all.

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With a scream that made Osthryth think the armoury was under attack, Osthryth turned quickly to see a six foot warrior hurtling in her direction. It was dawn, the next day, and Aelfkin, her once tiny-framed trainee tore past Merewalh and seized his former captain.

"Osthryth!" he declared, then took a step backwards, letting go of her slowly, and grinning like a mad thing.

Not a good start for a clandestine role, Osthryth thought, and she narrowed her eyes, as if back to her captaincy, and said, sternly, "Is that any way for one of my guards to behave?"

Confusion graced his features for a moment, his face beginning to fall. Then, he saw Osthryth's mouth curl into a small smile and she had to ward him off from grabbing her too tightly again.

"You fought so well at Teotenhalgh, captain!" Aelfkin declared, and told her he had counted thirteen men he had slain.

"And that was only because he cannot count any higher," his brother Aeglfrith said, who had appeared beside him. The brothers were now of similar height and build as young adults, and the only thing Osthryth could see that would distinguish between them was that Aeglfrith was sporting a neatly-cropped beard that matched his chestnut brown hair. Next to him, Oshere, who was smiling too. Her men, back, before her.

"So how many did he kill?" She asked Aeglfrith.

"Got to be about a hundred," said his brother, proudly. "And two Welsh."

"Two Welsh?" Osthryth asked, frowning a little. "Were the Cymric not on the side of the Mercians that day?"

"They came at the call of Wessex, on the promise of the spoils," Oshere told her. "And there are less Norsemen and Danes to raid their land. They would never have been there for Mercia."

Osthryth smiled again. Border disputes from time immemorial: could she have expected Mercians and Cymric fighting next to one another not to remind one another of ancient grudges.

"Do not let it happen again," Osthryth chided, but lightly, because her heart felt light and joyful and contented. If she thought she could not feel happier just then, it was nothing to what she felt when one more warrior stepped behind Oshere. He was older, grey flecked his hair and beard, and his face was more lined and sun-darkened. But she could not mistake Aelffrith, at one time her only ally when she had no-one, when they served the lord Odda. It was her turn to fly to someone and Aelffrith caught her gently about the waist and kissed the top of her head.

"How glad I am to see you, safe, well!" he declared, as Osthryth looked up to him. "You look...different, somehow?" Aelffrith looked her up and down.

"It was over a dozen years ago; I'm much older, Aelffrith," she replied. Her hair, she knew, though braided, with Eirik's jewel in it near the back had white strands in it; she used a teasel to comb it through sometimes after washing it and there were more of them than there had ever been. "I'll tell you, later," she added, catching his knowing look, and she added, "And you can tell me about how Eathel is." Eathel was Aelffrith's wife, who cooked in the palaces where he worked.

"Later," Aelffrith nodded, patiently, "After we show you the guard."

"I know the guard," Osthryth insisted. But Aelffrith shook his head. "I mean, the guard. Loyal Mercians," he added. But said nothing more on the matter for, just then, Merewalh appeared at the door.

"Captain, you are needed, in the courtyard," he told her. Osthryth nodded quickly to her men, and followed him quickly. This shouldn't have been happening, she thought, as Merewalh led her to the courtyard between the stables and the kitchens. Something was wrong.

And indeed it was wrong. One of the men had recognised her and pointed her out to Eardwulf. Whether he remembered her or not, Osthryth had no idea. For Eardwulf had summoned all of the captains before him, and gave them instructions for guarding the lord of Mercia.

"He is never to be left; a guard will be placed within and without," he told them. "You will patrol the burh as usual, and double down the shifts around the gates." Osthryth watched as the man she remembered in her darker thoughts rubbed his beard, as he looked over them. "The West Saxons are coming. You will show them they are in Mercia now, and they are the guests. For Mercia!"

"For Mercia!" The guards shouted. "Mercia! Mercia!"

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The reason she looked strange, Osthryth thought, was that the jerkin, shirt and breeches that Merewalh had brought for her did not fit. She had had to abandon her cloth, and her breasts bobbed in front of her, already noticeably larger for her pregnancy, her areola darker, her nipples bigger. They were much more tender, too and when she had changed that morning, trying to slip into the shirt, the pain in her chest was too much for her to manage, and she had sent word and a chink of silver with a small child that lived in the poorer part of the city, which was much more likely to be delivered than by a child in a richer part.

More shirts had come, and her breasts were pressed into even the largest one sent, the outline of her nipples as they fought with the linen, could be seen when she had pulled it over her chest. The jerkin fitted, however, and did a good job of hiding her breasts.

But it was her breeches which were the problem now - where even her once slim hips had fitted well into breeches, her hips were wider now, and gaped near the top as they would not pull up any further. Osthryth made a note to herself that she would get a seamstress to adjust a pair for her, for it would do no good if she was in a fight and they fell down. Perhaps the enemy would die laughing.

There was little chance that day now, for when she returned to Merewalh, Osthryth smiled at him, and shrugged.

"It seems that, though you put aside auxiliary captain, it did not put you aside," Merewalh told her. "I can instruct Aelffrith - " But Osthryth shook her head.

"Where do we guard first?" she asked, and was relieved to hear they would be at the back of the ramparts, near the palisade. They would be out until the moon began to set, watching the land. A discreet position, Osthryth thought, a shrewd move on Merewalh's part so that she was not too near the palace with her men, so she could talk to them. So they were within hearing distance of few people.

And talk had moved to Teotenhalgh again as the night wore on. Aeglfrith and Aelfkin played a variation on, "Next one in the inn", only a dirtier version which was, "Next woman, would you hump her." Clearly a well established game amongst the men, Osthryth leaned back on the wooden railings, arms folded next to Aelfrith, as they played, Oshere giving out scores as to whether either of his friends would actually manage to pull said woman in real life.

"Eathel?" asked Osthryth as Aelffrith turned to her himself.

"Why are you different, really?" he said, at the same time. Osthryth smiled, glad that Aelffrith began talking first, stood closer to him, as Aeglfrith caught something that one of the women he was calling down to had thrown up to him. He yelled, and dropped what turned out to be horse dung - what else would a woman throw at to a guard who was heckling her? - and all of them, including Osthryth and Aelffrith fell about laughing.

"Leave the women of Aylesbury," Osthryth said, "We are to be on our very best behaviour if the West Saxons come here."

"We will kill them all if they talk to Mercian girls," Aeglfrith said, defensively.

"No, you will not," Osthryth replied. "Girls can tell which men are fools; they can make their own choices. Especially now they have seen how stupid you three are, it won't take much for them to impress." Even now, she could not tell her men off as she should, and a smile had overtaken her mouth, which was hard to remove. How happy she was in their company. She had felt like she had been living when she was captain here. How she missed her comrades, how glorious to have three of them at least before her now.

"Go, take the sunwise guard," she told them. "We will be relieved soon, and we can go to an alehouse."

Still smiling, Osthryth turned back to Aelffrith. But the usually locquacious man held his lips together, and looked to Osthryth, and then out into the blackness of the night.

"Eadith died, of a fever, three years ago," the man told her. "I miss her, Osthryth," he added. Osthryth took his shoulder, and turned him to her. In the torchlight, she saw his cheeks were damp, and it was as much as she could do to stop herself from dissolving into tears. Another sign, she told herself, for Osthryth rarely cried.

"I miss here," Osthryth told him. "I had to flee Wessex - did you know?"

"I knew," Aelffrith replied. "Though not the reason." He bent his head lower to her. "Do you wish to tell me?" Osthryth shook her head.

"Not now, not when things are so fraught here. I miss Aldhelm," she added. Aelffrith gave a smile.

"You got on with him, didn't you?" he mused. "Not a lot of people did, he was pious, he was particular about things. It made him a good lord, but he was hard to like."

"I couldn't save him, at Teotenhalgh," Osthryth told him. "I saw him cut down; he saved many lives that day. Do you think that will be the battle we remember?" she added, "like those older than us remember Ethandun?"

"Could be," Aelffrith replied. "The West Saxons are dominating more and more of the land. It is convenient to them that the Danes and Norse are here - devastating, of course, but they have power and influence enough to make it work to their advantage. Look at the lordship crisis we are about to have."

And, as another captain relieved their company of the northern border, Osthryth listened to Aelffrith carefully, telling her the situation in Mercia.

Pushing open the "Black Bull" alehouse door and stepping over a number of inebriated guests, they made their way to the only free table, near the back by the kitchens, which stank of something foul and made Osthryth feel sick. It was a little better when she gave Aelffrith silver to stand them all drinks to mark her first duty with her company and her nose in a jar of goat's milk helped a little, although the taste of the milk seemed strange.

She remembered other women talking about this sort of thing, mainly the maids back at Alba, one of whom was pregnant and another, who was a mother of two. Osthryth sipped the drink carefully, listening to Aelffrith talk politics.

"Ceolwulf, the last true ruler we had here," Aelffrith began, "had a younger sister who had only one son, Aethelred. His father was a Mercian noble too, who had a sister, who was sent to be wed to a lord in - "

- in Northumbria, Osthryth continued in her head. She knew this -

" - Northumbria," Aelffrith continued, drinking his ale, as if he had never seen it before, cautiously, as if suspicious of it. "Ceolred was the last King of Mercia, so we say, yet the West Saxons call him, "Lord", to diminish his role. His line stretches back to Offa, Penda, all the way back to Icel himself." Osthryth touched Finan's coin in her jerkin, felt the relief work and the hole at the top.

Ceolwulf shared the head of the coin with Alfred. In clear light, Osthryth thought she saw one of the images crossing hands over the top of the hand of the other, the one which represented Alfred, for the same image was on a coin that was only him. Even in the pockets of Mercians the symbolism could not be clearer: Wessex was the dominant partner in the union, and Mercians needed to be reminded of it.

"But, of course, he is not the last," Aelffrith continued, as the younger warriors began to flick little stones they had collected over the course of the evening into an empty ale jar. One flicked close to Osthryth, and she took it up, aimed, and missed spectacularly. The young men cheered, regardless, as Aelfkin's eye rested on a young girl who had stopped walking down the stairs at the back of the bar, and was smiling at him.

"Aethelred is the last Mercian. Burghred and Ludeca's family are nobles; many married into the female line after Ecgfrith, Offa's son. The line ended there, they say, but both men have claimed similar, if weaker, connections to the Icel line." He sipped his ale again, and again, it was a delicate sip. This was not like the man Osthryth remembered. Then she told herself, she was not as he remembered, either.

"Obviously, with Ceowulf alive, and hope of a good brood of children from Alfred's line with Aethelflaed, the dynasty was secure. What we now have are two old men chasing a throne with little between them in terms of claim; Ludeca with no living sons after Teotenhalgh and Burghred with only Burghweard, who is too young to claim anything like what Mercia needs - a sixteen year old has not the wherewithall to solidify alliances, and while he could fight on the battlefield, he must not, for there would be a wife and children to produce, and he can't do that if he's - what?"

"What?" Osthryth echoed.

"You're smiling. Grinning, in fact. What have I said that is so amusing?" Osthryth patted his hand.

"I am just glad to be home, that is all," Osthryth said, thinking how Aelffrith had opened up to become the man she remembered him to be, thriving on gossip and intrigue over a drink after guard shift. "Mercia - home, not Alba. I needed steadiness in my life, and God provided."

"You won't find that in Aylesbury," Aelffrith replied, drily. "Try Tamworth, on the border further north. At least they only have Danes to deal with. Their lord, Ecgwulf, is alive and well, and not dying of a head injury from Teotenhalgh." He sighed, outwardly.

"We have had three duty changes in the last week alone, and our hours have increased. Barely time to get any running repairs done, things are getting left, and there's going to be mistakes being made, before too long, because things are not being overseen. Eardwulf knows what he's doing, I think. He hates the West Saxons after their humiliation of his father drove them to poverty."

"He would have independence still? Like Aldhelm?"

"Perhaps," said Aelffrith, putting down his ale before he had even taken a sip. "Our line is that we want peace. But plenty will - " he broke off and turned his head round to watch Aeglfrith stand up and wander over to the banister, where the, presumably, whore had come down a few more steps and was fluttering her eyelashes in what she must have thought was a coquettish manner.

"Put that girl down, lad!" Aelffrith shouted to Aeglfrith. "She doesn't know where you've been!"

"In with the pigs!" Oshere called, and it was true, the smell was probably the men, if they had had to work so hard and had little time to look after themselves. That was going to change as of the morning; her company were going to be the cleanest in Aylesbury, no matter the complaining they were going to do when she made them all go down to the Teme river to wash at dawn.

She had silver enough to reclothe them, thanks, in part, to her wretched brother, which she had brought some of with her back from Alba. What better use but to spend it on her men, to make them smart, and proud of their work?

Plenty will, Osthryth told herself. Independence was a given in Mercia, not a vague hope. They thought of themselves as independent, with Wessex encroaching on them. Alfred's dealing at Lundene was probably the first step; Wessex had driven the victory in a Mercian city, and that stung them.

It had been Aldhelm who had pointed this out to her many years before. He had even predicted that the Mercians would resist to Alfred's dream. Had she been wrong in stating her opinion? Osthryth had advised the Lady over the Lord, and Aldhelm...he had given his adoration to that charismatic schemer. Her father's daughter through and through.

Not for the first time Osthryth wondered where it had gone wrong: she could have been an ally to Aethelflaed. But then, the attention could not be shared, for the lady of Mercia, no women, none, could be in her orbit. And now he was dead, at Teotenhalgh, and Osthryth found she missd him dearly.

The young men were laughing now, and this time, Aelffrith put his hand into his pocket, and sent Oshere. "None for me," he told the boy.

"Whyso?" Osthryth asked. Was it the ale? He had seemed standoffish about it all evening.

"After Eathel...I had a problem with it, a difficulty."

"You didn't like it?" Osthryth asked. He shook his head.

"Oh, I liked it only too well. It took - Aldhelm - " he seemed to sigh the man's name, " - to pick me up from the guardhouse floor where I had fallen in a drunken stupor one night to tell me that it was no way for a Mercian to behave, and would I like to go back to Wessex to serve the rest of the years there." He chuckled to Osthryth. "No, thank you very much. Aldhelm may have been stuck up, but he is nothing to the stuck up, self-satisfied lordlings in that country. The outcome is important, you know that Osthryth," he pressed on. "How we get there matters little. Or should not. Odda knew that, and shielded us from a great deal, I believe." He paused, and they both remembered their former lord for a good minute.

"But then, with some of them, "the knives are not straight enough...linen from Frankia on a Saturday; Irish linen for fast days..." Osthryth smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. She could no more stand on ceremony than Aelffrith, although he hid it better. Osthryth had been far too outspoken - she couldn't have been anything else. And she failed in Wessex, and though she told herself enough that it shouldn't feel ashamed, Osthryth, on bad days, felt it by the bucketload.

"You can try the goat's milk if you like," Osthryth told her friend, more to get off the subject of Wessex than anything else. Aelffrith gave her a glance, and she pushed her pot closer, as Oshere balanced two ales while behind him, Aeglfrith carried another, and a goat's milk for Osthryth. Which, indeed, she needed, for Aelffrith knocked back what remained in her jar, then sprayed it all over the floor.

"How can you drink that!" he exclaimed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "It tastes of - "

"Goat?" Osthryth suggested.

"Goat that hasn't been cleaned out for a year! Uh!" He turned back to his original ale and took a long draught from it. "Now I appreciate the ale from our northern districts of our fine land, and will never disparage Saint Modwen's finest in my life!"

Saint Modwen had come from very far north, now far into Daneland, once Mercian too, a place called Burrtone. The waters were said to be blessed by her, and Osthryth considered she must have been a busy saint, for many alemaking districts also claimed sweet waters. On her part, she could hardly discern a difference, if she drank ale, and Osthryth considered she might, if the goat's milk was going to be as strongly tasting as this.

"Now, yourself," Aelffrith encouraged, as they crossed the square before the front of the palace. Osthryth stopped, as the younger men of her company crossed to the stables and made their way up to their rest. Osthryth shook her head.

"There is too much already going on for me to tell you," she said to him. "Not yet, not now. I find I am older, which is the shorter answer. May I ask you not to press me for more just now?" Her friend nodded, and glanced towards the palace, which was lit up by many torches. Osthryth had not noticed them the night before, and Merewalh had told her that they lit the palace day and night in vigil for their lord.

"Oh, by the way, we are going to the Teme at dawn," Osthryth told him. "Have the men in the armoury at cock-crow."

"Going for a stroll, are we?" Aelffrith asked, lightly.

"Going for a bathe," Osthryth corrected him, and Aelffrith pulled a face. "I am your captain, and I am not having my company stink worse than livestock. I can't help Eardwulf and his changes, but I can help us not get sick."

"Understood," Aelffrith replied. "Just let me stand next to you when you tell them, Osthryth, because I want to see the look on their faces."

88888888

She left silver in Merewalh's palm after explaining what she wanted the new uniforms form, and folded her arms when he tried to press it back to her.

"It's stolen, anyway," she added, with relish. "Not from Mercia, although it may have originally come from here. A very tired looking lord examined the coins, which were, she knew, a collection from many mints, even one from Frankia.

"You may take what you wish; it matters little at the moment," he replied, pushing the silver onto the table used for furling and unfurling the marching standards. "You will take this and give it away, Osthryth, for Mercia will not accept your silver - we pay you, remember, not the other way round."

Reluctantly, Osthryth gathered up the coins and opened her pocket, strung around her hips, pushing the coins back into it. He looked ill, Osthryth considered, and Merewalh sighed again, and confirmed this to Osthryth, telling her he had been up all night, standing beside Aethelred's bedside, who could not recover, in his opinion.

"You are to take the men tonight to our lord," Merewalh told her. "Sundown, and you change guards with Godfrith's men. You will see for yourself.

Aelffrith was frustratingly correct when he had told Osthryth the men would not like to bathe, even though they were getting new clothes for the privilege. Osthryth, who took as many opportunities as she could to bathe, was rather short with them, and bossed them through the kitchen gate and across the fields to choruses of, "We will die of fever!" and, "Eadred said it made his skin come off!"

They hovered at the river bank, mist coming off the fields as the sun began to rise, and Osthryth knelt beside the slowly twisting water and stuck in her hand, pulling it back out again at its coldness.

But she wasn't going to back down now, and Aelffrith had gamely stripped down to his underbreeches, before wading into the water.

"Look!" he told them. "Nothing to worry about!" Beside him, some of the plants were growing thickly, and he pulled up handfuls and began to wash his body.

"You next, Oshere," Osthryth said, laying down the four uniforms on a large rock beside the river. But, before the boy could even take off his jerkin, Aelffrith began to sink in the water and thrash about, as if something in the water had taken hold of him.

"Quick!" shouted Osthryth, "Help him!" That got them moving. Oshere, his jerkin cast behind him, threw himself into the water, trying to grasp Aelffrith's arms. He was a broad man, and the young boy had trouble reaching for a limb. Aelfkin was next, and a reluctant Aeglfrith, who gave Osthryth a despairing look, threw off his own leather jerkin and got in too.

When it looked as if none of them were going to be able to help, Osthryth, forgetting herself, threw her own on the floor and entered the water from the downwards flow, wondering what it was that had happened - the river was shallow, there seemed nothing in the water, no creature. And then Aelffrith stopped struggling, and the young guards backed away from him.

Had he drowned, Osthryth thought? And she forced her legs through the water to her guard, ducking down to shoulder height, trying to feel for him. And then a voice came from beside her.

"For your own sake, don't stand up in the water yet." She turned her head. Aelffrith was beside her, quite well, and had turned to her guards. "Lads, go down a bit, give the captain some room."

"You are well?" Aeglfrith ventured to their deputy.

"Course I am, you silly bugger, I had to get you in somehow!" There were roars of laughter, and the youngsters splashed about in the water, and Osthryth called, "If I had known you were going in fully clothed, I would have saved my silver on your new uniforms!"

"You paid for their uniforms?" Aelffrith asked, his hand still on her shoulder, her chin at the surface.

"I tried; Merewalh just gave it back to me. He looks ill, Aelffrith," she told him. "I get now how serious this is, and I haven't even seen the lord Aethelred yet." Osthryth spat some of the river water from her mouth. "We are on close guard to him tonight," she added, then forced her shoulder against her friend's hand.

"Not just yet, don't want to give the boys spontaneous heart attacks, do you?" He said. "I don't know how close any of them have ever been to a woman, but one look at your front view, you might just tip them over the edge." Osthryth thought for a second, then clamped her hands over her chest.

"Not professional at all," Osthryth agreed as Aelffrith put his hands together to make a stirrup for her to put her foot on, and she hauled herself up out of the river. Then she heard her friend gasp.

"Your back...!" he began, and then, as Aelffrith pulled himself up next to Osthryth, he looked across to her.

"A long time ago," she answered, to the question he hadn't asked. "The one who did it is dead."

"There were more?" Aelffrith asked, but Osthryth shook her head, her own mouth closed to answers. She held up her left hand. "Scar," she added, and pointed to her own. She had defintely rammed a spear into the unconscious hand of her brother, pinning him to the table boards with it as it penetrated clean through his hand from the force of Osthryth's anger.

Then, just two words.

"One day," she told him, and Aelffrith nodded. One day she would tell him that it was her own brother that had tricked her. But not today.

"How many months?" he asked her, changing tack, "Being with child?" Osthryth reached for her jerkin, and turned from him, slipping it over her ample bosom. For his part, Aelffrith turned too, and called to young men of their company to use some of the meadowsweet under their pits and round their necks.

"Three," she said, "Possibly. I cannot use my bindings any more."

"That I saw," Aelffrith replied, wryly as Osthryth ran a hand over her stomach, which was already starting to protrude a little from her hips, although at the moment, it looked to her as if she'd just eaten a big meal. "Should you be fighting at all?"

"Guarding," Osthryth told him. "I tried to give up the role of auxiliary captain, but, with the situation - " She broke off, and turned to her men. "Come on, lads!" Osthryth called over, as Aelfkin, Aeglfrith and Oshere began to splash about. "Time to get out and into your new clothes!" she called, and the young warriors, so skeptical about getting into the water were now reticent to leave it.

"And get them on over there. The captain does not want to see your hairy arses!" Aelffrith grinned, then placed a hand on her arm, and suddenly looked abashed.

"I, er, struck up a friendship with Merewalh, something I am not very proud of," He told her, as the young guards began to dispense with their wet things and Osthryth caught sight of bare behinds pulling up new underbreeches and laughed. "And I realise, well, it is men for me, well," he added awkwardly. "Not men, a man. One man," he whispered, then added, a little louder, "Otherwise, having seen your tits Osthryth, you wouldn't have stood a chance!"

"You've seen them before!" dismissed Osthryth, and they began to walk back to the palace.

