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

24. Dyfnwal

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"Why are you following me?" Osthryth had got far into the five counties region of old Daneland where, having noticed a black horse just behind her, pulled Grey Shadow up slowly and slipped from his back.

The man stood up in his stirrups, stretching his legs, before slipping from his horse, too, tying it by the leading rein to an overhanging tree.

Thus far, up from Aylesbury, Leicester and past Derbyshire, nothing had troubled Osthryth. She had managed to get food from the family she had defended once at Seashes and, further up along Ermine Street, Osthryth had bought bread and meat from a farmstead, Lincoln was to her east, and she was close to the Northumbrian border, and her journey had been fine.

Until now.

Osthryth had thought she had seen the rider behind her since Dunstanton, but many riders used the same paths she was using. Half a day and the rider was still there. So here, at Caestretune, Osthryth dismounted, tired from her ride, for she had been hoping to find rest in the district. Now, it looked as if she was going to have to fight.

Withdrawing Buaidh as she, too, tethered her horse for a rest, Osthryth stood, waiting. But the man did not move. Instead, he stood quite still, combing his straggly black hair out of his eyes, his sword firmly in his hilt.

"We have met before," the man said, after a few moments, and it took a moment for Osthryth to realise that she had indeed met the man before. They had slept outside, as she had journeyed south to Aylesbury, and now, it seemed, he was following her back.

"So, what are you going to tell Constantine?" Osthryth asked, as inspiration answered in her mind. Aeswi, for it was indeed the spy who had ridden by her as she had gone south, four months before, gave her a slow smile.

"You think that is all I am being paid to do?" Aeswi asked, as he took a step to Osthryth. She gripped Buaidh tighter, but he did not appear to be a threat. "The king of Alba has told me you may be in need of protection on your perilous journeys between north and south."

And perilous it could have been, with bands of Danes and thieves of any nationality abroad in the countryside, though none had troubled her yet.

"I can look after myself. Would you like me to show you?"

"I am sure you can," Aeswi replied, standing exactly where he was, "I saw your efforts in Aylesbury. But the growth of a child can take a person's strength. Constantine would have you safe when you return to Dunnottar."

As Osthryth looked at Aeswi, who had busied himself with low singing and making of a fire near Hunstanton when she had gone south, a flicker of recognition flashed in her mind. Something more than a chance meeting when she had travelled.

"What do you propose?" Osthryth asked. "You are one of Constantine's men, are you not? Of his Pictish kin?" Aeswi laughed.

"I am a Gael, like him," he replied. "As am I a Pict. My line comes from Eanfrith, son of Aethelfrith, father of Oswald. Way back in history," Aeswi added. "We cut down Ecgfrith a generation later - I am sorry for that," he added, not looking sorry in the least. "It was my father and his two brothers who carved the stone at Nechtansmere, to show our victory." And Osthryth throught how changed he was, and hu

"That is all very well," Osthryth replied, trying to sound disinterested at a link to her own family history when now it was that he had interested her, "But when were you about to tell me? I could have killed you."

"You wouldn't have," Aeswi replied, laughing. "You would do as you are doing now, trying to sound reasonable, until you felt reason was not not warranted. Then you would have run me through. Like you did so many times when Domhnall fought the Norse before Dunnottar. When Giric was exposed as traitor?"

Osthryth stopped, and thought back to that day. She had been stopped by Ceinid from fighting, yet had followed Taghd onto the battlefield.

"You were there?"

"I was there," Aeswi nodded. "I was there when Giric - Griogair to you - came to my father to beg men for an uprising, to sieze a throne vacated, to place Domhnall's cousin, Eochaid, upon it. I went to Glen Orchy - you had killed a kin to Griogair at Iona, I recall." Osthryth nodded.

"My father, hating all Gaels, gave men to him. He hated the Strathclyde Cymric more," Aeswi explained, but they were more kin than the Gaels are. I remember you fighting. You gave Feilim a roasting! And now my brother, Uunst, is a Mormaer, and governs our lands as our father did, but in line with King Constantine's laws for the whole of Alba."

Alfred would have that, Osthryth thought. Unity between the Saxon and Anglish peoples, one rule - this existed in Alba, through the foresight and planning of Ceinid mac Alpin, Constantine's grandfather.