"They were not so big then," Aelfflaed teased, as he pointed to their men, each proud that they now owned a spare uniform, something rare, and, once dried, meant they could continue to keep themselves clean, and they were holding out their own clothes to the early morning light, hoping to catch some heat waves would begin to dry them out.

Only some of the Wessex factions provided seconds, and Osthryth was pleased, for a moment, but the remembered the turmoil that was rippling through the Mercian citadel. No bell had rung, however, so Aethelred still lived, at least.

"He was there for me when Eathel died," Aelffrith continued. "Have I shocked you?" he added, as they reached the kitchen gate. "Perhaps it was God's punishment for me, Eathel dying, and all those children of ours." Osthryth shook her head vehemently, and put her hand on his forearm.

"Would it surprise you to know I knew a king who had similar feelings?" Osthryth told him. "If it's love, it doesn't matter, in my opinion. I have seen so many things fall apart by the wrong match, the lord and the lady here." There was a brief look of relief on Aelffrith's face.

"It hadn't happened for a good while, not since Teotenhalgh," he continued, as Osthryth walked beside him. "I did not know he felt like that about men; I thought he was married - didn't you?"

"I thought so," Osthryth agreed. "Right back to our time with Odda. People change. The king I knew, well...for family pressure, sold out his lover."

"Sold out?"

"Slavery," Osthryth told him, gravely, as his friend's face creased into an expression of horror.

"Truly?" Aelffrith looked aghast. Osthryth nodded twice.

"I was able to get him out. Finnolai," she added. "Findal, really. He was a very dear friend to me, Aelffrith," she added. "And Domhnall, well, he was king in waiting."

"I have heard that name before - Domhnall..."

"King of Alba," Osthryth supplied, and she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Something to be grateful to Aethelflaed for. Yes, Finan told her brother, but the "most beloved lady" would have told him eventually. She had probably planned the staging of it, knowing her, Osthryth thought, cattily, for maximum effect. But, no longer, did she have to keep her past a secret.

"King Domhnall of Alba," Aelffrith repeated, then glanced back at Osthryth to check that it wasn't her this time pulling a stunt.

As they reached the stable yard, her men turned to her, as a shabby squadron of guards marched past them. She saw Aeglfrith grin, and Osthryth's heart soared. He was proud of his uniform, and having seconds; they weren't clean and they didn't.

"Be here at dusk; we are guarding Lord Aethelred tonight. Do as you will," Osthryth cautioned, "But make sure you sleep. We must be prepared for anything this night, and I will not have you shame us all with thoughtless behaviour."

The young men said their goodbyes once Osthryth had dismissed them, Oshere and Aeglfrith comparing their old shirts to one another, competing, as boys will, for the worst tears and wear and stains that the river could not eliminate.

"They are pleased," Aelffrith told her. "It was a good thing you did."

"It was a sensible thing I did, and it was Merewalh, not me." She looked about her. "It was this place. It is like a land waiting for a storm, waiting for the lighting and thunder to rent the heavens." Aelffrith nodded.

"Had you better get some rest yourself?" He asked. Osthryth turned to him.

"If you are going to say, "In your condition," I will demote you right now!" She declared. "There's always room for men to clean the garderobe next to the slaves." Aelffrith smiled.

"I was going to say, once you've eaten. You fought at Teotenhalgh in such a condition and survived, but could not have been many months. It gets tougher as the weeks go on, believe me." Osthryth looked at her friend and narrowed her eyes.

"Eathel," Aelffrith managed. "She lost...so many children, and I lost her with one more. I - " Then, he could say no more. And suddenly, Osthryth felt guilty, guilt for the child within her, that she sometimes felt herself resenting for her life was changing and one day she would have to down Buaidh; but also for the children she had aborted, unwanted, produced, bar one, after her own pleasure.

Sex had been good for her, as well as the two - or rather three - "hims" she had been with. Four, if she was honest with herself, but Osthryth refused to let her brain pick open that box in her head which was sealed permanently. That "he" was dead, and a Danish man's soul retrieved from the cold Danish hell along into the bargain, and it never happened. But to hear how wanted a child was between Aelffrith and Eathel, a man and a woman devoted to one another so much that they moved around together, was hard to hear.

"I know you are sorry for me, and in time, I will be able to speak of it," Aelffrith confessed. "I am to my bed too, and new uniform," he added, "Thank you, my captain." And with that, her friend headed to the palace, to the rooms at the far back.

I hope Merewalh is resting up there too, Osthryth thought, as he made her way back through the streets until she came to her own house. Barring the door behind her, she didn't even bother taking off her clothes. As soon as she saw her bed, Osthryth felt her eyelids grow heavy, and she lay down on it and slept a deep, enclosing sleep.

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It was growing dark and a hammering was coming on the door. Woozily, Osthryth to her feet and managed to get to it, pulling across the bar and opening it. It was Merewalh.

"Where have you been? Your men have been waiting for an hour! You are due to change with Hereward's men; I had to tell them to stay longer - he's not happy!" Merewalh caught her arm as she toppled towards him, and helped her back to her feet.

"Easy now - deep sleep?" He asked her.

"I wasn't supposed to be doing this!" Osthryth complained. "Talk to the men, easy guard duty," she repeated his words.

"I know, I know, but Eardwulf's attention was drawn to you by one of his men, and I was compelled to send you. There is no-one else to guard for us; we lost many at Teotenhalgh, and the blessed West Saxons are due any day, which will be a curse as well as a blessing." The man looked exhausted, and Osthryth nodded.

"Give me...five more minutes, I need food - "she saw his expression, " - I need to piss," she tried.

"When women say five minutes, they mean an hour," Merewalh grumbled, as Osthryth closed the door in his face. She crossed to the courtyard at the back, and fouled the culvert that was, thankfully, running away out of the city, and at least would not end up in someone's dinner pot that night.

"Come on, then," Osthryth said, five minutes later, as promised, and she stalked past Merewalh, and down the street. To their credit, her men, including Aelffrith, were waiting for her, statue-still and alert.

"When we go inside," Osthryth began, "Remember this. We are on close guard for our lord tonight; we are the people to whom he may turn, for food, for drink, for medicine, to piss and shit. And we are the people who prevent anyone from causing our lord harm. This is our duty, until dawn tomorrow, and then we will be relieved by more Mercians, who will be told the same by their captain. Do you understand?"

"Yes, captain!" They shouted, in unison.

"But the lord Aethelred will remember you, remember our company. Because we are the cleanest company he will ever have the pleasure of attending him!"

Osthryth was glad of the good-humoured laughter that the men gave her to her quip. She needed it, as the night wore on. A generous Merewalh called Osthryth to the door several hours into the watch and handed her meat and bread, of which she was grateful, and took her place while she stood outside and ate it.

She stood, because if she were to sit, Osthryth knew she would close her eyes again, and that would be of no use whatsoever. And the food revived her, as did a few sips of goat's milk.

A maid hovered just behind her, and relieved her of plate and cup once she had finished, and she pushed on the lord's bedroom door, eyes turning to her as Osthryth entered. And she wished she hadn't had to.

Osthryth had seen this man, in the heat and thrust of battle, she had seen him sit in Mercia's throne giving out judgment, wise judgment to his people. She had seen him force a show of unity with Aethelflaed when it was clear they despised one another.

Aethelred had been so vigorous, so full of life, to be brought so low in the last battle, head wound that would not heal, a maid came to replace the pillow, and left with her back to him, presumably so he would not see that his blood had saturated the cloth so much. But he surely would know, and despite her postion and a guard, had an urge to touch his hand and wish him comfort.

Osthryth had seen him ride out, that day, at Teotenhalgh, with the courage of men as he fought Northman after Northman. She reckoned Aethelred of Mercia could count higher than thirteen. If he could count to fifty, he would be proud of his achievements that day.

But his horse had stumbled, breaking its jaw as it crumpled onto its forelegs, throwing Aethelred over its head. The lord had landed awkwardly, to which a large bandage around his head attested. Osthryth could only infer that he had broken his skull, the pillow behind his head, though it must have been changed before her guard had got to his chamber, was staining, slowly, red, at an almost hypnotic rate.

Worse, he was constantly shifting in his bed, his forehead moist with sweat at this exertion, as if the man was seeking for relief from his pain that he could never find. Beside him, a woman sat, hair almost as red as Aedre's, long and thick, tethered with two clips beside her ears, head bent, soothing his fever.

It could only be Eadith. Merewalh had told her of the woman, Aethelred's mistress, now out of a job. It was clear that Eardwulf's power was in danger of falling, now his sister could not service their lord. But that was not the worst of it.

No, the worst of it was the constant smell of shit, which was leaking from the man's backside and soaking into the sheets. Around them, a few hours later, maids came to take the sheets away, rolling Aethelred's hips around one way and then the other, to take the soiled ones away and leaving new ones, and Osthryth considered whether she should have bothered about a wash and new clothes for her men.

A few hours into the night, and Aethelred suddenly opened his eyes, seemed brighter, and began to talk to the guards as if he knew them, leaning towards Aelfkin as much as he was able, and asked about the day.

Aelfkin looked across to Osthryth uncertainly, but Osthryth thought it was no bad thing, and her youngest warrior began to tell the lord of Mercia of their guard duty, and their ale and their bathing in the river, something which seemed to amuse the lord, and he gave what he probably thought was a laugh, but became a snort and a choke, and then Aethelred slumped down onto his pillow, which then began to collect blood leaking at a more sunstantial rate into the pillow's fibres.

When he had stopped coughing, Aethelred beckoned for a glsss of water, which Aeglfrith helped him with, placing the glass beside his lips. As he leaned for it, Eadith grabbed it from Aeglfrith's hands, guiding it near herself, her fire-red hair flowing over Aethelred's bedclothes. Osthryth watched as the lord coughed most of it back up again.

Eadith reached for a cloth, and dabbed at his bedclothing, his lips, and her own dress. A very patient woman, as well she may be: when Aethelred departed this life, she would have no status, no influence, no money. It was in her interests to have him live as long as possible.

And yet, she was patient because she was caring for the man, and Osthryth saw a look of tenderness in her eyes when she called for more.

"If it is a case that a person gets scolded for attempting to help, I will instruct my guards to ignore the wishes of their lord," Osthryth chided, then instantly regretted it, when she saw the look on Eadith's face, one of shame mixed with a hearty helping of both anger and despair.

But neither of the women spoke for Lord Aethelred's eyes were now open, and he was surveying his men. Osthryth shifted her weight, and waited.

"You," he said suddenly, trying to raise a hand. As he did so, blood oozed behind him, and this exertion on his body made him lean backwards. But Aethelred's eyes were still alert, and he beckoned Aelfkin to him. A glance to Osthryth, and she nodded her agreement.

"My lord," said the young warrior, simply.

"Your lord wishes to hear a tale. You...look as if you know a tale."

Aelfkin looked unusually nervous, but he handled the situation ad replied, "Many, my lord."

"Then, I should like to hear one." Aelfkin turned his head to Osthryth - this was not what he was expecting - but Osthryth nodded, and suggested to him the story they had often been told by her beloved deputy Aelfgar had told them, on a long march somewhere.

"You know the one about the two travellers?" she prompted. and relief flooded the boy's face.

"My lord, there were two travellers, once at home in their village," he began, and made it as far as two other travellers who joined them, an exiled king - at this, Osthryth recalled her ancestor, who they had rescued from Bardney, Oswald, a magic ring, elves, goblins and the green man of the forest. At length, Aethelred held up a shaky hand, and looked across to Edith, who leaned towards him.

"My lord believes this tale is to be heathen," she repeated, and at once, Aelfkin stood back up, straight, his face frozen.

"I know another," Osthryth proposed, and when Eadith had told Lord Aethelred, she saw him not, and told him about the quest that Saint Brendan was tasked to sail out from Eireann. There was no way this could be interpreted as heathen, about a saint and God's will, and she told them all about the journey north, of being crushed - nearly - by a mighty beast that lived in the northern oceans, and their amazement at mountains that spewed fire.

As time pressed on, Aethelred held up another hand, and with it, fended off Eadith with it, leaning back onto his pillow again. Osthryth felt very conscious that there was little of the linen cloth left unsullied by Aethelred's blood,

"Another," he breathed, when all guards had dropped to waiting silence and he looked at Osthryth again.

"I...know you," he managed, his blue eyes open wider now and he pointed to her. "You...went away. I sent you to...work for me..."

"You sent me to Wessex, if you recall, my lord," Osthryth replied, and Aethelred opened his eyes still wider, before relaxing back onto his pillow again.

"You...are of Alba," he said, but this time, this sounded less of an accusation, more a conversation. "You...will have many stories. You were recommended...Lord Aldhelm..."

"Dead, at Teotenhalgh, if you recall," Eadith interrupted. "My brother, the lord Eardwulf, advises you, my lord."

"Lord Eardwulf!" Athelred spat, angrily. "Who made him lord?"

"You did, my lord," Eadith replied, and Osthryth saw the woman flush at the cheeks. "Do you not recall?" Aethelred jerked his head towards his mistress, and as he did so, caused himself to cough, and a foul smell leaked into the air, as Aethelred soiled his bed again. Osthryth glanced at her men and, to their credit, did not flinch.

"I do have many stories," Osthryth confessed, and she watched Aethelred close his eyes, as she told them of arrow and monastery and Norse and Alba, and she watched the lord Aethelred's breathing begin to slow to a steady rhythm as he listened to Osthryth's words.

When he closed his eyes, Osthyth stopped, suddenly, at the raid in Glaschu by the enemy, who they did not know were theenemy and everyone in the room drew in their breath that she could stop at such a cruical point.

"May you contine?" asked Eadith, her eyes shimmering in the torchlight.

"I do believe our lord has gone to sleep," Osthryth replied, but the lady was not giving up.

"Can you tell us, at least, did the warriors escape the green valley fortress?" Eadith asked, and Osthryth felt herself nodding, as the woman seemed to relax a little.

"Escaped, for now," Osthyth added, and the woman gave her a "that was cheeky," look.

As hours moved on, Eadith sat back in a chair and was soon asleep in it, her head forward. Aelffrith, who was standing near her, moved Eadith's head into a more comfortable position, and she yawned a little. Osthryth felt her own eyes begin to grow heavy, and she strode to the door.

As she expected, Merewalh was the other side of it, with one of the younger guards, and he turned to her, jerkily, his face bright with interest.

"Nothing," Osthryth assured him, nodding towards Aethelred. "He is as he was. I just need a breath of fresh air," she added, "Then I will let my men go one at a time for a piss."

"Yes," Merewalh agreed, and he called another young guard to take Osthryth's face. The young man looked at his commander, and then back into Aethelred's bedchamber, his nose screwing up at the stench. Osthryth, meanwhile, strode to the end of the passage and into the courtyard, where the blessed night air was sweet and fresh on her skin, and she hastened to the kitchens, taking up some of the water that had been boiled for the next day into a stone jar and threw the lot of it down her throat, before refilling it, and sipping at a more sober pace.

"You can't take that!" A maid yelled at her. When she saw it was one of the captains of the king's guards, she stopped, and began to walk slower to Osthryth, her mouth made into a smile.

"I'll get more for you," Osthryth replied, and the girl stopped for a moment, before bowing her head in a shy way.

"Captain," she said, "Thank you. Only, the cook will beat me if any of his things are touched before the morning."

"He will never know," Osthryth told her, and took up one of the stone ewers into which ale would be brewed. It was empty and clean, hanging overhead in a rack, and took it with her out into the courtyard.

Her own culvert had fresh water, Osthryth knew, and it was easy to get into a vessel, so she trod the streets back to her home, crossed to the back of the house and knelt by the stream. In no time at all, the water had filled the stone jar, and Osthryth was back walking towards the palace.

She did not hear the shout at first, could not discern the meaning, for the call was from the ramparts and the sound projected around. Osthryth dashed towards the square, the maid waiting anxiously by the palace's side gate and thrust the water jar into her hands.

"Thank you," she called, but Osthryth was away, up the steps to the ramparts, to the black view of the night landscape.

Or rather, that was what it should have been. Buaidh was in Osthryth's hand now as she listened again for the shout. Light.

Light was the shout, and there was light. Indeed, a river of light over the hills coming from the south west and heading towards Aylesbury.

From her vantage point, Osthryth estimated the front of the burning torches of what appeared to be a procession was about five miles away. She charged down the steps again, and called for Merewalh.

"Osbald, you stand with Aelfhere!" He urged, before making a break towards Osthryth, who told him what she had seen, then he ran up the same steps, which were becoming a little damp from the mist in that night air.

"Men! Raise bows, arrows!" was Merewalh's response, and around the perimeter of the walls a creaking sounded, as guards readied arrows to defend Aylesbury.

"What!" shouted Eardwulf, who seemed to have a different idea, and he ordered more guards to stand with those already guarding the ramparts.

The line was drawing nearer as Osthryth watched, and Merewalh called for two more captains, who he ordered to bar the gates to the city.

"Danes?" He asked, staring out into the torchlit darkness.

"They would not come so orderly," Osthryth proposed. "They would be more cunning if they were trying to ambush us. No Danish army would come like this.

She was right, and, as the dawnlight edged the horizon, the torches lit on men who were clothed in the uniform of the West Saxon guard. Osthryth leaned forward and tried to see who it was who had clambered down from his horse at the front.

A shout went up, but no gates were flung open and the man strode to the gates, using the hilt of his sword to bang upon the steel-hinged oak doors that were barring his men from entering.

Another shout, and Osthryth got down the steps. In front of her was Eardwulf, who had his sword drawn. She could heat the two men exchanging words, and one of them was, "arseling".

"Open this gate immediately, you foul-breathed gutterswine!" For a man fabled for little intelligence the man without the gates had a briliant imagination for insults. It was Steapa, and Osthryth could not help smiling.

Eventually the gates were opened, and about sixty men rode through, slowly, as if they had ridden a long distance, and Osthryth wondered whether they had come all the way from Winchester in one stint.

"What is the meaning of drawing bow and blade to fellow Saxons?" Steapa demanded, as he dropped from his horse. He was a clear head above Eardwulf, but the Mercian lord was not giving an inch, his steel-blue eyes glaring right back at the head of the Wessex guard.

"We were given no warning of your arrival," he replied, obsequiously. "You could have been Danes."

"We are West Saxons, and you are Saxons!" Steapa hit back, hotly, thrusting his rein into Eardwulf's hand. "Do we look like Danes?" he demanded. "We are hungry!" Steapa was always hungry. He beckoned to his men, who were looping reins over bars, the common signal for stablehands to show which horses needed tending, and the men followed Steapa up the steps and into Aylesbury's great hall.

"You will find the lord Aethelred indisposed!" Eardwulf called, in Steapa's wake, as he strode next to him, but unable to keep pace with the big man.

"Dying, is what I heard," Steapa replied, then wheeled round onto the man, and Osthryth chuckled to herself when she saw her old friend tap the hilt of his sword a couple of times, just this, reminding Eardwulf he had it.

"No weapons in the hall," Eardwulf replied, as if to try to sieze back control of the situation. "Perhaps your messenger was late? Murdered on his way from peaceful Wessex to peaceful Mercia to tell us of your coming?"

Steapa turned from his intention of walking into the hall, and looked down at Eardwulf, the man's sarcasm wasted for Steapa either ignored it, or, Osthryth sensed, did not understand it.

"I know nothing about a messenger," he told Eardwulf. "I do know the king is on the way, and will be here tomorrow."

"The king of Wessex," Eardwulf corrected. "His sister is already here," he added, and Osthryth turned at that moment and walked back out of the hall. His sister. Of Aethelflaed, she had seen none, but sensed that her brother was not there. Uhtred always managed to find a way to draw attention to himself, and all of Aylesbury would know if he were in the city.

"You! Guard!" Eardwulf called after her, something Osthryth had hoped would not happen. She turned.

"Weren't you supposed to be on close guard to the lord Aethelred?"

"Yes, lord," Osthryth replied, her face fixed. This was it - he was going to recognise her.

But, she supposed, when Eardwulf did not, many years had passed since their last meeting, and he was indisposed with things more important than a guard. "But I was ordered by the West Saxon commander to fetch water."

"Indeed!" Eardwulf shouted back. "Fetch it then, and return to my lord Aethelred. Wessex does not command here!" But, as Osthryth looked about her, as the Wessex guard began to make its way into Aylesbury, orders flying, countermanding Mercian orders, Osthryth thought that there could only be trouble.

This came to a head the next day, after Osthryth's company was relieved, and sleep was sought. They were called to the armoury in the afternoon where Merewalh stood, grim-faced, his arms folded as Eardwulf stood before the captains.

"It is a grave thing I must speak to you about," Eardwulf began, as Osthryth tried to stifle a yawn. Around her, captains shuffled their feet. Osthryth wondered which of them were captain to the two Mercian guard who were being taken away to the holding cells at the back of the armoury, usually reserved for men who had been drunkenly fighting others. They probably had been, but that Steapa had two West Saxons under sword as well suggested rivalry, hostility, between the two guard factions.

"The Wessex guard have arrived, and soon will King Edward of Wessex, to discuss the succession in Mercia. We must - " and Eardwulf emphasised the "must", " - work with the West Saxon guard. Yes," he conceded, "They do things differently in Wessex, we all know that - "

And Osthryth caught the tone. It was the same one that Merewalh had used when he told her his motive for finding out the warriors' intentions was peace. He, like Eardwulf, was for Mercia, an independent Mercia, and now that independence was threatened merely by the West Saxon warriors arriving. Eardwulf could not risk unrest, especially with his own lofty ambitions.

"We have always worked together," Eardwulf continued, looking at his captains one by one, and Osthryth thought that, though she disliked the man, and Merewalh had insinuated he had given bad advice to Aethelred, he seemed a good leader, and spoke fairly to his commanders, who would, as Osthryth would, talk fairly to their men. Osthryth saw Eardwulf nod to one of the commanders near him, who had raised a hand.

"The Wessex men want to use their own pattern of guarding," the captain, a stocky, middle-aged man, with a neck like a bull and a determined look on his face. "They want their drill times, they wanted their guard times. They do not suit ours."

Looking back, Osthryth would remember standing, crammed in the armoury so the door could be shut and Eardwulf not overheard, that time when she had discovered the beginnings. At the time, she did not know what it was the beginnings of, but it was something which would take several years to build, and would ultimately result in a different fate for the kingdom of Mercia.

At first, little things, shift timings, who was with whom. Mealtimes were different in Wessex, too, coinciding with merchants arriving by river, and up from the coast. Mercia had no such dependence on the tides and they dined after sunrise, after noon and supped at nightfall, but Eardwulf cautioned the captains all the same and told them that whether the guards were from men of the same land, from somewhere in Brittanium, or from somewhere far away, they should seek unity, and ordered the West Saxon and Mercians not to segregate themselves from one another.

"It shouldn't matter," said one of the young men near the front, who even Osthryth was surprised had spoken up without permission. "We are all Saxons together." Osthryth peered at the man, and found that he was not dressed in the tabard of green and gold of Mercia, but pale blue, and in him she recognised someone she knew: Godwin.

Godwin, with Hereward, had been young guards in the lord Odda's service when Osthryth had first come to Wessed. How had grown from a child, snivelling under Merewalh's harsh commands and chastisements, to a broad, upright, fair-haired warrior, clearly obtaining rank enough to be present when the head of the Mercian guard called his captains.

"We will gladly fall in with the ways of Mercia," Godwin furthered, "until we gain clear, unequivocal orders from Wessex." And Osthryth realised then that the West Saxons wanted peace, too - of course they did - why would you come across the country to another lord's estate, which is what Aylesbury was, in effect, to be the object of trouble for your hosts? Osthryth's thoughts then considered whether this had been a test, set by Steapa, or Edward, even, to see what would happen when the West Saxons got there. Under Eardwulf, then, there would be tolerance and unity, for they were, after all, in the same employ - guard burhs against Danes, shelter the people, fight where needed. They did not want to trouble one another with animosity between themseves.

But one lord did dissented, and Osthryth was not surprised when the guard, son of one of the lords of Mercia, Burgweard, had stood before Eardwulf. Outranking him in status, Burgweard had protested that the people of Aylesbury, in fact all of Mercia, were Angles, they had different customs, different ways.

"And you will show them the ways, lord Burghred," Eardwulf replied, nodding and smiling, although there was some strain behind the man's face, which was not surprising considering the precariousness of his position beside Aethelred.

Osthryth never did know why she spoke up. After Burghred had spoken there was a silence, and she heard her own words diffusing through the captains. Maybe she had not meant to speak loud enough to be heard, but heard she was by Eardwulf, who turned to Osthryth as he heard her say, "Perhaps we need to get to know one another's ways, to better serve our lord and our king?"

"Indeed!" Eardwulf replied. "Indeed. An excellent point well made, captain."

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But two more days later, no change in Aethelred, and Eardwulf met the captains again, this time in a far less genial manner than he had before.

King Edward was in Aylesbury. Osthryth had her men on the eastern part of the rampart when a retinue of horses, baggage trains wove over the landscape and, at the front, a king in all his imperium rode forth, surveying his empire.

Lord God, Osthryth thought to herself, as she took some steps away from the parapet, he looks as if he owns the country already and she promised herself that she was going to keep out of his way as much as possible.

Osthryth had managed to avoid that Aethelflaed up until then - being a little in Merewalh's favour Osthryth had been able to wangle two easier shifts for her men outside - and the weather was good, rather than the foetid air of Aethelred's chamber, his death bed, Osthryth had considered, wryly.

So she had seen nothing of the deterioration of the lord of Mercian, and until three days later and Osthryth was told by Merewalh that Eardwulf's order swere that she and her men would close guard Aethelred again, that night.

But the matter with the guards would not drop, and that morning and Eardwulf had pulled together the captains again, this time from both lands. Osthryth surveyed the West Saxon commanders as Eardwulf told the men how it was going to be, and she was surprised and pleased that she remembered Godwin's friend, Hereward, equally once quite underdeveloped and delicate, who was now tall and rangy, dark eyes under dark brows, listening to Eardwulf, for he now was a captain in Mercia, and he was switching his attention at intervals to look at both Godwin and Steapa. Those two Osthryth had found snivelling in Odda's stables after being given a tongue-lashing by Merewalh, who now Godwin outranked and under whom Hereward served.

"Our watch shifts, it is the Mercian way," Eardwulf concluded. Next to Godwin, Steapa got to his feet, unfolding his arms and towered over Eardwulf. If Aethelred's man was intimidated, he did not show it, and listened silently as the captain of the Edward's guard folded his arms and told him that it was the West Saxon way or he would go to the king.

Finally, Eardwulf relented, but insisted that the Mercians follow their own style, and the commanders devised a pattern that would distribute each faction evenly throughout Aylesbury without getting in each others' way.

And there was the matter of primacy, which Osthryth noted that Eardwulf had not broached: whose word held more weight was significant, and it was clever of the upstart ceorl, now lord Eardwulf, to defer discussion for he cited the lord Aethelred's condition as a reason to break the meeting.

So it was Eardwulf that was outside Aethelred's door when Osthryth led her men into the odour-heavy air that made her want to vomit in which Aethelred was lying. If it had been her, Osthryth would have insisted the lord of Mercia had fresh air, and had mentioned it to Merewalh, who pointed out that many Mercians would see how close to death he really was and lose hope.

Hope of what, Osthryth was about to find out, and she stood on guard that night watching Aethelred, who seemed to be a little brighter, and was asking Merewalh about the succession.

"It is the witan who will decide the succession," Aethelred told Merewalh, and it was as if confiding in him when he said, "And, what do they speak of? The witan?" Aethelred insisted, when Merewalh did not answer.

"I know not, lord," Merewalh admitted, apologetically, "I am not part of the witan, but I hear many things." Aethelred waved his hand, as if to urge him to continue and Osthrtth pointed where she wanted her men to stand, and they stood in a horseshoe around their lord, which would best shroud their lord's speech to anyone who might be listening to outside.

"They speak of your daughter marrying, so her husband can be the next Lord of Mercia," Merewalh confided, bowing close to Aethelred. Osthryth could smell the stink of shit as Aethelred moved, and she could not conceive how it was he was still managing to live.

"No, she is yet too young; I may well recover." But that was all that Merewalh could manage, because the door opened and in marched Eardwulf, who put a hand on Aelfkin and Aelffrith's shoulders and pushed them apart. Behind him, Eadith followed him, and Eardwuld put a hand to her back, pushing him in Aethelred's direction, as much as to say, "This is your place; do not leave it.". She looked pale and thin, and she took the seat beside Aethelred, refusing to look at him, but touched his upper arm with her hand, comfortingly.

"You, will come with me," Eardwulf told Osthryth, "All of you," he added, and Osthryth tried to catch Merewalh's eye, to try to insist that they were not to be taken, but he was already striding down the long, torch-lit corridor to the armoury as another Mercian guard took their place

They had no choice, and Osthryth beckoned her men to fall in, cursing her ill luck that they would have to go to Mercia's throne room. The Mercian lords would be there, of course, and Edward, and she turned to her men as they approached the inner doors and called them into line.

The discussion was long and sinuous, a discussion which seemed to meander from point to point, without actually resolving much, and Osthryth was astonished that Edward was not in the chamber. Mercians only, she thought.

"Burghred wishes his son, Burghweard to marry the lady Aelfwynn," came a voice by her ear, and Osthryth moved her head slowly to see Merewalh's face. He smiled, but it was a weak smile, and he stood place by the rear door, retrieving a spear from an outgoing guard. "To provide stability to Mercia, a husband of Mercian stock, and that she will not be married to a lord from a different realm who might usurp the leadership of Mercia."

How likely was that, Osthryth wanted to ask him, but she put the idea aside as she watched Eardwulf take up position before the lords. Behind him, however, the doors were thrust open and her guards immediately drew forward their spears.

It was Steapa, and behind him, striding in front, was King Edward.

It had been nearly six months since Osthryth had seen - and slept with the king of Wessex, and to her, he seemed to have changed. He seemed taller, and his clothes were richer, his hair curled around his coronet and his robe of purple conveyed imperial power. Behind him paced his father-in-law Aethelhelm, who stood, silently, beside the king, and could not have looked more different if he had tried, dressed in grey, thin, unpreposessing.

Until he spoke. Aethelhelm stood before the Mercian Witan, whose lords were restrained by the point of Steapa's sword, and accused Eardwulf of ingratiating himself in Lord Aethelred's favour.

Challenged by the richest man in Wessex, and undoubtedly the power behind Edward's throne, Eardwulf did not flinch, and indeed went on to tell the Witan of the discussion he had had with Aethelred.

"My lord," he simpered, has indeed let it be known that he had approved the proposed match of myself with - " and at this, he paused, then nodded his head subserviently to Edward, " - the lady Aelfwynn," he rold them. A lie! Osthryth wanted to call out, and she felt Merewalh's hand steady her shoulder and instead, forced her teeth closed, lest she betray herself with her rebuttal.

But it would hardly have mattered, for the lords were already talking loudly over one another, beseeching one another to speak for them and their cause. Burghred, of course, Osthryth now knew, had a vested interest in Eardwulf's claim to be false, but Aelfwynn was older than Burghweard, who was, as he had told her, sixteen. Besides, who was the ruler beneath him, for a sixteen-year-old could not command a kingdom alone, even married to Alfred's granddaughter.

And that took Osthryth's thoughts back to Aethelflaed. She was not present at the Witan, though at Aylesbury, so where was Aelfwynn? Was she here too? Or had her mother secreted her away somewhere so that she could not be used as a pawn? It was what Osthryth would have done.

And her thoughts ran on...Aethelflaed would not have done this alone, be able to hide hers and Aethelred's daughter to greatest effect...who would be beside her to carry out her every command? The shite that was her brother.

As the guard changed, for the Witan seemed bedded in for the night when Merewalh called Osthryth's attention to gather her men, he dismissed them for the night and called Osthryth to the guard room.

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"I need you on close guard as soon as you are able," Merewalh told her, after handing her a dish containing cured lamb and bread, and a jar of goat's milk, the latter nearly making her retch, such was the intensity of the odour. She drank it, in any case, for there might not be another opportunity to eat, if it turned out that Merewalh wanted her for something else that night.

But he seemed to wish to talk, and he sat, genially, as she ate, eating a plate of his own, while watching her eat her food at speed. When she had finished, Merewalh stacked his plate on hers, before crossing to the guardroom door, and closing it behind him.

"My men think you are here to be given special orders," Merewalh told her. "They think, because I have made them think, that the lord Aethelred is in a critical condition, and that he may die at any moment. Arrangements are being made for his funeral," he added, looking carefully at Osthryth, "All of which are true," he conceded. Osthryth waited for him to continue, and he held her gaze for a moment.

"I asked you to tell me about the guards," Merewalh asked her, "and how they are feeling in the current...climate."

"The guards are good, loyal," Osthryth told Merewalh, "They are following orders - your orders, Eardwulf's orders - with no complaint." She hesitated. It couldn't be helped. Images of what she had witnessed Aelffrith doing with a bag of silver as she called up the stairs of the stable above-room flitted into her mind. She nodded, admitting silently that there was more, and lowered her voice.

"They talk of independence," Osthryth said, getting to her feet. It was uncomfortable sitting down, and the goat's milk was doing nothing for her digestion. "They talk of...rebellion against Wessex. I believe..."

"That money is being raised to the cause?" Osthryth felt her mouth fall open as Merewalh as good as read her thoughts. "Yes, I know," he told her wearing a look of someone who was not suprised with what he had heard.

"I suspected a rebellion, but towards independence...?" He murmured, as Osthryth folded her arms around her. "We are independent as we are; Wessex does not rule here."

And yet it may, Osthryth thought. If Edward brings in a man to marry Aelfwynn. A West Saxon whom he, or rather, Aethelhelm, can control. In fact, had not Aethelhelm sons of his own? He was covetous enough over the Wessex crown; many attempts, Osthryth was given to understand (from Aelffrith: who else?), had been made in the past to locate Edward's first son, Aethelstan with, presumably, one intent, which was to eliminate him and leave the way clear for Aethelweard, Aethelhelm's own grandson.

"What would you have me do?" Osthryth asked Merewalh. "It was Aelffrith who was collecting coin," she added. Merewalh likely knew this, yet Osthryth felt duty-bound to tell him anyway.

"Nothing, yet. Aelffrith's wife's death hit him hard, if he feels he has something to live for, a cause, then this may occupy his mind." And Osthryth thought about him and Aelffrith, comforting one another, over Aelffrith's wife, over Merewalh's love, for she had suspected the man loved other men and that one may have met his end at Teotenhalgh.

"But they would need a leader; someone who could stand firm against the Norse and Danes?" There was no man of fighting age, even if Aelfwynn was left out of it all. It was then, the idea crept over her, but had yet to take root in her mind, or yield the fruit of a name. An idea so dreadfully savage to her own mind that she hardly dared think it. Yet a part of her brain had come up with it, and it made true, good sense. It made the only sense.

Remember you are of Alba, Osthryth told herself, sharply, you are here not to fight for Wessex, or Mercia, or a king or a lord, but to bring intelligence back to Constantine and bring herself back, and Osthryth's stomach lurched as she reminded herself that this would be sooner than she thought.

"Tell me," Merewalh asked Osthryth, as he paced too, placing a hand to his chin as he considered what she had told him. "Is there call, can you discern, from the men, for more than grudging obedience to Mercia?" And here Osthrth knew his true meaning - rebellion. He wanted peace, Osthryth knew, but in an independent Mercia. Merewalh was for Mercia not unity.

"They are proud Mercians - you saw that when we met both times to discuss procedure."

"They know they are not West Saxons," Merewalh replied, chuckling softly, then looked back to Osthryth.

"They will follow orders of a captain, if necessary. A West Saxon one, if they must. But they do not begrudge their land, as you did not begrudge your land," she added. Merewalh looked at her suddenly, for she had reminded him of the time he had lived a sour life, in exile from his homeland, in the service of the lord Odda. But, instead, he smiled, and placed an arm on Osthryth's shoulder.

"Good, good," Merewalh replied, then added. "Continue to be within listening distance of Eardwulf when you can; I will get you close guard as often as I am able, for he will surely come undone with his scheming. I do not trust him," Merewalh added, laconically.

"And his sister? Eadith?" Osthryth asked.

"She lies with the lord Aethelred," Merewalh replied, simply. "Or lay. They were shamed, like my family, their father bankrupted them. They wish to gain favour, Eardwulf pushed Eadith into Aethelred's path, and she became his mistress, and - "

But Osthryth heard nothin more, for a violent cramp came to her stomach, and she threw up all over the floor between them. Another bout, and Osthryth staggered back to the bench.

"The goat's milk, I think," Osthryth told him, as another wrench came, though she was dry-heaving now. "I will - " she gestured towards her vomit, " - clean it up, when I can."

"Perhaps not the goat's milk," Merewalh replied, and Osthryth noticed he had taken several steps back. Osthryth placed a hand onto the table and pushed herself up, before flopping back down. Water, boiled, and then cooled, would be just the thing, Osthryth thought, longingly, and she brought her hand to her stomach.

"Not sickness, or at least, I hope not," Osthryth furthered, and felt a smile creep to her lips. She had been in Aylesbury for nearly a fortnight now, and had managed for many days not to even think about her real reason there.

"There is another reason I came to Aylesbury, Merewalh," she confessed. "For safety. For sanctuary." And Osthryth put hand to her stomach. The look on Merewalh's face was priceless. He opened his mouth a few times, as if about to say something, and closed it. Eventually, he leaned towards her.

"How...when...?" He stammered. "Osthryth, what are you telling me?"

"That I am with child," she replied, simply, and the usually brusque commander opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again. "I am quite well; all is fine. And unless I cannot move, I will still be doing my job," she told him. "If that is acceptable to you."

"I can spare no men to protect you," Merewalh cautioned, and then looked back at Osthryth again, as if waiting for her to tell him she was joking. The woman was into her forties; pregnancy taxed women half her age.

"I ask for none," Osthryth declared, and then felt astonishment flood through her when Merewalh stepped past her sick and sat on the bench beside her again. "I succeeded at Teotenhalgh."

"I can help you when the time is right," he told her, "Not me," he added, when Osthryth smirked, "But, I know people who can help you. You will be quite safe and well here, he reassured her.

"In a leadership crisis, in the midst of an independence rebellion?"

"Well, apart from that," Merewalh chuckled.

"I knew that," Osthryth replied, "Which is why I returned to Mercia." Though I won't be stopping, she told herself "Make no allowances for me; I do not want to be a burden to my men." Merewalh nodded, then asked her something else.

"If you were a Mercian, what would you do? What is the best outcome for my country?"

"That the lord Aethelred did not die outright at Teotenhalgh," Osthryth admitted, and conceded a sip of ale from Merewalh's jar. "It is a pity someone has not put him out of his misery in the interests of Mercia." She put the ale down. "His lingering is causing too many problems, too many divisions, we only need an attack of Danes in Mercia on top of all that and the kingdom could fall again."

It took many moments for Osthryth to realise Merewalh had not answered her. Instead, he stared at her with a long look. Osthryth's heart sank.

"No!" She protested, holding up her hands. "I am no assassin, Merewalh; poor Aldhelm had to promise to do it last time! It's different in battle..."

"I am not asking you to," Merewalh reassured her, then reached for her elbow and escorted her from the room, turning to the young guard outside and ordering him to clear up the floor. "He was just this side of being caught in a fight with a little West Saxon shit," Merewalh explained, jabbing a finger in the direction of the kitchens. "Get a bucket and water, idiot!" He yelled, when the boy reappeared at the door, looking confused. "The kitchens!"

"Walk with me," Merewalh encouraged, heading towards the stableyard. "I need to check my horse had been mucked out, and you need to check on yours," he added, unnecessarily. Osthryth picked up Merewalh's pace, nodding to Steapa and Godwin, who were inspecting the West Saxons, who were not on duty, and were organising their men to practise sword skill. When they got to the door, Merewalh pushed it open, and Osthryth trod onto the newly laid straw. Good job, she thought, nodding approvingly, before Merewalh closed the door behind her.

"Is your child's father the king of Wessex?" Merewalh's question was uttered almost too quiet for her to hear, and as blunt as a rock. It was Osthryth's turn to open her mouth and bue unable to say anythng.

"Absolutely not," Osthryth declared. "That man is...gone from me," she added, feeling the weight of her situation press again on her shoulders. Then, she saw Merewalh exhale with relief, before crossing to his beast, taking up a bristle brush and smooth his already smoothed coat and Osthryth guessed his thoughts. No bastard to confuse things. No second one, anyway.

"See, here," Merewalh said, pointing to something on the coat of the patient horse, who had closed his eyes just before, enjoying his grooming. Osthryth looked, and could see nothing. "Here," he told her, and when Osthryth bent her head to the horse's warm abdomen, heard Merewalh say, "We have many ready to make a stand...in Gloucester, Tamworth, Oxford, yes, even some over in the Danelaw - Leicester, Nottingham, Derby...we will not be usurped by West Saxons."

Osthryth turned her head to Merewalh, and looked into his eyes. He was deadly serious.

"Aelffrith?" she asked. Merewalh nodded.

"Most of the guard. Which is why I was so grateful that Eardwulf insisted on the highest discipline. We would have been discovered otherwise; some of the keenest are also some of the stupidest, and fighting the West Saxons when they argued with them was the best way to be

"What is the plan?" Osthryth asked. "To find a lord to take Aethelred's place?"

"We...have someone in mind, someone that one of us has been keeping safe. But first, Osthryth Lackland, do you swear to Mercia?" Osthryth found herself nodding. Siezing his hand holding the brush, Osthryth bowed her head to it.

"It is good to hear that, Captain," came a voice from behind her. Osthryth turned, and from the back of the stables strode a familiar face. She ran to him, a cry escaping her throat as she grabbed the reserved, stilted lord to her, feeling dampness beneath her eyes.

"But how...why...?" Osthryth questioned, then pulled herself towards Aldhelm again. "Are you a ghost?" Aldhelm laughed, faintly, and then took Osthryth's forearms with his hands and eased her away from her. He was smiling.

"I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you!" He whispered, a smile on his usually dour face. Then Osthryth turned to Merewalh, then back to Aldhelm.

"I saw you fall!" she cried. "You fell! A sword mangled your head!"

"Not me," Aldhelm admitted, "my brother," he sighed, "Poor, dear Aldwyn, fighting in Aethelflaed's faction. We are...were...twins.." He lowered his gaze to the floor. "It pains me much to remember that great and terrible battle."

Then, Osthryth turned back to Merewalh, "You wish Lord Aldhelm to assassinate Aethelred?!" she asked of him, but Merewalh shook his head, his chestnut brown hair swinging about him.

"Aethelred will die imminently. I - "

But Aldhelm turned to Osthryth and took her hands, interrupting Merewalh, again.

"You may not remember, but I asked you a question once," Aldhelm said, still holding Osthryth's hands. "I asked you whether, if you had to choose, you would follow the lord Aethelred or the lady Aethelflaed," he continued, and Osthryth could see exactly where this was going, She remembered him asking her shortly before she had turned north, in error and ended up at Dunholm, nearly fleeing then to the Scots when they had arrived at the border of Bernicia and Pictland.

"I remember," Osthryth replied. "I remember well."

"Then, sworn to Mercia as you are, I took your advice," Aldhelm let go her hands and crossed to Merewalh's horse, slipping a small, folded parchment into a tiny opening in the horse's rein. From the outside, the skilful work had meant that to her eye, the making of it was invisible, and she wondered what was written upon it.

"It is to your choice," Aldhelm told Osthryth, then lighted up as brilliant as Osthryth had never seen him before. "For months, years now, we knew we had no hope if Aethelred died with no heir, and could see no more way of pressing our cause if there was no strong leadership in our land...it was you who made us see...she is a strong, brave warrior; she had the love of the people, and while she is West Saxon, she is also Mercia."

She might have known. The bloody, conniving, narcissistic, beloved Lady of Mercia, now ingratiated into a plot to make her ruler. But, as she said this to Aldhelm, he shook his head.

"We have not included her directly, of course we have not. But, your words made us realise, Osthryth, that if we were going to survive as a nation, we would need a strong leader."

"Not Eardwulf?" Osthryth asked, still looking over Aldhelm as if still expecting to wake up from a dream. But his warm breath near her neck made Osthryth realise this was, unfortunately, genuine.

"No," Aldhelm shook his head. "Where she goes I go. I have been shadowing her since Teotenhalgh. And she must be protected at all costs."

Oh, she will be loving that, Osthryth thought, dully. "I suppose my brother is with her?" she asked, trying not to sound like someone with a problem.

"Your brother?" Aldhelm looked at Osthryth confused.

"Did you not hear the argument, on that day on the battlefield?" Merewalh supplied. "Christ, the Irish could have heard it in Dubhlinn, how loud it was." But Aldhelm shook his head.

"I had gone into hiding by then." He turned his eyes to Osthryth.

"My brother," Osthryth reiterated, firmly. "And, though you will not like it," she furthered because, if she didn't, someone would, and it might as well be these loyal rebels of Mercia with whom she threw in her lot, "I would proposing him for the throne of Mercia, for he is cousin to the lord Aethelred." She watched as Aldhelm's eyes widened. But it was Merewalh who looked, narrow-eyed to her.

"Uhtred," Osthryth said at last, when two of her friends had come up with a blank. "Uhtred of Bebbanburg. My brother."