But Edward was not for sharing power, and that might be his undoing if ever Uhtred took back Bebbanburg. Wihtgar was not interested in ruling, but he had sent support to Constantine, and Constantine had returned the favour. Only a stable land, unsullied by internal strife and disagreement, with a common goal and shared purpose could act so.

All this was very well, but Aeswi was not necessarily trustworthy. Nevertheless, Osthryth made to get back into Hereward's old horse and she untied his rein from an alder tree. Beside her, Aeswi had moved and a blade pricked her arm.

He was right, she was slower. But not slow enough not to have withdrawn Taghd's seax and Osthryth was now pressing her own blade under his chin. If Aeswi cut, her arm would be damaged; if she did, his throat would never be the same again. Aeswi took his blade away, and laughed.

"I wonder, did my cousin waste his money," Aeswi said, as he stepped away from Osthryth. "Although I did indeed spy for him. He will have both our accounts now. You are with child?"

How did he know? She had only told Ceinid, and had left Alba not telling Constantine.

"You could not conceal it well in Mercia," he told her, "You told your commanders; you were sick. You could not keep your temper with Aethelred's murderer, where usually you are measured and pragmatic."

"How long have you been following me?" Osthryth demanded to know.

"Since you returned to Dunnottar, when you brought that babe who Constantine believes to be more his own child than the ones he has fathered himself. When you knelt to Domhnall, when there was little hope left that his mind was sane."

Domhnall. For Osthryth it felt like her life was a river, fast-flowing like the Tine near the cost. Her direction from Alba was changed going to Wessex, and her course diverted, like a large rock in the river bed. Yet, once she had passed the rock, the bits of her life that had changed course had converged, and had reformed past it, without being changed by it.

That was where the idea was different to real life: Osthryth had been affected by the rock, it had changed her. But she was glad to be past it, and back up to Alba

So Osthryth accepted Aeswi, for now, and they rode further north that night, coming to a town which sat above seven hills. They rested and Aeswi told her more of Pictland, and of his family, while Osthryth dozed by the firelight, pulling Merewalh's cloak about her to mitigate the sharp coldness which was beginning to become the feature of these late autumn days.

With some astonishment, Osthryth woke the next morning, having not been murdered in the night. Aeswi was skinning a brace of rabbits and skewering them on sticks above a frame which had not been there when she had gone to bed that night. She had then slipped down to a stream close to the track and scooped up handfuls of the cool, good water before she saw Aeswi seated on his black mount, and they swiftly crossed the wide moors north of Eoferwic and before long the Roman wall was before them, Constantine's desired border for Alba, and it did not pass unnoticed that a Pictish lord had been sent after her, a Pictish lord whose lands these would be if Constantine had his way.

Beyond it, Bernician land, and Osthryth settled into her journey as they passed the ancient royal palace-stead of Yeavering and on, into woodland, until,they rested at a monastery.

"Melrose," one of the monks told Osthryth, in that very particular Bernician-Pictish accent and, when he saw that a man and a pregnant woman stood before him, jumped to one conclusion and showed them a room.

It did not bother Osthryth, who paid the monk from the money Merewalh must have sneaked into Grey Shadow's panniers, what he had deemed her wages and that she thought she had left on the table in Aylesbury's armoury, but Aeswi looked a little abashed at being in her company alone. But it wasn't as if she could get more pregnant, and made to the door with her cloak. It would be better than sleeping outdoors, at any rate, no wolves or bears to chance upon her.

"I would not have yer sleep on the floor!" Aeswi insisted, when she saw he making to kneel down, and took her arm and led her to the bed, as he made to settle on what looked like newly replaced straw floor himseld. Osthryth felt a gratitude to him, pleased she had someone to talk to on this three day ride home.

Melrose. This was where Father Beocca had been left, as a baby, as a foundling, and had learned his Latin and Greek and bible teachings. Where he had learned to be a priest, and Osthryth idly wondered about him here, wondering if anyone knew a man names Beocca, whether he was remembered.

But they had to press on early the next morning, for a fog was beginning to fall, and if they had not it was more than likely that Aeswi and Osthryth would get lost in it.

"I spent a lot of my time here," Aeswi confirmed, as if thinking on the landscape around them, too. "Uunst went to Dunkeld to be a soldier; I here."

"But there is no fortress here," Osthryth pointed out. Aeswi laughed.