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They were relieved of close guard part of the way through the night and Osthryth instructed her men to get rest and food. They would need it if they were called upon the next day or night, or both. Osthryth watched as they headed towards the kitchens, still in their new uniforms, and she smiled, watching as Aelfkin was greeted by one of the palace maids, with a kiss on the cheek before she handed him a folded set of clothes. He was one of her most able soldiers and he was using his easy going affiability to procure himself fresh cooked food and laundry done, with a flirt and a wink. She hoped he did heed her words, and did sleep, and she saw Aelffrith follow the rest of her company into the kitchen, making a glance towards the happy young pair, perhaps remembering his own wife.

When she arrived back at her own small house, and lay down on her own bed, Osthryth's eyes just would not close. So much was on her mind, not least that she had ingratiated herself into a rebellion.

Osthryth got up, and yielded to her own advice by making her way to the kitchens. It was busy that night, with a number of guards waiting to be fed and she saw that each of her men were sitting down to plates of food and jugs of ale, Aelfkin with his maid flitting about him, adoringly.

Other companies were there too, and she noticed long looks from a table across from her men, though nothing came of it, for they too were eating well.

"Osthryth!" She turned to see Merewalh crossing the flagstones and ushering her off her feet. "You must be exhausted, here, sit. I will bring you food." Osthryth was grateful, but not in the mood to talk much, so she listened to Merewalh tell her about the fights subdued just north of Aylesbury - Seashes, Osthryth wondered, though Merewalh did not name it, and another, near Bycaestre, north of Oxford.

Not long after, Merewalh was summoned by Eardwulf just as he was getting into the topic of whether cheese made near Gloucester was superior to that made near Caestre, and Osthryth stood, a little shakily, it had to be said, as Aelfkin's maid cleared her place. She was a slender little thing, butter-blonde hair falling to her waist and a merry face, with a little button of a nose, and she smiled at Osthryth nervously, and when she had moved, Merewalh and Eardwulf had gone.

As far as Osthryth was concerned, Merewalh and Eardwulf were not friends, were not allies in any way, yet now she knew of the bid for keeping Mercia independent, were they talking about a common interest?

She should sleep, Osthryth told herself, as the heat from the candles and the many bodies eating supper made her head spin, and she got up - a little too quickly, kicking her boot against the bench, before making her way outside.

The cool night air had a hint of winter's chill that night; October - blood month - was closing in fast. Soon the stores in Aylesbury would be full of meat, ready for feasting, ready for salting and preserving for the lean, early spring months, and she walked around the courtyard in front of the stables before skipping in.

Was it her boots sliding on moist straw that drew Aldhelm's attention? For he was standing beside Osthryth not long after, greeting her warmly, though tiredly.

"Did Merewalh not provide you with lodging, like you had in Winchester?" Aldhelm asked. Typical Aldhelm, propriety, correctness, before all else, assuming that she was coming in the stables to make for the loft above.

"Yes," Osthryth replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "But I find my head so full of intrigue that I cannot find rest. And I had to check I had not dreamed you." Aldhelm chuckled, then sank into a pile of clean straw near the back gates of the stable. A small hatch was open and the blessed evening breeze was circulating cool air. Osthryth leaned back, giving a little screech, shocked, as two rats ran from the straw when she moved it.

"The situation is dire," Aldhelm told her, and let her lean against him as he talked into the blackness. "Edward has taken charge; nothing happens without his permission or, more accurately, Aethelhem's, under the guise of his protecting Mercia." Osthryth felt the man sigh as she closed her eyes, listening to his words, and Aldhelm placed a comforting hand over hers. "My brother, Aldwyn fought in my stead; I stood, disguised, beside my lady Aethelflaed."

Osthryth leaned away, and turned to look at him. It was nearly black where they were, but the light from the gibbous moon illuminated Aldhelm's face. She had cried real tears for him; how could he have just hidden himself away?

But then, hadn't she? Alba was so very far away that her disappearance would be as good as dying to those people she had left behind.

"Uhtred is your brother?" Aldhelm asked Osthryth of her admission. "I must admit, that is not a very healthy fact to be in the possession of."

"He knows, and he hates me as much as I hate him," Osthryth replied. "I did not suggest him for any other reason than it makes a lot of sense. His mother was Mercian; we have the same father. He can command men."

Though it galled her to say it. There had been so many times Osthryth had wished him dead. But, as well as an advantage for Mercia, there were other positives: it would keep him near Aethelflaed and thus keep him away from Bebbanburg. She could return to Wihtgar, instil an idea of legacy in him. He could remarry, have chldren. With Uhtred kept so busy with Mercia it would keep him from Bebbanburg for ever.

"He is a pagan," Aldhelm said. "Would he renounce his ways and become Christian again? Mercians would require nothing less."

"If he wanted it enough, he would. He has an ego big enough." And Osthryth went on to tell Aldhelm of her flight to Alba, rescuing Aedre and placing her somewhere safe.

"You are a good person, to do all that," Aldhelm told Osthryth.

"I stole all of Uhtred's silver," Osthryth replied, demonstrating that he was wrong. "Constantine does not do things for nothing . But Aedre is safe for the rest of her life there."

"And Winchester? Did you return?"

"I have returned," Osthryth admitted, "Although it took me a good deal of preparation of my mind to do so. You know that I was accused of being a witch."

"I had heard. But who I heard it from was the lord Aethelwold, so I took no heed." Osthryth felt for Aldhelm's hand in the darkness, and touched it softly for the moment. For the first time in so long, she felt a relief in her chest about the rumours told about her in Wessex, spread, presumably, through Alba and the Danes. Here was a man Osthryth respected giving her his assurance of her character.

"I took Aedre to see her father, Father Beocca, when I learned he was dying."

"Aedre," Aldhelm mused, saying the girl's name a few times. "Aedre...Aedre..." He turned to Osthryth. "It is a nice name."

"You have heard it before," Osthryth suggested. "Perhaps at Saltwic? In the lady Aethelflaed's papers?" Aldhelm turned to look at Osthryth in the gloom, his mouth falling open.

"I knew that Beocca's effects, some of them at least, had been sent to her. And she liked the name too, so much so that it took her no time at all to find out who Aedre was."

"But, you just said - "

"Not Thyra and Beocca's daughter," Osthryth corrected him, and gave a laugh. "That was my name, once. My Christian name."

"Your name?" Aldhelm repeated.

"Yes," she agreed. "All the way to Alba, and Eireann, and then Wessex," Osthryth added. "An accusation of witchcraft."

"I did hear something of that," admitted Aldhelm. "But I could never think it of you."

"It is always the quiet ones," Osthryth replied.

"Then that definitely rules you out," Aldhelm quipped back. Osthryth shook her head.

"I am for Alba, but I now seem to be of Mercia again."

"And no bad thing," Aldhelm replied, as he sat back again, and Osthryth felt herself lean against him. Tiredness was coming to her now.

"Must you return?" Aldhelm asked, suddenly.

"I must," said Osthryth, "But not immediately." Not until I have enough intelligence for Constantine, at any rate, though she probably had it now.

It was Aldhelm who shook Osthryth awake the next morning, and she realised that she had slept on the horses' fodder. Climbing to her feet, she was not surprised to see Merewalh beside Aldhelm, talking quietly to one another.

Above them, the loft emptied of men, and they climbed down the ladders and into the stableyard, washing and getting themselves ready for the day, shifting gentials with their hands, scratching arses, and generally just getting up. Her own company, Osthryth noted, were indeed the most well presented, and Merewalh called to them all to eat, and then return for sword practise.

There had been a big dispute the day before between the Mercian and West Saxon guards as to where they could practise, which again had had to be sorted by Steapa and Eardwulf. A compromise had been reached in the end, but it made Osthryth feel sad that rather than change practise times, why couldn't they all train together? They were all there together for the same end, were they not?

Then, Osthryth chided herself on being a unionist, when she had just become a supporter of rebellion against King Edward, although a part of herself knew it made sense to train together, as she had done with so many warriors when she had been in Wessex herself.

When the last man was down, Osthryth saw Aldhelm slip through a hinged hatchway which was, up until then, just a door and nothing to suggest that it made to go on upwards. Merewalh stood by the door, an empty board in his hand. She had also just noticed that he and Aelffrith had exchanged eye contact with one another, Osthryth's deputy giving Merewalh a small, happy smile.

"I could not sleep," Osthryth told Merewalh, who had crossed to her, pulling a few bits of straw off her.

"I was going to say, "a tumble in the hay", but the situation is too critical for me to even begin to joke," he replied. "There is a plan, and we must carry it out, tonight, if it had a chance of succeeding," Merewalh told her. "It needs to be done fast, and with precision: if anyone, Steapa, the Wessex nobles, King Edward - anyone - finds out anything, all we have done will have come to naught. It relies on you being on - "

"Close guard, by any chance?" Osthryth replied, her words dull.

"Yes," Merewalh agreed, "But it is happening tonight."

"What is?"

"You will know when you know," he replied, mysteriously. "It will be...obvious. And it will require ready horses and a ride north-east. Does that help?"

"Not in the slightest. So I ride north-east..."

"You and your company," Merewalh corrected her. He then put a hand on Osthryth's shoulder. "Aldhelm did not mention your...condition," Merewalh cautioned her. "He has not adjusted his plans for you."

"And nor should he," Osthryth bit back, hotly, though was instantly sorry, realising that the lack of sleep and hunger were affecting her more than she realised. "Sorry, Merewalh," she began again. "I am not dying, and no, he is not going to, at all, ever. And I will be no liability to your plan. If I thought I was going to be I would -

"I know you would, Osthryth," Merewalh replied, soothingly. "I do not consider you any less of a warrior, and you are aware of your limits, even now," he added. "Listen," he continued, "We are going to entice Eardwulf out of Aylesbury, then spring trap. He must not be here when we launch our coup. Marrying Aelfwynn is a ruse, and we are encouraging him to search for her, one that Eardwulf believed so strongly in now that he would be easy to manipulate. That is the plan. You need to get your men in Eardwulf's orbit, and ensure that when he flies, you, all five of you, are with him. Pretend you are loyal to him, anything to be with him if you must, just go."

"Understood," Osthryth said, and was almost frog-marched into the kitchens by Merewalh to eat something before being called to the chamber of Lord Aethelred, to stand close guard to him again.

88888888

Then, things happened at pace. The sun, which had found a way to penetrate even this holed up proto-tomb, reached its fingers through some gaps in the ceiling, and illuminated a pattern onto the rich carpet. It gave Osthryth something to look at to take her mind of the dying man in front of her, off his mistress, who was growing thinner and sitting every hour that she could holding the man's hand. She looked at the dust motes flash in and out of the rays then back to her men, who were standing so still it put Osthryth to shame.

Just as Osthryth had resigned herself to more hours of this inertia, the door was flung open and a woman entered, striding her long legs over the carpet and standing at the foot of Lord Aethelred's bed.

As if sensing her presence, Aethelred opened his eyes, weakly, and beside him, Eadith pulled back her hand and folded it within her other, as if caught doing something she shouldn't, which Osthryth considered was a fair point.

"I must be dying," came a voice from between two dry lips. "Otherwise you would not be here. Wife." Aethelred almost spat the last word at Aethelflaed, and jerked forward a little, disturbing the clots and scabs which adhered to his scalp and his hair as he coughed, blood beginning to leach from his wound. Osthryth's heart ran to pity to see him, as his cold-faced, indifferent spouse lingered at the end of his bed.

"I have come about our daughter," Aethelflaed began. "I have come to hear your decision on her spouse."

"He will be ruler of Mercia," Aethelred said, "When I am gone," and he leaned forward again. "Which cannot be long, Aethelflaed, which can only delight you."

"Name him," Aethelflaed was to the point. "Name him, so the kingdom can have a future again."

And Osthryth was quite sure that she saw the man try to smile. He held out a hand, then let it fall into his lap.

"No," Aethelred replied. "She is to marry no-one. Let one of the lords take my place." And as he said that, a groan like the waking of the dead came from his body, along with a quantity of faeces, which oozed down the bed and began to soak into the bedding.

Aethelflaed turned on her heel, an expression on her face that suggested that Aethelred was entirely at fault for being in that state and that he wasn't helping anybody by dying.

But, as Osthryth was to find out when she followed the lady of Mercia, and saw her flop against the wall of the corridor, hands in her hair, frustration and despair on her features. But they were not there for long, for, when she turned when she saw Osthryth, and drew her hands to her sides. As she did so, a small cloth fell from her wrist, drifting slowly down like a sail to the flsgstones.

"Pick that up," she demanded. Osthryth stepped over it and stood before Aethelflaed.

"If you both wish Aelfwynn to remain unmarried, you need to leave the city, ride, and take her somewhere safe."

"And just why should I listen to you?" Aethelflaed demanded.

"Because I am the one who can get you out of this city."

"Why would I want to get out? This is my home; nobody wishes to harm Aelfwynn."

"I did not say harm, I said marry," Osthryrh replied, caustically, "Although, I understand why you could not tell the difference." Aethelflaed drew up a hand as if to strike her, but then lowered it again when Osthryth remained standing in front of her, still, silent.

"I can go on my own, if I should choose," she rebuked Osthryth, who remained in front of her.

"And the reason you are not in a monastery is because...?" Aethelflaed narrowed her eyes.

"Did you hope to lie with my husband, Osthryth Lackland, because I am sorry to say he pisses down his leg and has to be spoon fed mush like an infant."

"It is only you who believes I had designs on your husband, yet I swore to fight for Mercia." This time, Aethelflaed's expression changed to one of derision.

"Why would you?" scoffed Aethelflaed, turning up the corners of her mouth in triumph, "You are of Northumbria or, possibly, Haligwerfolkland."

She knew?! Osthrtrh was shaken, but only for a second.

"I am of Bernicia, Alba and Eireann too, yet, who are you? My ancestors were kings while yours weren't even fighting Britons or Centishmen." She took a step towards Osthryth, hand in close proximity to Taghd's seax. Aethelflaed looked down, but saw no threat. She heard one, though,as the metal of the blade chinked by the steel rivets holding its hilt together. Enough of a threat.

"So, who is to be King of Mercia?" Osthryth asked.

"The next Lord of Mercia is to be decided at the Witan," Aethelflaed replied stiffly.

"And, do you want to know what has been decided?" Osthryth drew herself to Aethelflaed's face. "Because I have, every one." That must have stung; as a woman, no matter how noble, Osthryth was not allowed to be in the Witan, unless invited. She did not wait for Aethelflaed's answer and pressed on, ignoring the groan from beyond them, in the chamber.

"Lord Aethelred's daughter is to marry Eardwulf," Osthryth lied, and the shock on Aethelflaed's face was enough to tell her that this was the time, this was the moment. Was she right? It would appear so. Aethelflaed gave a strained look to the door of her husband's chamber, before hurrying at speed towards the courtyard, not stopping even to say something back to Osthryth. At the same time, from the other entrance, Eardwulf paced towards her, then glanced at the lord Aethelred's door. Another groan, and Osthryth peered past Eardwulf to see Aethelred's lefs contort, stiffen, as pain gripped him.

"You, stay here!" Eardwulf ordered, and he pulled Oshere, Aeglwulf and Aelfkin from the room. Behind him, the captain of another guard, Hereward was approaching him as did Burghweard, who Eardwulf ordered to close-guard.

"A healer will be coming shortly; Hereward, send your men to relieve these." He gestured towards Osthryth's warriors.

But there was no need for a guard for the lord of Mercia. Now, Osthryth could see, his legs had relaxed, as had his body, as if some greathand that had been squeezing his torso had finally released him from its grasp. Aethelred was dead.

"Hereward!" Eardwulf called the captain, and the young man stood before his commander. "Call more guard; this room needs to be kept secure."

"Yes, my lord," Hereward replied, obediently, and Osthryth watched as he hared up the corridor to the stableyard, where many of the Mercians would now be practising with their swords.

"I can stay," Osthryth proposed. "We can guard him." Eardwulf turned on Osthryth and bent his neck towards her, his hair damp from perspiration that had begun to drip down his nose.

"You will be suspected," Eardwulf shot back, his words. "Questioned at least, being the guard close to my lord when he died."

"But - " Already sickness was beginning to well in Osthryth's stomach, and it wasn't altogether to do with her condition.

"I will advocate for you," Eardwulf pressed, "But you will need to come with me. I have a special task that I need to accomplish to maintain order in the kingdom. Do you understand?" Osthryth nodded dumbly, which was mostly an act as she suspected Eardwulf's task, and she called her men to her.

"You will do as the lord Eardwulf commands, for the sake of lord Aethelred," she told them, and, at his word, they all made haste to the stables, for beasts upon which to ride, and to the gates to have them flung open.

But, there was no need for the gates: they were already open, and coming down the steps of the front of the hall was the king of Wessex, imperious in emerald green, arms folded, Aethelhelm by his side.

"Our beloved lady has fled the city!" He declared, and Osthryth turned her head to look. So had many other people, and she urged Oshere to continue to bring the horses round to the entrance in case they had to make a run for it. Ahead of them, Eardwulf had commandeered Hereward again, and the captain had been given the task of saddling up Eardwulf's own black horse. The beast was not happy to be disturbed from slumber and was scratching its hooves into the soft mud as the hapless Hereward fumbled with the reins and halter.

"And I will fetch her back!" Eardwulf's voice rang out amongst the stones of the city as he leapt for his horse's saddle. "Such grief she must be feeling at the death of her husband, that she has fled for solitude! I will persuade her to return!"

A bubbling of sound erupted amongst those who happened to be in Aylesbury's market square, at the announcement of the death of the lord of Mercia, and many of them fixed their eyes on Eardwulf, as he summoned Osthryth, with Aeglfrith, Aelfkin and Oshere on steeds of their own. Osthryth caught Merewalh's eye as she made to follow, but he showed no encouragement or opposition. To her, that was enough, and she was not surprised, when the ringing of the bell came from behind them, minutes later, that they were being followed by Aelffrith.

They were pursuing Eardwulf at speed, and Osthryth jolted over stone and tussock as Morning Star fought to keep up, Osthryth fighting to keep on her back, until finally, some miles from the city, Eardwulf drew to a stop. It was then that Osthryth realised Hereward was also with them, and she breathed heavily a few times to prevent herself from vomiting and made to concentrate on Eardwulf's voice as he spoke to them. She must have looked devoted, for Eardwulf smiled, indulgently, at all of them.

"Men of Mercia," Eardwulf nodded to them. "You are in the very fortunate position that I have chosen you for a task of such import that it will decide the future of Mercia, no less."

"Kill me now!" Aelffrith hissed to Osthryth under his breath, and it was all Osthryth could do to stop herself from bursting into laughter.

"You are loyal, obedient men of Mercia," continued Eardwulf, "And, as was declared by the Witan, I am to be your next lord." If her men had been shocked, Osthryth did not detect in, and she waited for Eardwulf to continue.

"I am to marry the lady Aelfwynn, the lady Aethelflaed's daughter," he continued, "In order to maintain the lord Aethelred's bloodline in Mercia. To keep it independent of Wessex. To ensure we do not become a vassal state to Wessex."

"Hurrah!" came a voice, and Osthryth saw Hereward championing their lord commander. It would be you, Osthryth thought, for she had never witnessed an original thought or deed from that young man when he was a child serving Odda, though that did not disbar him from being a stolid captain.

"The lady Aethelflaed has gone to prepare her daughter for this monumental role," Eardwulf continued, smiling widely, as if impressed with his own assumed importance. "So you will be the guards who accompany the lord and lady of Mercia back to Aylesbury! Think what esteem the other guards will hold you in!"

And that was it. They were going to Saltwic, Eardwulf told them, for that would be where the lady Aelfwynn would be. Doubtful, Osthryth thought, as she rode beside Aelffrith. Aethelflaed would never leave her daughter somewhere so prominent, for just this reason.

"What do you think the silver and bronze was for, fool?" snarled Aelfkin that night, when they camped at Bycastre, within the ruins of the old Roman fort. Eardwulf had dragged Aeglfrith and Oshere with him on guard duty, pleased with his own importance, and Aelffrith had discussed the rebellion plans, forgetting, perhaps, that Hereward had not been party to them. There was no love lost between Aelfkin and Hereward, for the latter had designs on the same woman, Aelffrith told Osthryth, who was clearly besotted with Aelfkin.

And they moved on the next day to within five miles of the Saltwic, the line of mountains on the horizon demarking an ancient boundary between them and the Welsh, although Offa had dug his deep earthworks further east than the mountains. No Welshman could ride his horse directly into Mercia since.

So Eardwulf called Osthryth and Hereward, his guard captains, beside him, and began to instruct them on what they were to do to gain entry to Saltwic, and what to do when they found the lady Aethelflaed and her daughter.

"You are not to kill any men, though they will try to kill you," Eardwulf continued, pompously, before giving them positions in which to enter Saltwic.

They were to storm the kitchen gate, which would result in a greater siege if the men inside the palace had realised they were under attack. But something was wrong: the place seemed too quiet, too few men stood guard around the estate's perimeter.

"Do as the lord Eardwulf commands," Osthryth cautioned her men, as she led them around to the trees at the back, where there should definitely be men above as lookouts eyeballing her as she was eyeballing the ramparts. "But be aware - it may be a trap."

Aelffrith, with Oshere and Aelfkin took off further to the left, where a small brook flowed past the back of the fortifications, as Aeglfrith and Osthryth moving back towards where they had come.

"No," Osthryth commanded as Aeglfrith made to step out towards the line of the rear gates, and was glad she did so because a "whoosh" of arrows spat their way into the soft mud near his feet. Two arrows, so two guards at least. "Get to the walls - can you shin up?" Aeglfrith, tall and rangy, gave Osthryth a withering look.

"Of course, Captain," he replied, with a grin. "Question is, can you?"

It was a question intended as a cheeky response to Osthryth's order. But, Osthryth thought, she may not, as a wave of nausea welled in her stomach.

"You try and stop me!" She replied, and as Aeglfrith took off across the dark-shrouded soil, Osthryth threw up what was left in her stomach of the venison they had eaten that day, arrowed by Aelfkin and butchered by him and Hereward, who proved he was useful after all. She ran after him, seeing a pair of feet rise above her as her hands rested against the wooden walls.

Now, they should be under attack, Osthryth thought, as she maneouvred herself up the side to one of the overhanging struts that supported a sheltered walkway. Not that she wasn't grateful that she wasn't being peppered with arrows, Osthryth considered, as she pulled herself up. Already, Aeglfrith was racing along the walkway, heading in the direction of the main gates, and from the opposite side, Osthryth could just make out another figure, possibly Oshere, as he approached the gates too.

Between them the two warriors opened the gate, pulling on the ropes that allowed both doors to swing backwards. She had been there already, Osthryth concluded, Aethelflaed. She had been there and emptied Saltwic of every living person. Not even any servants to tend the livestock, if there were indeed livestock about, which Osthryth considered unlikely, for there was little odour as would usually be in the courtyard; no horses stamped idly in their stalls.

Not on her own, Osthryth thought, scoffing the thought, and knew this had the features of something Uhtred would do. The children, with her brother and his men, and Aethelflaed, would be well on their way to wherever they were going. Damn!

Eardwulf rode through Saltwic and looked about him, as Osthryth beckoned her warriors down, and through the open gates she could see the tree far back at the end of the main trail where their horses were tied.

"No luck," Osthryth told her men, as they descended the fortifications and she too swung herself down, ignoring the dizziness in her head.

"Oh, I would not say that," Eardwulf said, as he got off his horse. "We can start by searching Aethelflaed's estate, confiscate all we can carry, for it all belongs to the lord Aethelred," and he gestured towards the inner doors, and gestured to Aelffrith to begin breaking his way n.

None of it belonged to Aethelred any more, Osthryth thought wryly, and as she strode over to help her men, a thought occurred. If Eardwulf believed he was de facto Lord of Mercia, on the search for his absent bride-to-be, then, by extension, Saltwic was also his. Had he just staged his own invasion to gain entry? She looked about her again. Gain entry to an abandoned estate? Something just did not add up here.

Crossing the courtyard, Osthryth made for her men. Whatever was going on there, she was determined to be near the front, to lead them, to protect them from whatever plot was happening.

And then she felt Buaidh skid from her hand. Osthryth turned as a blade came at her again, and she turned, swiftly, reaching for Taghd's seax, but could not swing her arm enough to wield it.

"If you want your captain to live," Eardwulf shouted across to Osthryth's warriors, as they stopped with their good progress through the doors, with Oshere claiming entry by being the one to smash the crude pinion across the inside of the doors and the basic gear mechanism crumbled to the floor. The men did not care any more about their competition about who was going to be the first to break in. What they did care about was that Eardwulf was holding a knife to Osthryth's throat.

"Did you think I did not know it was you?" the man snarled near her ear, then brought the blade away from Osthryth, and challenged the man - probably Aelfkin, although Osthryth could not discern from the angle the commander was twisting her neck. "Upstart bitch, who think she could do a man's work?"

"I have done a man's work," Osthryth replied, "Many times over." She glanced at her men. "Do you think any warrior would follow a woman unless she had proved herself?" The blade nicked Osthryth's skin just below her ear, but she pressed on, her hand trying to reach her hip, as she kept him talking. "Whatever did you think I was going to do to your sister all those years ago?" she added, provoking him. Just out of reach, Osthryth thought, as her fingers brushed its leather scabbard.

"You will find me the lady Aelfwynn, so I can be the lord of Mercia." Eardwulf explained slowly, as if talking to a child.

"I will do such thing," Osthryth retorted, swallowing as she felt the blade nick her neck. Blood trickled down it, and she heard Aelffrith's voice in protest as a "shmmm" of swords leaving sheathes sounded around her.

"Your lady dies if you come close," threatned Eardwulf, as Osthryth crept a hand carefully down her leg, this time managing to catch her finger over Taghd's seax for a moment. Progress, she thought. Keep him talking.

"I am no lady," Osthryth retorted. "I am a captain, and I have been a Gaelish warrior. Danes and Norse know me as Krieger-kvinde."

But it seemed that that honoured title meant nothing to Eardwulf, as he turned again to her warriors.

"Do your men know you are Lord Uhtred's sister?" he asked her, loudly enough for all to hear.

"Some," Osthryth conceded, "And I hate him more than any Dane." And there she managed it, her once hand-wed husband's blade coming to her rescue once again as she got a good grip in its handle and looped it over her hand, aiming it towards Eardwulf, where she stopped it at the point of a slight but insistent pressure on his stomach. He lowered his blade and she stepped away from him, looking towards Buaidh. Oshere noticed, and he bent to pick it up before handing it to her. Osthryth gave him a beaming smile as her sword came to rest just above his heart.

And because I hate him, and I hate her, I'll help you, Osthryth thought. Otherwise, there was no plan, no direction for she was running blindly out of her depth without being in full possession of the facts. What she did know was that to find the lady Aelfwynn meant they would find Aethelflaed and perhaps her brother, and it would use time up in which more facts would become apparent. Merewalh, she shouted to him, silently, why couldn't you have told me of the whole rebellion plan? There was no reason for you and Eardwulf to be talking covertly to one another. Otherwise, my gamble could be a huge mistake here.

"Are you for Mercia, Lord Eardwulf?" Osthryth asked, aware of every one of her men, and Hereward too, staring at her. "Independent of Wessex?" And here, Eardwulf gave her a frown, which Osthryth took to mean, "Of course! What else?"

Because that was the point, however unpalatable, that a Mercian needed to rule, otherwise there would be civil war, and open season for all Danes and Northmen to help themselves.

"Tell us, all here, declare it!" She demanded, when Eardwulf said nothing and, as a mark of trust, she thrust Buaidh point down into the ground. Eardwulf reached over his shoulder and pulled out his own blade. A gasp came from behind her, as it came close to Osthryth's ear, but she did not flinch, and instead watched as the man mimicked her gesture and matched Buaidh with his own. Both blades oscillated between them.

"I am," he declared, loudly, as he reached for the hilt of his sword, and hung onto it for a moment. "I am!"

It took only an hour or so to go through the whole of Aethelflaed's estate, a process that Osthryth found incredibly satisfying. She instructed her men to leave everything, to not steal a single thing, for if Aethelflaed ever did have influence after her husband, in the end, she did not want any one of them hanged for even the theft of a clothes peg.

Nothing seemed to indicate whence they might have fled, but Osthryth did find something that she did take, and folded the ancient parchment up so she could conceal it inside her trouser waistband until she could look over it at leisure.

A map in her office rooms seemed to suggest Aethlflaed had some sort of connection to Caestre, and indeed, taking the road north would take them there. He spread it out on the large oak desk poring over it, looking at the burhs in all compass directions and Osthryth moved to stand next to him and she looked at the markings. Saltwic was at the centre. As she looked south, Glouester was marked.

"Unlikely," Osthryth suggested. "Too far south and too close to Edward." Eardwulf looked across to her, as if wondering whether Osthryth's support was genuine. When she carried on looking at the map, the man looked back too.

"East takes them back into Mercia - Danelaw," he commented. "Maybe there?"

"Because of the lord Uhtred, you mean?" Osthryth said.

"You think he is in this?"

"Can you conceive not? Who else would Aethelflaed trust?" SHe looked back to the table again, her eye looking west. "Would Hywel Dda give her shelter?"

"Perhaps. But my feeling is north." Eardwulf traced his finger north. Caestre." He tapped the parchment. "Close to the sea, Northumbria further north. Choices." Good points, Osthryth considered, and found herself agreeing. Of all of the directions they might have gone, north was her feeling too.

There was another reason for Osthryth to think Caestre. Uhtred despised his elder son for adhering to Christianity. Uhtred, for he had been baptied thus, was the bishop of Caestre. Was he seeing sanctuary with his son for Aelfwynn? Her nephew, Osthryth thought, as she looked at Caestre again on the map.

She watched Eardwulf gather the map up and secrete it inside his jerkin, wondering on his claim. He seemed genuine enough, and his declaration that he was for Mercia could be nothing other than genuine.

What if he did become Lord? He was of Mercia, and plenty of men had taken the step into royalty through politic as well as battlefield circumstances, Ceinid Mac Alpin, for one; Offa of Mercia for another.

Yet, was he strong enough to hold the country? Edward was strong, and Eardwulf needed to be stronger. But Osthryth supected that he had not got the support of the other lords, indeed Burghred proposed his own son on the same course, that is, to be married to Aethelflaed's daughter and even Burghred's opponents in the witan might not support their enemy's challenger on the basis that Eardwulf challenged, even if his claim of Aelfwynn had apparently been endorsed by poor, broken Aethelred before he had died. Which, of course, it had not. Plus, Edward was in the position where even if Eardwulf had everything going for him, he still could put him asunder.

Not a strong candidate, Osthryth thought as the men ate what they could find in the kitchens. Livestock had yet to be slaughtered, and Osthryth had seen none, which might suggest Saltwic had been abandoned for some time. Yet, cheese sat in the pantry and milk that was not yet sour stood on a cold stone. The estate had been abandoned at two days at the most.

"Rest, gather your strength," Eardwulf commanded, clearly showing his skill as a leader, and Osthryth found a chair on which to sit with the autumn's sunlight irradiating her face.

"Osthryth, you do have a plan?" Aelffrith sat beside her, as the men continued to go through the kitchen for anything else they could find to eat. "Because someone has murdered the lord Aethelred and I am convinced that we are being set up for this."

Osthryth turned her head and put her hand on Aelffrith's. She had suspected the same, and taking this line, of loyal, dogged warriors to a man nominally for Mercia also gave her time to find out who would frame them, and more importantly, why.

"I do," she nodded to her deputy, and he stood, relieving Oshere of a large chunk of bread, tearing it in two, and giving half to Osthryth. The warrior frowned at first, but then Osthryth stood and clapped him on the arm.

"See if there is more; take what you can. We will need it."

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North took Eardwulf and his guards upon an ancient pathway which connected the Dee estuary with the beginnngs of the Saeferne river just north of Salop. It had been hard going up until that point, and Osthryth had nearly fallen from the sure-footed Morning Star as they went at speed over uneven ground. Once they had passed the Wrekin, to the east, the way was getting easier, and she hung on to the bridle as her horse picked out the best way.

"Of course, we may be going wrong," Hereward called over to Osthryth, nervously, as they rode behind Eardwulf. "The lady Aethelflaed could be anywhere."

"It is not our choice," Osthryth replied. "It is the lord Eardwulf's." And it made little difference, as far as Osthryth could see. Not finding Aelfwynn and whoever was with her meant that whatever happened in Aylesbury would result in a new lord in the absence of Eardwulf. Edward may hold the power, but he risked civil war - Mercia was not Wessex, and everyone from the witan lords to the ceorls and even the slaves knew it.

And if she was found? Perhaps Aethelflaed was even now on her way back to Aylesbury with her daughter, by a different route, and would be proclaiming her Aethelred's kin. Or, was she proposing a different course? Osthryth still stood by her ghastly claim that her brother could take the lordship, and how better to uphold his claim than marrying Aelfwynn himself?

Ahead of them, two days later, and signs of people on the move by foot were starting to reveal themselves. The poor, of course, always travelled by road, but there seemed a regimented, order of disturbances. Fires, long dead and scattered to try to disguse them were often not far away from shelter and water. People were travelling north in an organised fashion. Eardwulf knew this, and Osthryth had to admit the man had been right.

So what would happen when they found them? A fight, of course, and Osthryth began the process of steeling her mind of emotion as she thought of a possible future confrontation between her men and her brother's. Stealth would be a better prospect, she advised Eardwulf when they next stopped for their horses. But the man shook his head.

"I have seen you fight, Osthryth," he said, firmly. "Why else would Merewalh have suggested you and your men?" Osthryth smiled, with satisfaction. So she had been right: Merewalh had been in alliance with Eardwulf for the sake of independence. Did he support Eardwulf in his claim? Merewalh was no fool, and not supporting Eardwulf would have given their cause yet another enemy, powerful enough to side with Edward if he had been snubbed, and put himself forward to be Mercia's puppet.

"You were right," Osthryth told him, as the miles flew under their horses' hooves. Wem, a hamlet, north of Salop had provided them with food and they were now close to Whitchurch, where Eardwulf planned for a half rest for them. A whole night was out of the question, he explained to Osthryth. If they had Aelfwynn with them, the girl would need rest, and he needed to gain an advantage on their head start.

And five days after leaving Saltwic it would seem that the Mercian commander's strategy had paid off, for a group of riders appeared on the horizon. At first, Osthryth thought that the group was coming toward them, and hailed her men be alert.

But they were closing in for a different reason: Eardwulf and his guard were closing in on the riders, not very quickly, it had to be admitted, and if Finan was with them, Osthryth considered, he would certainly have seen them by now. Which is why Osthryth suggested a sleight of hand.

She and two others would split off and take a path through the trees, overtaking Aelfwynn, if indeed that was whose riders they were, and turning to head south. The riders would then be between Eardwulf and Osthryth, and would have to slow down and meet them. Especially if Osthryth did not reveal herself immediately. This would give them the advantage.

Aelfkin and Aeglfrith rode with her. Aelffrith had proposed accompanying Osthryth and it was only after they had left, to ride though deeply wooded country, that she thought his offer might have been to do with something other than the strategy. She would be fine; sickness would pass, so she was given to understand, and apart from a little tiredness, she was as good as ever she had been.

It was Aelfwynn. Aeglfrith was the one who had spotted that the riders had stopped, and Osthryth had slowed down, so their horses rode across the ridge above slowly and with as little sound as possible. As they passed, she saw eight people in a clearing, resting, eating, doing something which relied on them not being on horseback, and indeed horses were tied to trees and figures seemed to be in no hurry to leave immediately, which they might have been if they had suspected they were being pursued.

As they passed onwards and overtook them, Osthryth peered down, trying to see who else was in the clearing. Five adults, Osthryth discerned, six, perhaps, and two children. One of whom, Osthryth could tell, with bright, fair hair, as being Aelfwynn. Though she had never met the girl, the child, of maybe eleven or twelve, had the same stance as her mother, long limbed and tall and she moved as Aethelred did, long strides, as if she was in charge of all of the people with her. Which indeed she very well might be.

And Osthryth's suspicions were confirmed about her retinue as they followed the ridge east, before it headed north again, and she glimpsed, in his finery, her brother. OnlyI Uhtred would go on a rescue mission dressed in his arm rings and war armour, though his helmet was on the ground now, and being inspected by another small figure, another child, Osthryth guessed.

So it was with astonishment then, that as Osthryth made to pull away from the scene, to ride further north, and then turn back, that she realised that Aelfwynn's group had been joined by more riders. They had stopped just short of the clearing, and ranged out in a line side by side. It was Eardwulf, with Aelffrith, Oshere and Hereward beside him. They were about to challenge Uhtred for Aethelflaed's daughter. So, instead of north, Osthryth bade Aeglfrith and Aelfkin take their horses down the ridge very slowly, and head onto the road coming back up to the rear of the group. The same plan, just far sooner than Osthryth imagined she would be carrying it out.

And Osthryth watched. Eardwulf was talking to the group, had stepped out from the line and was talking to Uhtred, who had stepped away from his men too.

Osthryth could see his warriors, Aelfwynn, and a boy, black haired. There was an older girl, and beside the warriors a woman. Aethelflaed she wondered, but the woman wasn't tall enough. And then, her hood came down and the morning sunlight betrayed the truth. It was Eadith, Aethelred's lover, and Eardwulf's sister. Beside her, and holding her hand was Aelfwynn.

Was this plot known to Eardwulf? Had he got his sister to ingratiate herself with the men, seduce them, seduce Uhtred? Was it a plan, such as once described in a story from long ago in Mediterranean lands, of a sieging army leaving the siege, only to present their enemies with a gift of a large horse, just large enough to conceal warriors, who sprang from the horse in the dead of night and admitted their army?

It didn't seem so. Eardwulf, now crossing towards Eadith was met with a bristle of sword points, which caused him to stop and he conceded before them. It looked to Osthryth that he was trying to negotiate, but those behind the swords were holding them fast.

"Come on," Osthryth beckoned, leading Morning Star with her down a path which took them gently behind the ridge and in the direction of the party. Not one guard was looking in their direction, but that did not mean anything; her brother was a skilled strategist - someone would be there somewhere.

And that someone was a guard, who had taken that moment to have a piss by an alder tree. Aeglfrith despatched him and, as he dropped without a scream onto the carpet of autumn leaves underfoot which thankfully muffled much of the sound.

Aelfkin tied up the horses and spread out like Osthryth was miming, so that they were approaching the group on three sides. She was close enough now that, if Aelffrith and Osthryth had agreed a signal, he would have been able to see her. She glanced to one side and saw Aelfkin stalking much the same as she was stalking. Aelgfrith, lean legs pushing him silently in the direction of the campfire, stooped to take up three of the weapons lying on the blankets, a sword and two seaxes, stowing them in his leather belt after nodding at his find, for they were fine indeed.

Oshere and Aelffrith were now on either side of Eardwulf, as Uhtred's warriors stepped towards them, and Osthryth saw a young boy who was with them turn. He had seen her. There was no point in pretending to hide, and the boy's wide eyes fixed on her as she stepped towards them, and tried to rid from her mind whose hand he was holding; Finan was fully focused on acting with Uhtred, and if he did notice a silent tug to his wrist he did not acknowlege it.

Numbers favoured Eardwulf, Osthryth had to admit Though they were only five, and the party ten warriors, for some, like the guard killed just beyond them, looked as if they had come from Saltwix. There would be a skirmish, and with children about, the advantage was definitely theirs.

Osthryth crept further forward and her line was converging with Aelfkin's pathway, as they sought to tread even closer, but it seemed the boy had alerted them, and, as one, Finan, Osferth and Sihtric turned and bore down on them, swords raised.

Aeglfrith had managed after two strokes to get Osferth onto his back, grinning at the baby monk as he poked his blade towards them. At the same time, the belligerence had made Uhtred draw both Aelfwynn and the black-haired boy to him, raising a sword towards Oshere and Aelffrith who, to their credit, had not moved.

And Aelfkin was being fought by Finan, but Osthryth did not dare to turn to look: for one thing, Sihtric was bearing down on her, his blade flashing with the sun's rays, almost blinding her. He would have struck her in two had she not sprung out of his way, Buaidh between his shoulder blades, as Osthryth grabbed an arm and held it at his back.

She had seen him fight better, Osthryth thought, as she remembered her time fighting Sihtric over his wife who had taking a liking to Osthyth at the inn in Winchester. A vicious comeback was already on her tongue, and she would dearly have liked to have used it, but she was not about to let herself be discovered here - there was a plan much bigger than herself afoot for Mercia and she would not ruin it for insults.

"You will not keep the girl from me," Eardwulf was saying, "Look - my men have bettered yours. We are prepared to walk away with the lady Aelfwin, as were her father's wishes."

"It is true," Aelffrith added, "The lord Aethelred did indeed approve the match." A lie, Osthyth thought, but a relative one. Better the girl to be taken with Eardwulf rather than whatever plot this was that would take her north. Far better to scupper Aethelflaed's plans.

But then, someone stood between Uhtred and Eardwulf. It was Eadith. And, to Osthryth's horror, she heard the lord Eardwulf's sister accuse Eardwulf of murdering Aethelred.

It was then she knew as cold, hard anger flooded over her like a waterfall in the depths of winter - Eardwulf had been playing them for a fool, letting them accompany him, get them away from Aylesbury. His first act as lord, once solemnised, no doubt, would be to execute them all for treason. Osthryth held Buaidh close to Sihtric, who struggled under her hold as she watched the scene closer. Eardwulf was accused of not only murder but stealing the ring of Mercia's lords and king right back to Penda.

"If you do not believe me, look in the pouch that he carries around his neck!" Eadith demanded. And Eardwulf did not stop his captain, Hereward, from taking it from him.

Perhaps Eardwulf expected Hereward to lie as the young man felt inside the leather pouch, that he commanded loyalty for Mercia, that it was a fait accomplis that he was lord already.

But out came the huge emerald, which must have been traded and traded again before it ended up in that middle kingdom of Britain and placed into a setting for the ruler of that land, and it suddenly made sense to Osthryth: have the heir, Aelfwynn, in this case; have the token of rule, the ring. Have a weak lordship and an empty throne, and all that was needed was a man seemingly willing to meet all the criteria.

Except that he hadn't. For, when Hereward threw the ring towards Eadith, it was then that Eardwulf struck, running his sword so forcefully throught his captain's frame that the blade came through him again.

And it had been that, for Osthryth. Odious man that he was, she could never have countenanced that he would take such casual revenge and she pushed Sihtric out of the way and ran to him, thrusting Buaidh through the man's neck, screaming her rage as she did so.

Eadith gave out a shriek of fear, as blood covered Osthryth's face, as vengeance for the once boy she had trained was precipitated in fury and anger. When she had finished, a good deal of blood covered Osthryth, and she stood back, before spitting on his body. Later, Osthryth would think on her murder, and not know where the strength of her ferocity had come from. But for their commander to do away with one of his own captains so casually, so arrogantly, it was shameful.

She turned to the group now, as Aelffrith banded to her side. Next to him, Oshere and Aeglfrith. Behind them, there seemed to be some kind of stalemate between Aelfkin and Finan, who had stopped combatting when Eadith had spoken. Finan did not resist when Aelfkin strode over to be at Osthryth's side.

"Who is your captain?" Uhtred demanded. "Who speaks for you?" Aelffrith took a sideways glance to Osthryth and then stepped forward.

"I do," he confirmed. "It is not the way I would have intended justice for my comrade," he gestured towards Hereward, as Osthryth gratitude glow inside. "The lord Eardwulf planned uprising, and, as you yourself admitted, lady, "He had killed the lord Aethelred - our lord and leader," he added, "to usurp his place, and framing my company in the deed." He nodded to Osthryth's men and she wondered why he had never risen to captain. He took a step towards Uhtred.

"Do you agree justice has been served here?" And it was now Aelffrith's personable, charismatic manner came into his own. Even Uhtred seemed to be unmoved to speak, for his usual tactic was to wrest power from others. But here, now, he let Aelffrith speak.

"Yes," Uhtred agreed. "Justice has been done. Mercia has been saved, not just from Danes, but from Wessex." He stood beside Aelffrith.

"We will make to the city, and inform the witan that, in the line of his duty, the lord Eardwulf was tragically killed, and has been buried in the land he loved best." Uhtred glanced at Eadith, who still had her hands to her face in horror. She looked back to him, and nodded.

"Do you, men of Mercia, swear to your land? To Mercia?"

And then, as one, all four of Osthryth's men stood about her, Oshere and Aelfkin, Aeglfrith, and Aelffrith, and cried, "We swear!"

"Finan, Sihtric, bury the body." Uhtred looked across to Eadith, and paused. She nodded, slowly at first, and then more vigorously. He turned to Aelffrith. "We are ceased," Uhtred said. "Come with us back to Aylesbury, and I hold that none of my men will attack yours, as long as none of yours will attack mine." And Uhtred took a quick glace to Osthryth as he said that, as she stood flanked by her men, holding swords in her defense.

"Agreed," Aelffrith replied, looking Uhtred up and down. "And we will bury our captain." He nodding to Hereward and he did not even have to ask Aeglfrith and Oshere to take Hereward with them, they simply peeled away and knelt to Hereward, Oshere placing two hands on the dead captain's shoulders, with Aeglfrith touching his forehead.