"There is the monastery. I am ordained. It still follows ColmCille," he added, and Osthryth felt herself open her mouth as she thought about that. The Irish church still had a stronghold in Bernician territory, perhaps unchanged from the time of Aidan.

"Then I am pleased to meet a descendant of ColmCille," Osthryth said, bowing her head, and Aeswi laughed again. It explained his straggly hair at any rate, although the baldness which usually came with the Irish Church's tonsure seemed to have grown back, while the long hair behind Aeswi's head had grown straggly.

"It has been a long time since I practised," Aeswi replied. "I usually look to the land, and my people." He saw the look in his eye, "The people hereabouts who will be my people when Constantine claims to the wall," he added shrewdly.

And that included Bebbanburg. All the lands to the wall meant her brother Wihtgar's land, and though they had spoken in terms of treaty, Wihtgar, at least, seemed ambivalent about their arrangement.

"Here, at Melrose, a priest came, to Bebbanburg. And I knew him in Wessex. Beocca, was his name," Osthryth added, fiddling with her hair as she had done when she was a child, when Beocca was talking to her. Her hand caught Eirik's jewel and she took it out of her hair and folded some of it behind her ear before replacing it. "He died, several years ago."

And Aeswi's face lit up, as if the sun was behind his eyes and he nodded his head.

"I was young, very young, when my father sent me from Caer Ligualid to Melrose, to practise the Irish church. I remember him. Always very kind! Big, although all grown ups are big when you are small, don't you think?" Aeswi enthused. "Red hair, palsied limbs. Some of the boys made fun of him; I beat them for it. He was good, and barely beat us at all."

Beocca, Osthryth thought again. He had died at a very old age, but had still been able to make Osthryth freeze with a word, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. At least she had gone south; at least she had taken Aedre, and even then, she felt her whole life open to him, as if waiting for his interrogation.

Very soon the low highlands beyond Culdees were beginning to sketch on the horizon and Osthryth watched people heading towards the monastery. They were to go round, as Eirik and Siegfried had done, to get onto the north bank and then veer west, and Grey Shadow's hooves crackled over tiny stones in the adolescent Forth forty miles away.

It did feel like home, with the crisp, sharp air of the ground higher than that of the chalklands down in the south of the British island, and at once Osthryth wondered how she had ever thought to have considered anywhere, other than perhaps Bebbanburg, a place she could think of as home.

Maybe Mercia, but that was through the people, not the land, though Osthryth let her mind dwell on the green and gold of the undulating landscape in the middle of the country, and hoped that it was faring well under her brother's rule.

"Did you not hear?" Aeswi asked her, with astonishment, when Osthryth voiced her desire for Mercia's peace and independence, "The lord Uhtred abdicated the throne the day after his coronation. The lady Aethelflaed was proposed - and accepted."

The lady Aethelflaed. Well, it made sense. Uhtred, though suitable for Mercia, was constrained by a crown; Aethelflaed, who would have been king of Wessex had she been male, had the consolation prize. But the people loved her, and she would keep it independent. And it gave Osthryth yet another reason never to visit the place ever again.

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It was Aedre who was first to run to Osthryth when she saw her adoptive mother's horse hove into view as she looked east from Dunnottar. Who she might have been watching for, Osthryth, did not dwell - probably Ildubh, Constantine's elder son. If not him, someone else, for Aedre had was shocked when she realised the rider was Osthryth.

Along the Forth riverbank she came, red hair falling to her waist and Osthryth reckoned her to be eleven or twelve now, her face pale as milk, her eyes blue as the sky. Yet, unlike her mother, her face was rounder, her chin pointed with a dimple in it, like Beocca and, like Beocca, huge, bat-like ears. And, a blessing for her, Aedre seemed to be free of the palsy thay had afflicted Beocca in his legs and arms.

Osthryth made a mental note to speak to Constantine about her, regarding her age. She knew the king would have made provision, or else considered St. Abbs, up the coast from Lindisfarne where, again one of her ancestors, had estabished a nunnery.

Yet, she was half Danish, as well as Anglish, and Aedre must not be allowed to forget her mother's heritage

"Mhathair!" She exclaimed, and Osthryth had allowed her to jump up into Grey Shadow, and sit in front of her, as the girl rattled to her about how pleased she was to see her, how she was learning Greek and Latin now, and could speak five languages, how she had learned the distaff and fix pigments, a skill needed for manuscript workers, though whether she had done anything other than make her own drawings with the valuable inks remained to be seen.