"We need a priest," he said, and looked around, spying a person he had spotted shortly before, a monk with a sword in his hand. Before Osthryth could say anything, Aeglfrith was stalking over to Osferth, who turned round to him quickly, as if expecting another fight from him.

Uhtred had turned too, and he watched as Osthryth watched, Aeglfrith persuade Osferth to come with him, over to Hereward, and her heart melted as Osferth knelt to their dead captain and, pulling the man's hands together, held them in his own and said the "Lord's Prayer".

"What was his name?" Osferth asked, and Aeglfrith told him.

"May your servant Hereward sit with you, oh Lord, in peace for all days eternal." And then he stood, and watched as Oshere began to dig a grave right there beside Hereward, Osthryth turned away.

If it had not been Eardwulf for his cowardy, self-satisfied, casual disregard for everything, even basic humanity, Osthryth felt that, really, she would have flown at her brother. All hatred and bile and anger she felt came out, released in an instant by another lord paying the price for his own betrayal of his men.

They settled to camp for the night in that clearing, Aelfkin and Oshere taking the first watch around the section of land where they would rest for the night. A natural rise of land separated Osthryth's men and Uhtred's, and no doubt her brother would post guards of his own.

She could not help it. Having got the camp fire going herself, and having Aelfkin raid their horses' panniers for the food they had liberated from Saltwic Osthryth then made an attempt on rabbit, until Taghd's seax slipped and she skinned the edge of her thumb. Aelffrith gently took the seax from her, and led her from the fire, and Osthryth couldn't help but sit next to him, the effort to remain awake being almost too much for her to bear.

Aeglfrith managed the rabbit, and had managed to find another and Osthryth watched as he expertly boiled the flesh of the animals, the smoke from the wood fire curling parallel with the trunks of the ash trees and filtered its way into the canopy of trees above.

"Why you?" Aelffrith asked her, as she leaned against a tree. It was surprisingly comfortable, but she leaned from it as her deputy sat beside her. "Why did you choose to do it out of all of us?"

"Because I am not a true Mercian," Osthryth said. "None of you could see Eardwulf as anything other than a lord. And when you return to Aylesbury, none of you have to bear that guilt. It is not my fight. It's his." She looked across to Uhtred as he sat with his men. No guilt he for murder, as the children dozed around him. No guilt for her imprisonment, her torture.

She watched as Aelffrith looked over to the camp again, ansd she followed his gaze, over the young children, the boy nestled beside Osferth; the girl asleep beside Stiorra. They must have all been with Aelfwynn, wherever she had been hidden, and her guess that the boy was Aethelstan, Edward's eldest child. How it seemed like only yesterday when Edward had enthused on the flush of his first love, Ecgwynn, Aethelstan's mother. Beamfleot was being fought for; Aethelflaed was only a girl in her first flush of marriage.

Where was she now? Osthryth did not know. Did she know of her husband's death? Of his murder? It was why she could not flee north, as she wanted to, with more than enough intelligence to satisfy Constantine. If she did that, her men, these good men of Mercia, would be blamed for both Eardwulf's and Aethelred's deaths.

And her eye lit on Finan, happy in his rest, as he ate and drank, and laughed with Sihtric. And watched, too, that he got to his feet and ran his hand through his hair as Eadith crossed to them. He leaned towards her as she spoke and, to Osthryth, she did not look like a woman that was now particularly concerned that her brother had been murdered.

She drew her eyes away, not quickly, enough, however. Not quickly enough not to see the man that she loved in the whole world place a tender hand on Eadith's shoulder. When she looked back to the fire, and Aeglfrith still tending the supper, she turned her head slowly back to Aelffrith.

"My brother is the best chance Mercia has of independence from Wessex," Osthryth concluded. "He will hold Edward to account, and heal the rift. Plus, he is half-Mercian too, through his mother. He has a blood claim, as well as a moral one."

"Your brother?" Aelffrith's face betrated confusion, and Osthryth nodded towards Uhtred. "My brother," she emphasised. "My kindly, generous, just brother, who - " she broke off, and gripped Buaidh's hilt.

"He is, and always has been, the lord Aethelred's cousin. Can you not see him commanding Mercia's best?" She nodded to her men. "Can you not see his holding Mercia against Edward?"

"Then tell him!" Aelffrith urged. "Tell him that he should be proposing himself." But Osthryth shook her head.

"No." Osthryth shook her head, no longer afraid to tell anyone about her time past, in that woebegotten land of Wessex. "I do not trust myself, not yet. It was only by a fraction that my will drove me to Eardwulf this day."

"I saw his hand," he replied.

"I staked him to a guard table with a spear, for he was dead drunk that night," Osthryth replied, then turned from him, and leaned against the ash tree again. She felt the leaves crunch beside her, and she turned her head, watching Aelffrith cross their camp and appear at the higher ground before Uhtred's.

"Captain," Aelgfrith said, and handed Osthryth a cloth, in which was wrapped a rabbit leg. He handed her a skin containing water, then nodded to her.

"You were brave today, captain," Aeglfrith said. Osthryth gave him a thin smile. She had not been. It should be her, now, at a neutral meeting place, forwarding the idea she had long had to Uhtred's face.

"Should I have done it, Aeglfrith?" she asked, looking into his honest, brown eyes. Aeglfrith frowned and shook his head.

"I fear not," he replied, though his face showed confusion. He was conflicted. All who stood there that day knew that beyond thieves and murderers were traitors, and Eardwulf had betrayed a man lower in status than himself. He had been a low coward. All knew it.

"Yet, he had betrayed us," Osthryth replied. "When he called us to ride, what he did do was leave the death of the lord Aethelred at our feet. When we return to Aylesbury, that is the charge that has been laid on us. And I cannot even bring Eardwuld to justice, to make him admit what he did was wrong." She looked at Aeglfrith again. Poor man, he had only come over to give her supper.

"Thank you," Osthryth nodded, then bit into the rabbit thigh. It crumbled from the bone as she raised it to her lips and the flesh tasted exquisite. "You have skill in cooking," Osthryth said.

"I like to cook, captain," he replied. "My mother is a cook with the royal househld. She taught me." Osthryth glanced at the movement by the trees, and Oshere approached them.

"Then I will not detain you," Osthryth said, stiffly as she cast an eye over to Aelffrith again. If anyone could be an ambassador to her brother it was Aelffrith. Then, she watched him return to their own camp.

"The lord Uhtred has said their plans had now changed, and they were returning to Saltwic in the morning, for somewhere where Aelfwynn may be safe."

"Her mother's estate," Osthryth replied, grimly.

"Indeed," Aelffrith replied, "And we are to swear loyalty to her, as the dowager lady of Mercia."

You may, Osthryth thought. I will not.

"And of my plan?" She caught Aelffrith's expression. "He will be loyal to Mercia, that I know."

"It is not that," Aelffrith replied. "He has said that you must submit to trial for the death of the lord Eardwulf."

And that made Osthryth get to her feet. Tired, both in her body and mind, she stood and faced Uhtred's camp.

"You do not need to do this; fly, to Alba." But Osthryth turned to him, sharply.

"I will do no such thing!" Osthryth replied, hotly. "I swore to Mercia; Aethelred was as much my lord as anyone, though he was dissolute and lazy." She craned over to see if she could see her brother, over at his camp, but could not see him from her vantage point.

"So, you will fetch him," Osthryth said, and saw Aelffrith's face. "Please?" And so her friend crossed the camp again, finding Uhtred, who was in conversation with Aethelstan, as Osthryth followed. Had he not recognised her then? The thought drifted into her mind as Aelffrith stood before her brother. One look in her direction and Uhtred stalked across to her.

"You wish to speak, so your captain said," Uhtred said. There was a sneer in his voice and a mocking leer, and Osthryth withdrew her swird, thrusting Buaidh into the soil before them. Serpent breath joined Buaidh, and it looked as if the two weapons were facing off to one another.

"I am their captain," Osthryth corrected him. "Aelffrith speaks as my deputy, though he temporarily took command of the division, as you saw." She turned to look at him, and saw that beside Aelffrith her men were ranged, watching them.

"I will submit to trial, if that is what is needed," Osthryth continued, waiting for Uhtred to recognise her, to fly at her, for what she had done to him at Bebbanburg, for the Scottish plot that had delayed his siege, that had likely caused his failure to capture the prize he held most dear, for burning the deeds that proclaimed him lord. For thwarting him on many, many occasions. Thankfully, it was dark enough that Finan did not see her, and she made sure she had positioned herself away from the camp. Ulnlike her men, Uhtred's warriors were not ranged behind him.

"It is I said," Uhtred replied, simply, then made to withdraw his blade. "Over." And Osthryth smirked inwardly. It would mean he would have to speak, too, and he would not wish to have to justify himself to the Mercian lords over why he was in fleeing with Lord Aethelred's daughter and King Alfred's grandson.

"Then my men, who are wholly innocent," Osthryth reminded him, "Will be condemned in my stead. Eardwulf set them up to take the blame for Aethelred's death." She looked at Serpent Breath. Three times now Buaidh had lived up to her name and had claimed victory over the snake. She could pick her up again and fight her brother for a fourth time. She stepped closer to Uhtred.

"Do what you will on my account, but let it be known at the witan that they are not to blame. Let - " she waved her hand towards Eadith, "His sister proclaim what she saw. If she saw, others might have. It will not be on my account that they suffer. I am their leader, it was clear to everyone here that I take responsibility for Eardwulf's death."

Uhtred looked at her for a moment. Still no recognition, Osthryth thought. Had she changed so much?

"I have no influence," Uhtred scorned. "Though I say, here and now, it is over."

"And my men wrongly maligned?" she asked, hotly. "You have every influence," Osthryth protested. "No longer is Eardwulf pursuing the lady Aethelflaed's daughter; Burghred's claim through his son is pitiful. So, from what I can see, you have the strongest claim to the throne yourself. Marry Aethelflaed, if that is what is needed, and I can see a union of two kingdoms rather than a civil war. For then surely Alfred's dream will be over, as will the dream of many you hold dear."

When he said nothing, Osthryth added, "There is a big independence movement; your name has been spoken many times."

"King of Mercia?" He laughed at the words. But evn now, Osthryth could see there was intrigue in his eyes.

"Or you can fight me again, in which case, it will be four to me." Osthryth knew she was being provocative, but she needed to be. Bebbanburg was the only thing on Uhtred's mind, and to consider Mercia as somewhere he could rule justly was not in the sphere of his mind.

"Osthryth?" He asked. It was the first time she considered that he had ever said her name. But she held up a hand as he looked with astonishment on his face.

"Go, now, to my men and tell them that they are good men and have stood true to their captain," she insisted. "That I submit to your justice."

"You submit to my justice?" Uhtred repeated, as Osthryth stood unmovingly before him.

"You accept that you will make a claim to rule Mercia?" But Uhtred shook his head.

"If I do that, it will be a lifetime before my son will be old enough to inherit the throne. I cannot then bid for - "

"And even if you do bid for Bebbanburg, who is to say that you will have it? Wihtgar is strengthening, and he may yet will to want to rule. But there could be another." Uhtred stared at her.

"You?"

"Do you think I am in Mercia for a sightseeing tour?" Uhtred laughed, despite himself. "These men are innocent, of both Eardwulf's murder, and of Aethelred's murder. Even if I did come before the weak and disunified lords that make up Mercia's witan, I would not be listened to. And ever, Edward would strengthen and invade." And what she was about to say appalled her, even in her own mind.

"If you have any remorse for what you did to me, what you allowed that man to do to me, you will claim the throne for yourself. Abdicate at a time that suits you, when another strong leader shows up. But do not abandon the country for vanity."

This time it was Uhtred who was lost for words. He stood before Osthryth and stared at her. Then, he took a step towards her.

Maybe now, maybe after all of this, now was the time he was going to lay a path for peace between them, reconcile after all that had gone between them. But he did not. Instead, he put his hand to Serpent Breath.

"You are here on behalf of Constantine," Uhtred accused.

"I will not deny it. Wealth must be found to support Thyra and Beocca's daughter."

"She must eat silver and sleep on a gold bed, for all the money you have stolen from me over the years," Uhtred growled, then looked across to Aelffrith, scanning the faces of Osthryth's warriors. "What is her name?"

"Aedre," Osthryth said.

"Your name," Uhtred replied.

"I wasn't using it at the time."

Uhtred stared at her for a moment, before heaving Serpent Breath out of the earth. "I will do all I can for Mercia's warriors. I will withdraw the need for a trial," he added, "For their benefit. As for us - "

"There is no "us"", Osthryth shot back. There could not be, and in her mind the wall of division, which had temporarily been removed, shot back into place. She could no more trust her brother than she could trust a frozen river in spring time. He would always be treacherous, with an undercurrent of unpredictability and would always hate her. "We are of one accord?"

"We are," Uhtred replied. "I will allow this independence movement to propose my accession to the throne of Mercia, and be this country's lord. And you, you will - "

But Osthryth had pulled Buaidh out of the ground and was stalking back to her camp. She would never declare to her brother that she would stand aside for him over Bebbanburg. It was too strategic for the Scots, even if Wihtgar did abandon it.

Uhtred broke oaths like he broke bread, she knew, but he would not break this one. Mercia would bring him riches. Whoever he chose to replace him would be an ally, so the borderland between Mercia and Northumbria would be at peace.

And, she mused, he may even enjoy being Mercia's ruler. Like Osthryth in Cumbraland, Uhtred might feel an unexplained attraction towards the land, as if he owed it loyalty. It was something. And, as Aelffrith suggested, she could fly to Alba. If Uhtred decided to have her stand for Eardwulf, she would be long gone. It was a pity, Osthryth told herself, for she had half imagined Aylesbury to be a suitable place to be to give birth, peaceful, orderly, no witchcraft accusation to stain her character. It was out of the question now, and her eye strayed to Finan who was, again, engaged in the company of the lady Eadith.

"What did he say?" Aelffrith asked, as Osthryth moved towards them. She could stand before her men now, for she had done the leader-like thing, liaised with the enemy's leader and found a solution. She looked at her men, who were waiting, silently, beside their deputy.

"I alone am responsible, and whatever the outcome, no blame falls to you," she added, looking at every one of her men in turn. "If he decides he cannot hold his peace, I will stand before the witan in trial."

"And you think you stand alone, Captain?" It was Aelfkin who spoke, his earnest, ready face eager for Osthryth to hear him. "You will not face the witan alone - I...we will be alongside you, as you are alongside us!" And with that, a cheer went up from her men, from Aeglfrith, who took her shoulder and clapped his hand on it in support, of Oshere, who looked over to the grave of Hereward, and could not prevent water welling beside his eyes.

"You are our leader," Aelffrith summarised, "You are our captain, good and true, and we all stand with you, to whatever end."

"Though I am no Mercian, I found myself in Mercia once again," Osthryth told them, "And leading you when I had no cause to." She looked amongst them, smiled a weary smile. "If I am a good and true leader, then it is you, the best of Mercia, the richest and most honourable, that make me so."

And she stopped, then, giving them orders for the night, for if she had not, Osthryth knew that she would break down and sob. And that was no way for a leader to behave.

"Aelffrith," she managed to say, "Give the night orders." And Osthryth watched as her men, with renewed vigour, went about their duties.

"What did he say?" Aelffrith asked again, as her three warriors went about their business.

"That he would ensure the men are not held to Eardwulf's lies." She glanced across to Uhtred's camp. "That it was indeed an honour to be proposed, and gladly he would consider it, should the witan approve."

"Of course he did," Aelffrith replied, grimly, "For it has been spoken enough to the right people, behind closed doors. Your proposal to Merewalh at such a thing only confirmed what many have long approved of." He smiled at Osthryth, warmly. "You have just sped up the process, and embedded the idea in his mind. You are more loyal to Mercia than you give yourself credit for."

Osthryth said no more, and moved even less when she settled down by the ash tree near the fire and closed her eyes, not even stirring when Aelffrith came to her, as darkness fell, and covered her in a cloak, sitting by her all night, until the morning came, and they rode south, to Saltwic again.

"And what was all that about?" Finan asked, nodding towards Osthryth's camp. "Was that bastard captain whimpering for his life?"

"That bastard captain was offering his fate, most likely his life, in exchange that his warriors be held entirely blameless for Eardwulf's death," Uhtred mused.

"And you are minded to give it to him?" Finan asked, screwing up his eyes. Even when the captain had been opposite Uhtred, his excellent eyesight had failed to pick out who he might be.

"I am," Uhtred replied, and then told Finan that many Mercians would have him made Lord of Mercia.

"Christ," Finan replied, when Uhtred had finished, his eye catching Eadith's again. "It would seem that fake, dead Danes coming out of the soil and proclaiming prophesies are not entirely wrong."

88888888

Uhtred took the lead as they rode back south to Saltwic. A little way behind rode Osthryth and Aelffrith, her three men behind leading both Hereward's and Eardwulf's horses and in front of them.

It was all too slow for her. Osthryth's heart wanted to gallop across country with her men and get to Aylesbury, to speak to Merewalh and Aldhelm. But at the pace needed for the children to stay in the saddle, it was tedious.

Behind her, Aeglfrith and Oshere were playing "scenery", a predictably easy game whereby, whenever there was a bend in the road or there was an undulation in the path, they would guess a feature in the landscape. There had been a minor argument over whether the Saeferne river, seen more than once counted as one or two and that had amused Osthryth, but her mind was taken up with getting her men back to Aylesbury as quickly as possible, and that could only be done in the presence of Uhtred.

And, presumably, Aethelflaed, when they returned to Saltwic. She would join them; she would direct them. And if Uhtred told her of Osthryth and what she had done, Aethelflaed would, no doubt, find a way to have her trialled for murder.

This was on her mind, Osthryth thought, but there was more on her heart. Uhtred would have told Finan that she was there, leading the Mercian warriors. But he had sent no word, not even to find out how she was keeping. He had not even turned to look at her.

Osthryth's only conclusion was that he must be besotted with Eadith then, though his black hair stood out against the green and gold scenery typical of Mercia, and he rode with Aethelstan in front, where Uhtred could keep a good view, not having turned to her, either.

Stiorra, who seemed a very capable horsewoman, rode with Aelfwynn, with Eadith beside them. The girl seemed pale and wan, maybe a fever of some sort, which only time in her own home could help. Beside Eadith, Osferth rode, Sihtric near the back. He had turned to look at Osthryth, and smiled once or twice. Maybe grinning, for she must still be covered in blood from killing Eardwulf.

But the miles whittled away, and soon the river widened to the settlement where, only two nights before, Eardwulf had made them storm, and she hoped that none of them realised that it was them who had broken in, or else things might get much more serious.

"Look," Aelffrith said sharply, as the gates opened, and Uhtred's party went in. He pointed just beyond, and beside the woman standing there - Aethelflaed, of course - stood -

"Aldhelm!" The name burst from her lips, loudly and intensely, and she slipped from her saddle, and trod towards him. Aethelflaed gave Osthryth a foul look, which she ignored.

"I must speak with you," Osthryth said. Aldhelm, who had been talking to Aethelflaed, looked across at her, falling silent.

"I will wait," Osthryth said, raising a hand as Aldhelm beckoned them all into the courtyard. "Of course, the Mercian warriors can follow you," she added, "for they are your guard - "

"How generous of you," Aethelflaed murmured to her, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"As auxiliary, now the succession is secured, you will no longer be needing me." And she laughed when she saw poor Aldhelm's face.

"If you will excuse me, my lady," Aldhelm said, to Aethelflaed's obvious disgust, "I will speak to my captain."

"Osthryth," he said, patient as ever, but with the dark circles and pale face of a man who had not had the luxury of sleep. "Succession?" he asked. "And where is Hereward, and the lord Eardwulf? You left with him, did you not?" But Osthryth was not finished yet, and she brought her hand to Morning Star's bridle.

"I ask for nothing more than food for her, and a little water for myself," Osthryth said. "Whatever the lady can spare."

"Osthryth, you can come into the fortress; you may eat, you may bathe," he added, when he saw what she looked like.

"The men have been accused of killing the lord Aethelred," Osthryth proposed. "They did not; I did not. I took them with Eardwulf as Merewalh instructed, to find the lady Aelfwynn and bring her back securely." She looked at the gates of Saltwic, "And she is safe and secure, not gallivanting around the Mercian countryside getting sick." Which is what Uhtred had done, possibly at Aethelflaed's behest.

"Osthryth, Osthryth," Aldhelm said, trying to calm her down, and she was aware she was beginning to sound hysterical. "Stop, and try telling me what happened."

"Eardwulf happened," Osthryth told him. "We managed to locate Aelfwynn, and I assumed he was going to order us to fight, to seize her and take her to safety to Aylesbury. But, it was a ploy. He had set up the plan to wed her himself and usurp the throne of Mercia!"

"I know," Aldhelm said. "I found out after you have left. As I found out he tried to set the murder of Aethelred onto your men." Osthryth found herself nodding in agreement. "So, Hereward?"

"Murdered," Osthryth said, baldly. "By Eardwulf."

"And Eardwulf?"

"Murdered. By me." And Osthryth told Aldhelm how he had casually despatched his captain when he had uncovered the truth of the stolen ring, and Aethelred's murder.

"I trained Hereward, when he was with the lord Odda," Osthryth added. "He did not deserve to die that way. And I was angry, and I flew at him." Aldhelm considered her for a few moments as Osthryth said no more.

"Who witnessed this?" Aldhelm asked.

"All with the lord Uhtred," Osthryth told him, "And all of my men. It cannot be concealed."

"It will be," Aldhelm told her. "It will be arranged." He touched her elbow as if to escort her towards Saltwic but Osthryth shook her arm away from Aldhelm furiously.

"I will throw myself on my sword, first, rather than enter that woman's hall!" Osthryth declared, bitterly. "Some things can never be forgotten, nor forgiven. And I will not wait out here like a vagabond." Aldhelm did not press her on what she had said, and instead gave a little laugh.

"It is with regret that I give up my position as auxiliary captain. Once I have returned to Aylesbury for my possessions, I will be leaving the country." Osthryth heaved herself up onto Morning Star's back. Aldhelm did not stop her from bringing her horse around in a circle, yet Osthryth felt she could not leave yet. Something was wrong; something was missing.

"Please tell Aelffrith he is an excellent commander. In fact, give him captaincy; he negotiated with the lord Uhtred magnificently. Just, assure me, Aldhelm, that no blame is attached to the reputations of Aeglfrith and Oshere and Aelfkin."

"i assure you Osthryth," Aldhelm reiterated, but then held onto Morning Star's bridle. "Will you wait? If you have decided to leave, I will not stop you. But, will you delay, just for a few hours? And can you tell me, who has the Mercian ring?" That, she could answer, but it was difficult for Osthryth to promise the former.