Osthryth had left a horse's weight in silver to Constantine that she be educated and Aedre showed off her Gaelish, before glancing at Buaidh's handle, reading the ogham.

"You should expand your Norse and Danish too," Osthryth advised, as she ran a hand through her daughter's hair, listening to her tinkling laugh.

"And the dresses arrived, mhathair," Aedre added. The dresses. They had been destined for Aethelflaed. Bought, yes. Money had changed hands. But not a lot of trade negotiation had gone on: Osthryth had taken the newly-made gowns, demanding to know their worth and pressed the money into the womam's surprised hands before sending them north with the promissory of more silver. Osthryth was pleased that they had finally arrived with her daughter.

"What do you do with your days?" Osthryth asked, as they trotted on. Aedre glanced across the water to Culdees, and smiled.

"I go to the monastery with the princes, and learn to read. I walk on the sand with Ildubh and we watch the birds."

"And avoid Cellach," Osthryth mused. Except, Cellach was old enough not to run around with his little brother and adopted sister. She hoped Constantine had put him to some use.

"Aed?" Osthryth mentioned Domhnall's last son. She remembered him, a small, shy boy who just wanted to be with Aedre and Ildubh.

"He's a snivelling baby!" Aedre protested.

"No dresses," Osthryth replied, severely. Aedre was spoiled by Constantine so often, it was difficult to offer discipline. "No dresses, unless you involve him."

"But, he can't keep up!" Aedre protested. "We go to run in the woods!"

"Take him with you," Osthryth explained, patiently. "It's no fun for Aed running in the woods, he's too small. Rather than leave him crying, play a game for him, then take him back to his nurses; he just wants a bit of your attention, then you and Ildubh can go off for your game later." Osthryth leaned forward and kissed her head. "Try? For me?"

"Yes, mhathair," Aedre agreed, though whether she would remember or, in Aedre's case, thought enough to be bothered was a different matter. Aeswi trotted just behind her, stabling his horse almost as soon as he got to the stables and strode off in the direction of Constantine's throne room.

Aedre would not leave Osthryth's side. She had changed a little since Osthryth was last at Dunnottar, and wanted to be beside her adoptive mother's side. When she was younger, Constantine was her only parent as far as Aedre was concerned.

"Aedre," Osthryth said, quickly, as they got to the hall doors. "There is something that I need to tell you, once I have spoken to Constantine. It's good, I think," Osthryth added, patting her hand, for Aedre was giving her a worried look.

"Not leaving?!" Aedre protested. "You've only just arrived."

"If Constantine needs me to," Osthryth replied. "But, that is not the "something" I mean." At that moment, Ceinid opened the courtyard door, smiling warmly at Osthryth. He knew, Osthryth remembered. And it was as if his life had been free of joy up until he had discovered her pregnancy, and now it was his whole life. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder as Osthryth thought about the whisper of the idea, back when she had last been at Dunnottar.

Osthryth looked at Ceinid, and could not help but smile back. She could feel herself relaxing in the fortress, where she had lived for so many years, and she was going to give birth. That the child's father was not with her felt the least of her problems then, with late autumn sun falling on Dunnottar's grass giving the stonework a rich, deep, welcoming hue. Days like these were meant for exploring the world, and seeing new things. Well, she had, Osthryth supposed, old was new to her.

"Go to get your work," Osthryth told Aedre, and gestured towards the chambers in the fortress. "I will come to you once I have spoken to your father."

"It is a blessing to see you, girl," Ceinid told her, holding out his hand, presumably to escort her in. If it was as an acknowledgement of her pregnancy, she would not be able to keep from laughing. And she smiled, as Constantine's head guard pushed open the door.

Through it, Aeswi stepped through, making Ceinid start as the door was thrust open. Comrades both, the men grinned at one another, and Aeswi clapping Ceinid's hand.

"He is in a good mood," Aeswi added, and looked at Osthryth. "I guess it might have something to do with that big bag of silver you have in your hand," Aeswi added, and Osthryth considered that she had got on with him well, considering he had been stalking her in secret.

"You look well, Osthryth," Constantine said, and nodded to Ceinid. "I trust you did not wait long this morning? You never have to wait; this is your home. Next time, come in."