"Eadith," she replied, "For she stood in front of her brother and told him that she had seen him crush the lord Aethelred's skull. Hereward threw it to her, and she kept it." Aldhelm nodded.

"Two hours," he told Osthryth, "until the sun is at its zenith. Then you may do as you will. Do we have an agreement?"

"We do," Osthryth confirmed, and begain to stare at the wheat field, stare at the brilliant, October sky. And realised that, sometime around now, it was her birthday. She slipped from the saddle and tethered Morning Star, before searching the panniers which hung either side of her mare for any food that remained. Aldhelm watched her, owlishly.

"Food was brought to Saltwic from Aylesbury," he told her. "So I will bring you some of that. I will send Aelffrith with refreshment for your horse; she may eat the grass here as she will.

Osthryth waited, watching the sun in the sky slowly edge its way higher.

88888888

And now she was on the run. Behind her, four horses were racing after her as she made Morning Star sweat and pant as they rode south east. The sun had reached the top, and Osthryth had, without even a backwards glance, set off from Saltwic.

No-one came. Not one. Not Aldhelm or Aelffrith. Whatever was happening inside Aethelflaed's fortress was of no importance to her, and Osthryth fixed her mind on Aylesbury, and then Alba.

As she was considering her best passage to Alba, as the sun lit on the main Bycaestre road, Osthryth caused to slow, and then stop, taking a relief in the bushes before re-mounting. It was pleasant out there, in the fragile autumn sun, as a chill breeze flitted around her, and she wondered what her mother, Gytha, would have thought when she had given birth to the girl Aedre, as she had been, and how her father would have taken the news.

Now, she would be returning north to birth her own child, and she was much older than her mother had been. And she was going further north than Bebbanburg, but with some money, and much intelligence.

It was just as Osthryth got her hands to Morning Star's saddle when she noticed the riders. A black, cloud moving across the landscape and, at first, Osthryth was minded to look up, for cumulonimbus clouds.

But the sky was clear, and Osthryth looked again. At that speed, they could only be one thing - riders coming the way she had done. She was being followed, by someone who wanted her caught.

Over a hedge, and then through a forest, Osthryth darted past trees and woodland, with the hope of scattering them. But out on the other side, she realised that it had done nothing to slow their speed, and Morning Star was beginning to tire.

Hands on the reins now, Osthryth bent her head low to make her horse go faster, but Morning Star was racing as fast as Osthryth had remembered, moisture flicking from their coat.

Later, Osthryth wondered whether she would have been a better rider had she been trained, like her niece, Stiorra, or Aethelflaed. Perhaps not, but Morning Star was slowing. Those who pursued her were not. She would have to fight.

Hunger gnawed at her stomach as her horse slowed her pace, and Osthryth looked over her shoulder once again. They were gaining, and she could not stop their acceleration.

So, she did not. Turning to face her pursuers, Osthryth withdrew Buaid. Morning Star was heaving now at the strain, so Osthryth stopped and held her sword out before her.

Then, lowered it. For, into her middle vision came someone she knew, having ridden alongside him so many times. Her captain.

Merewalh.

Exhausted, Osthryth slipped from Morning Star and stood beside her, Buaidh in hand. Merewalh slowed and, behind him, her men, Aelffrith and Oshere, Aeglfrith and Aelfkin.

"Osthryth!" Merewahl called, as Osthryth held her sword high. She was cold and tired, hungry. But she was prepared to fight to the very end.

"Osthryth" Merewahl called again, and slipped from his saddle, taking the reins of his black horse in his hand and walking towards her. "Have no fear! Do you think we would let you ride alone?"

And so, again, Osthryth's men had shown their loyalty.

"As ever, my strength is from you all," she said, as the warriors drew slower. It was hardly a speech; Osthryth's words seemed to be as tangled as her hair.

She got back onto her horse and, Merewalh and Aelffrith on either side of her, rode past Bycaestre and to High Cross, passing south through Seashes and on, into the plan into which Aylesbury sat.

Mercia was getting a new leader and, Osthryth knew, she would not be there to see it. Alba was her destination now, she had some silver but, more importantly, now it was clear that Finan had moved on, she had her child to raise. And, too, an offer to make to Constantine.

88888888

"The lord Uhtred has already been approached and has accepted to be made Lord of Mercia," Merewalh told her, when they had stabled the horses. The men had gone to get clean. Aelfkin had already located his girl and, as Oshere and Aeglfrith made it to the armoury to get clean, her youngest warrior walked off, arm around her.

"You will need to talk to him," Osthryth said to Merewalh, as she glanced to Morning Star, who was already being cleaned and brished by a stable boy. "It is better coming from a man."

"Tell him to leave girls alone and try boys?" Merewalh replied. He was trying to make her feel better with a weak quip, and Osthryth indulged him.

"OK, Aelffrith then?" She played along.

"Osthryth, come with me. I think you need a little more care than you are allowing yourself," he told her.

"I will be leaving, Merewalh," Osthryth said, but conceded to follow, into the armoury, and the room beyond, where she had sat with him on some nights, when she had talked with him. Not Merewalh, but Aldhelm, whi was also lost to her, lost to the lady Aethelflaed. She had suggested it. It made head-sense, though it made her heart sore to her loss.

"Wait," Merewalh said, and left the room for a second, opening the door to the corridor, and Osthryth heard the latch click open.

"The men need their captain," Merewalh told her, severely. "Can you bring yourself to leave them?"

"Aelffrith can lead them, he is more than competent. I committed murder before their eyes."

"Justice, and leadership, that is how I heard it. From each and every one of your men. They say the same. Osthryth," he furthered, putting a hand on her shoulder, but Osthryth turned and spoke first.

"I need to go, out in duty, as far from here as I can. The men need to remain here, for - " But this time Merewalh interrupted Osthryth.

"What do I need to say to you to make you understand that Eardwulf did not succeed in smearing their reputation?"

"Then I killed a man for nothing." She looked away, but Merewalh rested a hand on her shoulder again.

"You killed a man for failing to recognise his duty; perhaps, just perhaps, having this child has distorted your judgment?"

"You did not see the look on Eadith's face," she replied.

Yet, she had. Eadith had cried, for the shock, but she was not grieved by it. She had readily accepted the Mercian ring.

"An unfortunate decision, he was the murderer of the leader of a country, king in all but name. The king of Wessex is still here, and that rat-faced advisor of his," Merewalh added, "Making themselves at home. You merely accelerated the process of selecting a lord, in fact, may I be so bold as to say, you might have saved Mercia from the voracity of Wessex. A new lord now, rather than one decided by a witan fraught with inertia, will cauterise Edward's ambition. Rest," he added, seeing the exhaustion on Osthryth's face. "You are safe here. As you wanted to be," and took her hand. "I can send a healer to you."

"No!" Osthyth protested a little too quickly, and then smiled with effort to her friend. "A rest perhaps," she conceded, and blinked several times when Merewalh answered a knock to the outer armoury door and two servants brought in a copper of water.

"Even you must admit you need to bathe," Merewalh told her. "I have left suitable clothing on the table there," he nodded to the corner. "I will wait beyond; no-one will disturb you.

The water enveloped Osthryth's sore muscles and tired head, as she gratefully slipped her naked body into the water. Someone had had the foresight to bring ferns, and she cleaned herself all over with the leaves, which tingled her skin and dissolved the dirt.

How long she bathed, Osthryth did not know, but she got out when the water was beginning to feel cold, and dressed in the clothes Merewalh had left for her, leaving her other ones in their place. They were tight, even though it was clear Merewalh had carefully chosen a shirt which was loose fitting, made for a man with longer arms than Osthryth had. She could alter it, Osthryth thought, or find a seamstress to make a better job of it than she ever could.

Her eyelids were beginning to droop. She needed to sleep, now, she thought as she pushed open the door to the guard room. As promised, Merewalh was waiting for her, feet crossed at the ankles as he read a parchment by the light of a small window which permitted the day's bright sunlight to illuminate it.

"Have you considered?" Merewalh said, as he got to his feet.

"Considered whether I will stay in Mercia?" Osthryth said. She was too tired to think. "I have not. But there is regime change. The new lord, the lord Uhtred, will not wish me to be in his country. I could never trust him, after - " She broke off, noting Merewalh's expression.

"Aelffrith told you?"

"He did. And may I assure you it did not come from his usual gossip; he told me for the love he feels for you, fraternal love between warriors." Osthryth found herself nodding. She understood.

"What is it that you propose, were I to remain in Mercia?" she asked.

"What would you like?"

Now that was a question. She would like a Mercia that did not have her brother as its lord, subject to his whims and decisions. She would like a Mercia with the lord Aethelred still, and she realised now how much she respected the man. Weak and and subject to his own whims not always apparent to all, he was no worse than other kings, and his reputation had been maligned in Wessex. She knew what that felt like.

"A permanent border guard. Allowance to raise my child as I see fit, not to have him or her taken from me." These were weak conditions, for all that really was in Osthryth's mind was to demand Aethelred rise from the grave and continue to rule. It could never work here. Like the vixen whose cubs she had disturbed one morning, throwing herself, teeth and claws at Osthryth during her journey from east to west of Northumbria, she felt like that. Knowing what she did of her brother, when he realised one of his guards was his sister - his pregnant sister - what was stopping him from harming her, or her child? If it had been her alone...

...but she could not countenance ridding herself of Finan's child. Even lost to her now, as he was, Osthryth knew what they had when they were together. She knew their bond. The child would be born, and would speak Gaelish and would live in Alba. One day, she would put him before his father, make him see his child, see what they had made.

"Sleep," Merewalh encouraged, as Osthryth yawned, and then yawned more. "Go back to your house, it has been cleaned in your absence and rest. Speak to me in the morning."

88888888

A knock came to the door of the Osthryth's rooms as morning came. Stumbling from her bed, Osthryth walked with more strength than she had been used to over the last few weeks and she realised she had slept nearly a whole day.

It was Aelffrith, and his genial smile entered the room shortly before the rest of him, carrying a platter of meat and fruit and milk and bread. Sitting beside her as she ate, he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Well?" He asked.

"Ye - mh - ye," Osthryth replied, in mid-bite, and he reached for her hand and gripped it, for a minute, as if to reassure her, or reassure himself.

"This is a quiet street," he commented, looking towards the door. "I hardly saw anyone last night." Osthryth paused in the process of biting into a piece of new-baked bread.

"You were here all night?" Osthryth asked.

"Not all night," Aelffrith conceded. "Aelfkin stood until moon-high, and then Aeglfrith joined him. I only managed a few hours. But I did visit the kitchens." He nodded towards the food. "I can see you are appreciating my efforts."

"Thank you," Osthryth replied. "Much appreciated."

He waited quietly as Osthryth finished, looking around the room, admiring the building, then getting up and looking through the back door.

"Very well appointed," he commented. "Roman, I think."

"Merewalh said so," Osthryth replied, getting up. "He requires me?"

"Have you made a decision, he wants to know," Aelffrith replied, taking up the wooden dish. "For my part, Osthryth, I hope you will stay here. You will be sorely missed if you don't. Your men, too. They near came to blows with Aldhelm when he tried to prevent them following you. You inspire loyalty," he added.

"As will you," Osthryth replied. And that said it all. Osthryth wished to hand her captaincy to Aelffrith, and he saw a light fade from his eyes. They had known each other for nearly thirty years, fought side by side, relied on one another. Neither had let one another down. It went deeper than friendship. As Merewalh said, it was a deep, bond of warrior-love, borne from respect and the knowledge that the other will never betray you.

She would have to anyway, of course. When her time came, she could not be as a captain had to be, modelling skills and tactics, leading guard duties. Although, she could once the child was born, who would take care of him or her? In a city with Uhtred as their lord, she would not trust him one thickness of a penny.

As they crossed the square, Osthryth pulled up quickly. Aelffrith, who was ahead of her, turned when he heard her boots skitter on stones, and dashed after her as she backed into the shelter of the stableyard.

She said nothing when Aelffrith stood beside her, but nodded to the market square. In the centre, the poor were scrabbling for grain which, it had been discovered, had been hoarded by the lords.

"Burghred has had his son sent to Winchester by Edward, to prevent his marriage to Aelfwynn," Aelffrith told her, grimly. "And he - " he nodded to the man now standing on the grain cart, " - finding the hoard and bringing it here.

The "he" Aelffrith meant was her brother.

As they watched, they saw Merewalh stride over to the cart. They were close enough to hear him order the Uhtred's men back, and arrange a queue before the cart.

"And you do this now, when you could have done this many days ago," chided Uhtred of Merewalh, and Osthryth watched Finan push his shoulders away, standing between Merewalh and the queue of starving people.

"It is because of insolvency of the succession," Aelffrith told her. "Nothing is being done. And when it is being done it on the whim of King Edward."

"That will change," Osthryth replied. "He is fair, though it is hard to see whence the justice originates. He is still a pagan."

"For now," Aelffrith told Osthryth, and she turned to look at him. "Of course! You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Before his coronation tomorrow, the lord Uhtred will be baptised, before all of the people of Aylesbury." Osthryth laughed a hollow laugh.

"Third time lucky?" She asked, and told Aelffrith that, as a boy, he had been baptised Osbert, for their elder brother, murdered by the Danes, had had the name Uhtred. On his death, their father had insisted the name be passed to Osbert, and her mother, Gytha, had insisted that he be baptised again, so that the lord would recognise him when he went to heaven.

"An ancient British custom," mused Aelffrith. "Did you not know?"

"My mother was British," Osthryth said, "Of the line of Rhienmelth, and Urien." And she realised Aelffrith was staring at her.

"That is an ancient line, to be true," he told her. "There was once tell of a lost princess of that kingdom." He smiled. "I myself have Briton blood; both my grandfathers were of Cornwalum. The old teachings run beside the Christian; many are the same."

"So I have seen," Osthryth agreed, and the pain in her chest told her that it was going to be even more difficult leaving her friend than when he was merely her deputy. It was good job Aelffrith was her friend, for when he made to step back into the path Osthryth lost most of her breakfast all over her shoes.

"They say that a girl comes with much vomiting," Aelffrith told her, as he led her by the shoulders into the armoury. "Do you have much?"

"I...couldn't say," Osthryth managed, before equalling the pile she had left by the stables with another by the entrance of the stores.

"Stay here, I will bring boiled water," he told her, sitting her next to the chainmail, which hung on large railings by the door. At length he returned, and Osthryth sipped gratefully from the jar.

"I have told Merewalh that you are here," Aelffrith told her. "I will be joining the guard; if I am to be made captain - " and at this point in his sentence, Aelffrith broke off, as if to give Osthryth a chance to refute his assertion, " - then I must command the men. Osthryth," he added, quickly, as the noise of feet on the stone outside hastened thoughts. "If you do leave, may it be with the thought that the men under my command, if they remain together, that I will always think of them as our men, as your men, that I am commanding them for us both."

Osthryth had no time to say anything in reply, for the door opened. Instead, she nodded quickly at Aelffrith's words, and he saluted, as was his custom to Merwalh, and Osthryth saw a look pass between them. She would be leaving Aelffrith with a company to command and an intimate companion. She couldn't ask for much more on behalf of a friend.

Osthryth followed Aelffrith out and when he had passed from her vision, she fixed her eyes on Merewahl. He, too, looked tired and careworn, but he smiled at her as lively as he always did, and shook a hand towards her as she made to get up.

"Merewalh," Osthryth nodded. Then broke off. For a second figure, a woman appeared beside him.

"I have brought someone to help you," Merewalh explained.

"I said no healers," Osthryth shot back, and she wondered how it was Aylesbury was so tolerant of Britons. But the woman standing beside Merewalh was no Briton. Flame red hair atop a beautiful face, a body wearing a dress the colour of bluebells in early summer, Eadith stood before her.

Osthryth got up, pleased to see she was taller than Eardwulf's sister. And from the table she pulled the large bag that Aelffrith had been at pains to leave beside her plate at her home, and she had brought it with her to take with her and give to Constantine. Silver coin, mixed mint, some hacksilver, as was the way with wages for soldiers. There would be none now for the King of Alba, she told herself as she thrust the entire bag towards Aethelred's once lover. Both Eadith and Merewalh looked at her in confusion,

"Wergild," Osthryth said, simply and she made no attempt to alter her bluntness. "Does this cover the death of the lord Eardwulf?" she asked, knowing full well that it did. "He was a noble, was he not, about to beecome the lord of Mercia?"

"Many times over I should think," said Merewalh, glancing at Osthryth's unsmiling face.

"I do not need this," Eadith protested, trying to give it back to Osthryth, but she only pressed it further into the woman's hands.

"I need to do this," she growled, with a voice that terrified even herself. "Take it, spend it on a new dress," she added, hearing a good measure of scorn in her own words, "That one looks like it has spent many weeks being tumbled in the ground with you inside it."

It was a measure of the woman's level-headedness that Eadith did not cringe at Osthryth's ferocity and she placed the silver down on the table beside Osthryth.

"Merewalh called me to you because I know something of the sickness that has been passing through our lands," Eadith continued.

"I am with child, not ill," Osthryth replied, defensively.

"And here in Aylesbury, you will be protected here?" At this, she turned to Merewalh, who was inching towards the door and stopped.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Always." And Osthryth gave him such a look as he was about to go out of the armoury door that he closed it behind himself and stood with his back to it.

"The father?" Eadith asked, now moving closer to Osthryth, looking over her body with a skilled eye.

"Lost to me," Osthryth replied, remembering Eadith beside the lord Aethelred. She must really have loved him, then. But, she had soon turned her gaze somewhere else. "Lost," she repeated. "There is no hope for us now.

"And who would you have as lord here?" Eadith asked, much skilled, too, in putting her patients at their ease, for Osthryth had barely noticed that she had undone her jerkin and had begun to put the palms of her hands across her shirted stomach.

"Much as I hate to say this, my brother," Osthryth replied. "He is Lord Aethelred's cousin, through his mother. You may know him?"

That cause Eadith to stop, and she looked at Osthryth's face as if to detect a joke.

"Your...brother?"

"The lord Uhtred," Osthryth confirmed. "Though we have no kin; if I could have been born anywhere else to any other parents, I would be. But he is a strong leader, and charismatic, and the people listen to him. Did he not tell you? I stood before him, between my warriors' camp and yours."

"He said nothing," Eadith replied. "None knew you were there, well, that is to say," she stumbled on her words, "We did not know the captain of the guard was his sister."

"The murderer of your brother," Osthryth added, looking at her for any hint of anger. Although, if someone had run through Uhtred with a blade in front of her eyes, Osthryth doubted she would feel angry or upset about it either. Eardwulf had made Eadith whore for him, after all.

Yet, Osthryth could see it all now. Next would be Bebbanburg, to hand it over to Edward, or the next Wessex monarch, and soon there would be nothing at all of the old kingdoms. Next they wou;d be knocking on the door of Strathclyde and Pictland - she could picture the takeover, in her mind, laws made by the incumbent king in Winchester and filtered out to all kingdoms. If the Danes and Norse had done anything, they had militarised Wessex into the most dominant Anglo-Saxon kingdom. But that was not to say there was not strength in Northumbria, and that there could not be strength again.

She realised Eadith's hands were on her stomach again, and Osthryth pulled off her shirt so that her rounding stomach and bare breasts were exposed, huge, with large dark nipples protruding out in front of her, so Eadith could examine her more thoroughly. Merewalh said nothing, but Osthryth noticed that he had begun to inspect the mail coats with animated interest.

"You bide well for a woman your age," Eadith said. "This is your first child?"

"This is the first child I intend to see through to birth," Osthryth said, plainly, noting a difficult look on the woman's face. "Six others have ended early. I have ended early." She then felt Osthryth's stomach near her hips, glancing back to Osthryth's face a few times as she did so, before handing her back her shirt.

"Ginger root will help, though it can be costly," Eadith told her as Osthryth redressed.

"I'll remember that when I am travelling," Osthryth replied, and Eadith smiled to her. No, Osthryth chided, silently. I am not intending to be pleasant.

"And a lot of sickness suggests a girl," she added. Osthryth said nothing; when she had first known, her heart told her a boy. A girl had not appeared in her thoughts at all. A girl. At least Aedre would be pleased, a black-haired girl, pale faced, pale eyes, like Mairi, an Irish girl, whose father was lost to them.

"I remember you," Eadith pressed on eagerly, not seeming very willing to leave. "It was when I was a child, and I was looking at the flowers that once grew in the courtyard, it was the first time that I could see them as being useful for things which were not just pretty - maids came to collect some for a healing salve, others came for using in cooking, I knew then I wanted to know what they did and how I could help. I do remember you, talking kindly to me then."

"Things do change," Osthryth mused, and if the woman guessed she was being rude to her, she did not show it.

"I saw you with an Irishman in the courtyard, the same one with Uhtred. His warrior?" The blush on Eadith's cheeks were enough. Osthryth smiled in what she hoped looked like a pleasant way. "Ma leanas tu e, reubaidh mi do ghàirdeanan uait." It means i am pleased for you.

"Ma le-annas too e," Eadith stammered,, "roo bay mee doh guardian ooait..." Then she repeated it a few more times and Osthryth smiled in satisfaction. And she would too, she would tear the woman's arms off if she dare she do anything about it.

"Moran taing - " Osthryth continued, then broke off, remembering that she was not yet in Alba. "Many thanks, Eadith, I am sorry to have been the one who proved your brother's guilt."

The look on the woman's face was satisfying, Osthryth thought, and Eadith, believing this to be a friendly conversation, added, "He will at least have to answer for his crimes to the lord. How is it I still care about him, even though I hate him? " She laughed suddenly. "Can you even understand that?"

More than you can imagine, Osthryth told her, as she left, and sat and looked at the sun's beautiful work as it lit up the Mercian plain in which Aylesbury sat, and the Ridgeway just beyond, rich greens and golds that coloured the country.

"Be careful Eadith," she cautioned, as Eadith made to go. "To be a healer is valuable, invaluable to kings who want wives saved, heirs healed. I have known many, and all too close on their heels came the slur of "witch"." And again, she took up the bag of silver and pushed it into Eadith's hand. This time, the woman did not resist, but nodded instead, accepting of the monetary recompense, as was the custom.

"I will remember this," Eadith replied, and nodded her head at Osthryth as she left. "Thank you," she called out eagerly, but Osthryth ignored her. Let her have him, and she would find them, and make it her life's work to be no trouble to both of them. Silence, avoidance, castigation in mind and deed was far more effective than a blood feud - Osthryth had seen that in Ireland under Flann Sinna's rule, first with the Ulaid, and then with the Norse. It was a pity more kings did not appreciate its effectiveness before blundering in with axe and sword and shield wall.

"So, you are set on going?" Merewalh wore the same, sad expression that Aelffrith had done earlier that day. "You do know that today is the coronation?"