Beside him, two other warriors stood, and on the throne where Mairi used to sit, was Ildubh. It was no wonder Aedre could not find her dearest friend if he had been learning his role beside his father. She watched as Ceinid stood beside Constantine. Was it her, or was he rather pleased with himself? Osthryth was used to the king's general being laid back, uflappable and entirely to be relied on, and to see him all lighted up was unnerving.

Unless it was her, as Merewalh had said, that pregnancy changed the way you saw things. So Osthryth found herself willing her time passed quickly and her mind and her body could then recover their strength and had decided to take things on face value now, rather than rely on her instincts. Which would be, Osthryth would later reflect, a mistake.

"My captain, and cousin, Oengus," Constantine introduced Osthryth to him. "I have had the fortune to have a reliable man guiding Strathclyde now and the Mormaership is in safe hands. Oengus, a huge, redheaded man, bearded and jovial, nodded to Osthryth. Constantine put a hand out to the other man.

"Feilim you know, and governs our lands in the east." Feilim, Pictish, butter-blonde hair and round face nodded in recognition. "My cousin, Aeswi, you met on the road. It is in the hands of these two men I place you, Osthryth," Constantine continued, "But not yet. Rest a while; recover from your time in Mercia. You have plenty to tell us."

Osthryth had, and relayed it, more or less, to Constantine, from her leading her division, following Eardwulf as instructed, and killing him for his murder of Aethelred. It was not easy to give the bald facts in front of Constantine and his men, but there was no use in concealing it. Aeswi would have already told him.

"And my brother accepted the throne in Merica, and its lordship. But, I am given to understand from Aeswi, he abdicated in favour of the lady Aethelflaed."

"That man!" Constantine shook his head, pretending to sound jovial, and Osthryth knew immediately that he was rattled. "Spy indeed, if he spills his secrets so readily, eh?"

"I took my opportunity to flee, though not from my killing of the lord; I paid wergild to Eardwulf's sister, and was absolved of the crime."

"From the money you bring me?" Constantine nodded to the bag Osthryth was carrying.

"From the money I was paid for being made captain again. I was needed and it was the perfect cover to ascertain information." Osthryth glanced at Feilim and Oengus, and then down at Ildubh. The boy resembled his father as Cellach resembled Mairi, and he listened with the same head-knowledge as Constantine did. "Do you wish me to reveal them before your court?" The king frowned at the word.

"Your Mormaers," Osthryth attempted again, and this time Constantine smiled. Court implied a sharing of power, and now power was consolidated into one king, one throne, one crown in Alba, it was a sensitive issue. Mormaers were more like highly-held general-lords, who had autonomy over a region. They could act as the king, but could not make the king's decisions. In fact, it was almost as if a proto-hierarchy, like Eireann with their high kings, was beginning to form, and Osthryth smiled at the "High King".

"Indeed," Constantine nodded. "Please tell us about the independence movement. Which persons instigated that?"

"A many number of people worried about the takeover of a land by another monarch. I know it will happen," Osthryth mollified, for that was just what had happened with Dal Riata, Strathclyde and Pictland. Strathclyde, Osthryth knew, still made noises in this direction, the division since at least the time of Eochaid and Giric who had turned the tables and taken Dunnottar, and with it, the kingship of the Gaelish Dal Riata and Pictland. They had tried, at least.

"But the people are still bombarded with Danish raids at the border; they needed someone to make them feel safer before they can think about Unionism. You are such blessed," Osthryth added.

"We are indeed, though the blessing comes from the wisdom of my generals," Constantine added, nodding to Oengus and Feilim. "A strong nation is one who acts together. Edward, or whoever builds the land - what is its proposed name...?"

"Englaland," Osthryth supplied.

"Whoever builds Englaland, would be well to follow suit. And I hope they are slow enough that I can reclaim our ancestral lands - " he looked at Felilm, the Pictlander, "Your ancestral lands," he added, "And yours," Constantine added, "Which is why your brother, Wihtgar, had been in regular contact with me, to negotiate." Constantine leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I have agreed that his Bebbanburg lands will remain intact when I take the rest, in exchange for no resistance in the other places." Constantine smiled, widely. "The wall is the natural boundary; could anyone else dispute, when it is a physical boundary between the two nations?"

None could, Osthryth supposed, but that left many Saxons in lands where, if the culture were to change overnight, would be expected to speak Pictish and obey a king in Alba. Osthryth could not imagine peace with such a proposal; it was as outrageous as if Wihtgar claimed and was unresisted in taking all the lands to the Forth. Culdees, a gleaming heart of the Irish Church, would be in his, if that happened, and Osthryth could not think that the Picts, speaking their version of the Cymric language, would lie down and accept that either.

Which is why, Osthryth thought, there could, there should be a third way, one suitable for both Bebbanburg - and therefore whoever claimed lands there - and the other Alba. One thing Osthryth was sure of was that Eoferwic with the Danish and Norse claims were out of the question. A third territory would not result in a good outcome for either Alba or Bebbanburg, and therefore Englaland.

"You just watch that woman try to take all of Englaland," Osthryth said, "With Edward." And was then cross with herself for being so blunt. But Constantine was not taking it amiss. Indeed, he was smiling, which was Osthryth's first clue that something unusual was going on. Constantine rarely smiled at her. Accept it, and work it out later, Osthryth told herself.

"If she did, it would be a blessing," he replied.

"How so?" Osthryth took in his features, his long nose, his bright, grey eyes, his black hair with thin lines of silver in it. He was younger than Osthryth. If Constantine looked middle aged, how did she look?

"It has been suggested," Constantine continued, and Osthryth noticed a parchment, folded in three, in her hand. "That the lady Aethelflaed's daughter went missing on her wedding day. It is of no consequence to me," Constantine added, and Osthryth immediately thought to Ildubh, his son. To marry potentially the next leader in Mercia meant influence in the Saxon courts, although that potentally meant influence of Saxons and Angles in Alba.

Constantine said nothing for a moment, and the line was dropped as he asked, "The lady Aethelflaed, she is a strong ruler? A strong warrior? She fights in her own battles, does she not?"

"She has developed a skill," Osthryth admitted. "Though she hadn't much of one when I had to rescue her from captivity from the Danes." Constantine's eyes widened for a moment, then he reset his face. Osthryth had told him, and he was probably realising she had, too."

"She fought bravely at Teotenhalgh," Osthryth conceded.

"And she has a nephew. King Edward's son?"

"Aethelstan." Osthryth had seen Aethelstan, with Uhtred, as they had gone on the run. He seemed to be a quiet child, not much to say even when they had all ridden south together from Wem to Saltwic. Thinking, Osthryth mused, like his grandfather thought. There was a mind there, Osthryth considered, and Aethelstan intended to use it.

"And what of our own borders?" It was Osthryth's turn to ask the questions. But if Constantine was irritated by her presumptiousness, he did not show it.

"Domnall is busy with the Ui Neill peace, the one being created with the Norse." Osthryth nodded, before, a little shame-facedly, pulled out Domnall's letter. Constantine received it from her hand without a word, or any expression at all.

"Uunst has been degending the east coast from Harald Finehair's incursions but they were not as bad, so I hear, as the raids on the west coast of Mercia and Northumbria. Anlaf Guthfrithson would take Eoferwic," Constantine told her, "Though he is making slow progress and has not yet left his ships. Osthryth," Constantine said, and a different tone entered his voice, one she had never heard him use again. "My plan is simple. I wish the Norse who come back from our cousins in Ulster to settle, not in the Dal Riata lands, but south, where Anlaf is now, freeing the northern lands of our enemy. There is a precedent; they call that city, "Jorvik". We will encourage this."

Osthryth watched as he shifted in his throne, then Constantine's voice raised its volume, and he got to his feet. Danes and Norse at Eoferwic. It would be something that her brother would not act against, and if it was done for the purpose of resistance to Saxon and Anglish expansion, then Osthryth could not find a reason to oppose this part of the plan.

"We were here before the Saxons, the Angles, the Jutes, here even before the Romans. Those from the Latin lands never came here, never came to Eireann, and we grew strong, and hardy to invasion. Now we fear invasion of the Sais, but more than this," Constantine added, "You know better than anyone what the Cymric call Wessex, and Mercia, Cent, East Anglia, Northumbria. They are the seven kingdoms; in the Cymric tongue, they are, "Lloegr"."

"Lost lands," Osthryth translated.