"Of my delightful brother?" Osthryth replied. "Yes," she conceded. "The baptism. Three times now, or four, if you count the time that his adoptive Danish father thrust him into a passing river when he proclaimed him, "Uhtred Ragnarsson". Pity he didn't drown," she added. "Though Mercia will benefit; he has good qualities."

"Osthryth." Merewalh's voice had dropped low. "The gates are being secured as we speak. If you wish to leave now, you will have to go now." But Osthryth shook her head.

"Morning Star will not have recovered," she said, looking away, her mind racing, recalibrating all of the information. If she wasn't going to ride north, then, south? Hamptun? Too far. And Wessex. East, and she was in the land of Guthrem, as was, which was, in actuality, now a vassal of Wessex. Just as Mercia feared.

North, and she could earn money, she could get to the northern Mercians, into the Danelaw. Or, get as far as Wihtgar, and -

"Hereward's horse," Merewalh said, clapping her shoulder. "Grey Shadow". Half an hour, get down to the palisade, he'll be tied there." Osthryth thought about the man once again, and the image of Eardwulf thrusting a spear so casually at him played across her cerebellum.

"Yes," Osthryth said, as she stood firm. "Yes!" She made for the door, but Merewalh stepped inside again, bringing with him a bag.

"She must keep it!" Osthryth insisted, but Merewalh shook his head.

"You cannot go to Alba without the rest of your wages," Merwalh insisted, "And you will keep the cloak," he added, for Osthryth had folded it up and placed it on the table along with her oak leaf, the badge of captains of Mercia, and he shook it out for her and draped it over her shoulders. "What will your king say if you do not return with enough silver for him?"

All that is gold does not glitter, Osthryth thought, as she curled her hand around the bag. There was value in the intelligence she was giving him, and she knew how valuable that would be to all of Alba.

"Half an hour, Osthryth," Merewalh repeated, then stepped towards her, and kissed her on the forehead.

Osthryth turned to follow him, to find a way down where she would not be spotted. But, not before she had laid something beside the oak leaf, the two headed Alfred/Ceolred coin with a hole that Finan had made to thread onto a narrow chain. On top of the mail shirt and beside the jerkin, she placed it on top of it all. It was no longer their bond, but the bond of herself to Mercia#

Why she loved this land, Osthryth could never rightly say, she had no kin in it, she did not live there, and had no estate. It wasn't even that it wasn't Wessex, although that still had its advantages. The Saxons in Mercia - and not forgetting the forgotten Angles who lived north of Oxford - were different, somehow, less imperious, more accepting. Osthryth was nothing to Mercia, and yet it was everything to her.

Anonymous now, just a ceorl, watching the square as she made her way down to the upper courtyard level, she watched Merewalh cross to the stable, which was concealed having been sectioned off by carts. In the middle of the square before the hall a barrel had been placed. A priest was looking at it, and dipping his hand into it wcery so often. A baptism, for her brother, where everyone could see. That was what Aelffrith would see.

It was conveniently located near a gate which would take her into the section between the palisade wall and the outer walls, and, as she descended, she watched as the nobles of Mercia beginning to collect together, watching as her brother stood before them. He was clothed in white, and beside him stood Pyrlig, a priest who Osthryth liked well, and was, presumably, carrying out the baptism service to make him Christian. Christian on paper, Osthryth well knew, for he would merely switch his hammer for his cross when needed.

Now she had got to the staircase at the corner of the hall and she descended. The stables were just beyond her, and she would have to sprint quickly and hope that she was ignored. Her brother being bollock-naked would distract most of them.

As she made to go the light dimmed and in front of her a man stood. It was Edward and, behind him, Merewalh, pushing himself forward, he looked frantic, as if he had been trying to stop the king. Had he got Grey Shadow? Would she be able to leave now? Osthryth made to dart past Edward but he was quicker and blocked her path.

"Leave us!" Edward demanded of Merewalh, who looked frantically at Osthryth. And a thought crossed her mind. Was this a setup? Merewalh's face said not, and that he was conflicted because he could not oppose the king directly. He was king of a different kingdom, she reminded herself, but it would be no comfort to Merewalh, who disliked Wessex as much as she did, if he were imprisoned. Play the long game, he had always said, as he had done, but with not much grace, in the lord Odda's company. He left, and Osthryth willed in her mind for him to get Hereward's horse to where they had agreed he would be left, conveniently opposite the western-facing outer gate.

"Uhtred is about to be made Lord of Mercia, and you are leaving?" He was not the Edward she remembered, and she tried to push past him, but he put an arm out to hold her clothing. Brushing past an unbound breast, Edward looked from it to Osthryth. He removed the tie from her hair, and looked at her face, then made to kiss her. Osthryth stepped away from him, backing ont a wall.

"I hate my brother!" Osthryth bit back, thrusting his groping hands from her breasts; they were tender and did not want Edward to be mauling them. He stopped, and took a step backwards, and looked at Osthryth as if he hadn't heard her properly.

"Surely Aethelflaed told you?" Osthryth scorned. "She told you much else." Everything snidey, and gossipy, Osthryth told herself. Edward shook his head, although Osthryth could trust him little.

"Uhtred's sister," he mused, then said, "An piuthair a Uhtred."

Gaelish. Edward had spoken Gaelish to her. This time it was Osthryth's turn to be shocked.

"If I am to unite all of the kingdoms, I must speak their languages, Pictish, Cymric, Gaelish," Edward continued, and reached again for her breasts, his eyebrows arching and his lips smirking, his hands feeling around at their largeness, and her huge, tender nipples.

And Osthryth wondered, as he worked his way down her body, pressing his own frame close to hers, then whether he had deliberately revealed his outrageously ambitious plan to her on purpose: not just king of the Saxons and the Angles, but all of the British lands, Waeleas and Alba too.

"Plus Norse and Danish," she said, in Norse, then back into Saxon, because they live here too.

"Yes," nodded Edward, who was crushing his lips to hers. Wasn't there a coronation on? True, six months before, Osthryth had been in Wessex to ask for his help against the Norse and Danes, and had willingly gone to his bed. But now? Osthryth looked and search for an answer, but Edward's hands were on her again and he lowered his head to her nipple, sucking on it, through her linen shirt.

"Come," Edward said, and then she saw her opportunity. Behind them, a door that led to, presumably, the other side of the armoury and it had given her an idea. She let him back her up to the opposing door, and Osthryth pulled the bar down behind her.

Entirely the right thing to do, because now Edward thought she wanted him to have her, and he looked round for a surface of appropriate height over which to lay her, and manoeuvred her over to a table which was at hip height, turning her round so Osthryth's back was to him. Then he began to get his hands inside her breeches, which fit all wrong and he struggled.

"No!" Osthryth protested, as one hand, and digits, had pushed down between her cunt lips and found her clitoris, and was trying to get a rhythm going, while the other had reached round for her tit again and rubbing it, the fabric frictioning it uncomfortably as he squeezed it hard. This time, Osthryth saw her chance and she ducked under his arm.

"Never again," she said, holding up a hand, and she rearranged her clothing. Confusion crossed Edward's face, and then he frowned, making for Osthryth again.

"I command - " he began, but Osthryrh was backing herself towards the door that led out, across the square and to freedom.

"You can command me no longer! Tha mi a' Alba! Tha mi Sgáthach!" And she thrust her hand away to knock Edward from his encroachment on her body.

She would never have him touch her again; she would never kiss him again`

That was not true. As his corpse lay in the cathedral at Caestre, fourteen years in the future, prayers being said and hopes for the future king of Englaland, whoever he may be, an anonymous warrior stood beside Edward the Elder, and kissed him gently on the lips before she and her son rode south to fight for one of his sons' causes.

"Guards!" called Edward, and guards came, two of them, one being that wretched man Aldred. But at the same time, Aeglfrith answered the call and saw Osthryth standing off before them all.

Pushing past her, he stood between them, and Osthryth tore past him. Aeglfrith followed and Osthryth pushed the door closed to the anteroom, and barring it, forcing a plank across two steel brackets. A furious hammering erupted behind the door, but Osthryth pulled herself together, and looked at Aeglfrith.

"A braver and more quick-witted man I never knew!" She told him, as a drum beat ushered in some part of her brother's baptism service. "Say you pursued me; get someone to hit you and pretend you tried to stop me, but couldn't." But Aeglfrith shook his head.

"No," he reiterated. "I will not pretend. I was nothing but a snivelling mess of a brat before our parents died, Aelfkin and I. And you made me what I am, Osthryth." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Merewalh said you are leaving, and you are to have a child." Aeglfrith glanced at her stomach.

"I would that you return to Mercia, and lead us once more."

"I would that, too," Osthryth replied, ignoring the protests and bangings on the door, from the three men locked within. "You will have my brother." She looked out to the square, but could see nothing much, except Uhtred clothed in a white robe. "He has been chosen to be Lord of Mercia, and I know he will rule it with wisdom."

He would be a rival for Edward now, Osthryth mused, wryly, if the king of Wessex ever did get out of there. Northumbria with its Danes, and Mercia in his hand, Edward may think he has an alliegance but he may find he had a rival, bringing the frontier to Eoferwic, which was being challenged by the Irish Norse. Then a though struck Osthryth.

"Can you do something for me?" Aeglfrith nodded.

"Anything," he replied.

"Serve Mercia. Keep only to Mercia, and keep your land distinct from Wessex. For he - " Osthryth nodded back towards Edward, would subsume and abolish this land we love.

And Aeglfrith nodded. There was already a good, firm, resistance embedded in the land already; the trick was to not let it grow complacent.

"I need to make my escape," Osthryth said, as she heard the guards barred behind them calling for more guards. "Whatever you can do to stop them from stopping me leave, do it."

And with a shake of her former warrior's hand, Osthryth shut the outer door to the passageway, before finding stairs that would take her to the upper walkway around the square. From there, she could drop down and be on Grey Shadow before anyone knew any wiser.

Across, she climbed, past other Mercians keen to watch the proceedings. It was not every day that a pagan Danish Saxon was baptised in order to be their Lord.

It was only after stopping for so long to look herself that Osthryth realised she was standing beside a man she knew. And Osthryth would never have known, unless Uhtred's eldest son had not spoken to her. Uhtred had ripped the name, "Uhtred" from his eldest, replacing it with, "Judas". What he called himself now, Osthryth didn't know. But she still remembered him a quiet, watchful boy.

"My father," he said, and Osthryth turned, shocked. "Will it make any difference, Aunt? Fourth time lucky?" Osthryth was so surprosed she nearly dropped Buaidh, I remember you coming to tend my mother, you were at the monastery, I wasn't supposed to have watched, but I did." He looked at her, his blue eyes fixing themselves on hers. "I watched, and you eased her suffering. I will never forget your bravery."

"Uhtred?" And her eldest nephew smiled, wanly.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "Uhtred, son of Uhtred," nodding to his father, who was about to get "another wash" as he used to call baptism, "Grandson of Uhtred, brother to two Uhtreds; nephew to an Uhtred, cousin to an Uhtred," he recited, dully, as if he had learned it by rote. Osthryth leaned to his ear.

"Nephew to an Osthryth," Osthryth told him, and the young man smiled at her, giving a little laugh.

"I am leaving," she said, before Uhtred's first born asked her to do something, or be involved in something. He was here, presumably, to witness his father's coronation to ascertain the situation at Caestre, where he was bishop.

"You always are," He replied. "Long have I wished to speak to you."

Below them, Uhtred was emerging from the water. Light beamed down through clouds and shone on the square. Some might have said that was a sign. It was certainly not a sign that her brother had instantly become a Christian.

"Because we are kin or because we are Christian?" He laughed at that.

"Both. I am called Osbert now; my father took away my right to be called Uhtred."

"I know," Osthryth nodded. "And what would you have me call you?" He laughed again.

"Nephew," he said. "Father Osbert, to my flock."

"You are ordained?" He nodded, happily, "The see at Caestre."

"Mercia," Osthryth added, feeling Buaidh again. Below them, movement of men, soldiers looking for something. Or someone. She had a good idea who, and hoped that no-one had let Edward out. If she were found, he would be cruel, she suspected.

"Mercia," Osbert replied, "Close to Maserfield." This time it was Osthryth's turn to smile.

"Oswald!" She declared.

"Our most beloved forefather," Osbert agreed, "and Penda."

"Who never was a Christian," Osthryth added, "or so Bede told us. Well," she nodded towards the square and to the wooden bath that had been set at the centre, at whose steps her brother was now walking, back to see is people. In all his naked glory. "Your father is doing what Penda could not. Willingly, this time," she added.

"If you believe that," Osbert replied.

"I believe it, God works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform. It was my mother, the Briton, who must have been the one who insisted on the second time - you see, he cannot take away your right to the name Uhtred, unless you have been baptised Osbert." Osbert shook his head. A creak made Osthryth glance behind Osbert. West Saxon soldiers, coming her way.

"I would very much like to speak further, nephew," Osthryth said, nodding beyond Osbert's shoulder. "But again, I am to leave." His face fell, but when he turned, he nodded briefly, to show he understood.

"if you know me, you know my home is Alba, and I must return for this child's birth." Osbert looked to her stomach, and back to Osthryth's face.

"Aunt, I am delighted for you, please, come to Caestre; you are always welcome, both of you." And surprised Osthryth by hugging her to him.

There was no doubt soldiers were hunting her. Soldiers were in the market square, and roaming through the crowd. In the courtyard, a horse stood, tied with a quick release knot by, presumably, Merewalh. Grey Shadow was ready. So was she. But Osbert had not finished with her yet.

"Tell me, aunt, before you leave, why did you choose Osthryth, your name was once Aedre?"

"Can you not guess?" she asked.

"For our family? King Oswy's daughter? She lived amongst the Mercians too," he added.

"I knew that," Osthryth replied, "And thank you for reminding me of that. Yes. Oswald's niece."

"Some say she was of the Irish, the Welsh church, of Saint John and ColmCille."

"As am I," Osthryth replied, "And we will talk more about this on our next meeting." She grasped his hand, and then turned to look to the post-baptism rituals. They seemed to involve Uhtred standing at the centre of market place with lords in line to greet him.

"Your father," she told Osbert, "Becoming a Christian Lord." Uhtred's eldest looked down, watching his father taking hands of people who had been, not very long ago, his enemies.

"Yes, it is more than I could ever have hoped for him, aunt, and - " But Osthryth was gone.

Up, further up, and Osthryth was going to climb right over the palisade and down into the stable yard. And she saw, with melting heart, that Aeglfrith and Aelfkin stood guard by the bar of the gate.

Osthryth made it across, to the suspended walkway on the other side, strolling across it, as if she was meant to be there, before slid down the steps on the other side. And stopped. Merewalh was in down there too, and she looked down, back into the market place.

It was the wrong moment. Her mind was already too full and too troubled as it was. Regardless, she had to make room for the fact that, when Uhtred moved away to another lord, it gave her a direct view of other people. It gave her a direct view of Finan, with a hand on Eadith's shoulder, giving her a look that froze Osthryth's heart.

But she could not dwell on it. Behind her, West Saxon guards were coming and it was clear now they were chasing her. They were both ahead and in front. So there was only one option: down. And she did not see Eadith point up to the parapet and point out Osthryth to an unbelieving Finan, and again, as she dropped down to the dry earth.

A guard caught her arm. Osthryth struggled, but it did no good, and she was about to bring the hilt of Taghd's seax into his face when she heard a voice she knew.

"Tha mo alainn agam," Finan said. "You should not be here." But Osthryth shook him away. Now? Now was the time he came to talk, after everything? He had all the way across Mercia and back, but no, he chose the last possible moment.

"I am Mercian; it is right that I see the next lord crowned." But Finan ignored her words of reason and displaced them with his own, ones born of deep roots, ones which frost can never kill.

"I love you, and I still wish to marry you, Osthryth," he told her in Gaelish, and looked at her imploringly. "Look, we can be together; you can be in Uhtred's household...is it so hard to get past what has happened? He is sorry." But Osthryth still stood apart from the man she loved, that angry she still was of him.

"He said so, did he? " Finan said nothing. Osthryth's attention was caught by Grey Shadow's hoof gently pressing into the dry mud, and she glanced to the gate. Aelfkin was giving her a thumbs up.

"A bheil an fhearg ort fhathast?" he asked.

Why?! Osthryth raged, inwardly. "Why did men do this? Will you to fill a "you" shaped hole because it was convenient? No! She was not dancing to her brother's tune again, she had tried to come to him on her own terms, and decided if, not if - when - the fight for Bebbanburg resumed again, she would again stand beside Wihtgar.

"He is never sorry," Osthryth found herself replying. "And, if I asked you, could you get past what your family did?" There was more than just the slavery, Osthryth knew, more happened in Eireann that he was always on the brink of telling her, but could never bring himself to. Finan said nothing, but shook his head.

"At times like this, i wonder what would ColmCille do?" Osthryth said, making a weak attempt at a joke. Finan shrugged.

"Sail wast and set up a monastery in a new land?" And then, Finan stiffened, the sound of a drum beating in the courtyard.

"The coronation is about to begin," he told Osthryth. "Please," he reached for her handsl, and Osthryth conceded to let him have them, "For once, wait here, be here when I get back, I beg of yer!" And he turned, and Osthryth watched Finan stride back towards his lord, not waiting for her answer.

"Intruder!"

A guard called down from the parapet, and Osthryth realised she was still being pursued. One of them screamed as Aelffrith clocked another West Saxon on the head and Osthryth stopped in the act of climbing over the palisade wall.

"Your captain, if you don't mind!" Osthryth managed, and looked down. Clearly, Merewalh had managed to get her men here, to help her, and as she got down to a lower level, Oshere had the wherewithall to open the bottom gate as she slid down the steps.

He grabbed her hand and helped her up, before watching as Osthryrh took the handrail, swinging herself around so that she jumped over the culvert that crossed at the bottom of the fortifications and into the stableyard. They turned and fought the West Saxon guards. Beside them, more Mercians joined them, and not just from her company. Men who Hereward had commanded, others who she recognised only marginally, turned to fight their would-be oppressors. If Edward thought this was going to be a peaceful union, he had another think coming.

"I saw what happened with Edward," Merewalh said, as she made it to ground. Above them, an almighty battle was rising. "If you are going to leave, now is the right time to go," he added, as he gestured to Grey Shadow, who was patiently kicking his hooves as he dozed in the mid-morning sun.

"Is he the father?"

"Who?" Merewalh nodded to Finan, who they could see beside Uhtred, as the new Lord of Mercia continued to thank his people. "

"I have seen the way you look at him." Osthryth said nothing, as she noticed Eadith's eyes on Finan again, as people came to shake his hand too.

"He is lost to me," Osthryth said, turning away. "And I thank you for all you have done. A person cannot buy the friendship I have here, Merewahl, with you, with Aldhelm, too - " She wiped a tear from her face with the back of her hand, " - and my men, all good, brave, honourable men, I have had a life here I could never have expected. If I do nothing else with my life, I know I gave myself to something I believed in."

"You? Do nothing else? That I will never believe. And the men are good and brave and honourable because of you, Osthryth, you are a good leader, a great one, the men respect you, I would be nothing short of an honour to fight beside you in the future should you stand in the green and gold again." Osthryth leaned to him, and clapped him on the back, and Merewalh returned the gesture, before kissing her forehead.

"Now, is the time, if you are going," he urged. "My guard have just been brought to the front. But," he saw her hesitation. "Take a moment, what do you will?"

"Go," Osthryth declared, with a finality that she did not feel in her heart. Go, with her daughter, and she felt her stomach, lightly, before clapping her men on the back as they assembled beside Merewalh, fighting still going on overhead as more and more Mercian guards came to join in to who knew what (it was a fight against West Saxons; that was all the excuse they needed).

Aelfkin made eye contact with Osthryth, and she reachd for his hand as she passed, squeezing it, remembering taking him as a small child, into her lap and comforting him on night duties, when everyone else was asleep. What a grown man he was now, no fears about him, reliable, stolid, good humoured. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and glanced once more to the courtyard, where she saw Finan place a soft hand to Eadith's shoulder. This was right, it could only be right. He had found someone less hard work than Osthryth, and so she must harden her heart.

Down in courtyard, Eadith nodded her head and told Finan, "It is her, I swear," and added, "Ma leanas tu e, reubaidh mi do ghàirdeanan uait"; she said it means "I am pleased for the life you have chosen."

"Like hell it does!" Finan shouted, and turned from Uhtred's warriors. "Osthryth! Finan called, but it was too late, a figure, on horeback, was heading out of the gates of Aylesbury.

"Why is she always riding away?!" He shouted. Beside him, Merewalh shifted his feet.

"She said she was going home," he explained, arms folded, "And the father of her child was a good for nothing bastard." Finan made to swing at him, then stopped, noticing something around Merewalh's neck.

"Where did you get that you thieving bastard?"

"Finan!" It was Sihtric. "You are needed." But Finan ignored him, staring at the double headed king coin, with a hole big enough for a chain he once had, it was now on a leather cord around Merewalh's neck.

"You are the no good bastard," Merewalh glowered, "Leaving her knocked up? I have now lost a good captain." He glanced down at the coin. "I did not steal it, she left it with her uniform." Finan stared at it, then one glance at Merewalh, before stalking away.

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Uhtred, clad in green and standing at the front of Aylesbury's great hall. He was ready to speak at the Witan. Lord of Mercia, that was what he had been called for the last day. It was better than, "Daneslayer", or "Ungodly", or "Arseling."

It would be a short one, his first, and his last. Behind the rood screen, sat his former lover, the future ruler of this land. Her hound, Aldhelm, stood to one side.

"She carries my child!" Uhtred turned to Finan, his voice plaintive. Clearly all the excitement of the last two days was getting to him.

"So she says", he replied, with a grin, as the lords Ludeca and Burghred were arranging their factions. To the left sat Edward, with Aethelhelm to his right.

"Your child? She probably said so to annoy me; women say that all the time," Uhtred added, in a tone that made him sound as if he was being reasonable. "It could be his - Uhtred nodded to Edward. Found locked in with two guards, was the rumour. Was he that way inclined, Uhtred wondered, " - or that bastard Constantine could be the father." He saw Finan's face, but continued twisting the emotional life. "It is a story as old as time. Yours!" Uhtred scoffed.

"What?" Before them, Ludeca was holding the Mercian crown, bestudded with emeralds, a sleek coronet. Uhtred stood just before him, then made to kneel. But Finan pulled him up by the shoulder.

"What?" Uhtred turned a slow, lazy smile on his friend. Finan had already been angry about the fact that he had kept Osthryth's identity from him all that time. Well, he had. But he had eyes, didn't he?

"She's a spy, like I told you," Uhtred replied, dismissively, shaking Finan away.

"You reallt are an arseling, you know that!" Finan hissed, as he stood beside Uhtred, who was about to be crowned. His so-called friend looked back up to him, and grinned.

"Yes. I know."