"Lost lands, aye. They mourn at the name," Constantine added. "Offa of Mercia sought to emulate the war builders in Northumbria by a huge ditch to prevent a horsed Cymric man from riding clean into his kingdom. Clever." Constantine began to walk around his men, and his son, Ildubh's sharp, grey eyes never leaving his father.

"As Englaland is being annealed, I have put in motion plans to drive out the Saxons from these lands, back over the sea whence they claim, to have Britons reclaim their birthright, their lands, our lands, everything!" And Constantine was looking pointedly at her as a roar of approval came from his generals.

It was outrageous! Audacious! How could four hundred years of Saxon invasion be solved by deporting people back over the sea? How many Saxons, Angles, Jutes had been born here, how many generations? How many, like her, were of mixed heritage?

Osthryth's father was of Aethelfrith, right back to Ida the Flamebearer, yet her mother was of Urien, of Rheged, the ancient and noble land where, rumour had it, the most noble Cymric lived, from where Patrick, taken as a slave only to return to Eireann and establish Christianity, had come. Osthryth gave Constantine a long look. Even Constantine himself had Saxon roots, through Oswy, who married a daughter to the king of the Picts.

"I speak to you for you are of Rheged," Constantine reminded her, and then, suddenly broke off, ordering his men, and Ildubh too, to leave the throne room. Osthryth shuddered, and Constantine got to his feet and crossed to her, supporting an elbow.

That was the first sign. Years later, Osthryth would think back to that moment, a Costantine changed to her, warmer, considerate of her. Changed from the man she knew who was indifferent to her and made her life difficult. Later, she would know what it was he believed, but then, Osthryth assumed it was her perception of things, and complied without thinking. She hated pregnancy, Osthryth was to remember; it made her body ache and her mind dull.

"Come, sit with me, Osthryth," he asked her, and gestured to chairs used by minor royalty when the throne room was being used for a general assembly. Osthryth nodded, and allowed Constantine to escort her over. She was tired, and had not rested, or even eaten, since she had arrived back and her head was beginning to feel a little light headed.

"Does what I say alarm you?" Constantine asked, his official demeanor coming away like a mask, and he smiled a little to Osthryth.

"Yes," she conceded.

"You would be a fool if you think not, but I do not expect this plan to fully pay off for many years. But I need two key people to be with me, in principle, before I carry this out. One of them is Hywel Dda. He was at Teotenhalgh, I believe?"

Osthryth thought back. It was Hywel, though she did not know it at the time, who had pushed her out of harm's way when a Norseman was about to smash in her skull. Only when the battle was over did she know it was Good King Hywel, as he stood watching his men collect the plunder and the slaves.

"You speak Cymric," Constantine said, his hand on her forearm. "First, I wish you to rest, for a day or two, and then to Cymru, to Deubeuarth, Hywel's kingdom. I wish you to take a letter."

Osthryth turned to him, narrowing her eyes. "You sent me away before to Cymric lands, and I was fooled into thinking I was discovering intelligence when all the while I was being set up for a different purpose."

Constantine did not reply immediately, nor did he seemingly react. However, Osthryth knew his inaction and silence meant she had made a point.

"Caer Ligualid? Guthred? Domhnall?" she prompted. And Constantine drew away from her, his blue cloak, once that of his cousin, Domhnall, when he had become king, shimmering in the candlelight.

"It was my idea, Osthryth," Constantine confessed, at last. "Not for you to be sent, but for Guthred, Harthacnutsson to be married to an ally. He serves a purpose; he holds an area of land that would fall into chaos without a leader with no vested interest." He looked at her, his grey eyes holdig her gaze. "I was so angry when I found that Domhnall had chosen you!" Constantine laughed as if remembering, and the memory had taken off its bitter edges filtered as it had been through time.

But conciliation, not offense was in Osthryth's heart now and she looked at her once-friend, her now-lord. She could never think of Constantine as her king; that place in her heart was Domhnall - he was the king she had sworn to. Constantine was the little boy she had saved by hiding him away from the Norse when Ivarr the Boneless had attacked Dunnottar and the pilgrimage party come from Culdees, with whom Osthryth had been placed.

"It was a long time ago," she replied. "I wonder sometimes, if we could just see our lives made with different choices, whether we would prefer the ones we first chose." And Constantine turned back to her.

"I would have killed Giric myself if I had known what he would do to you," Constantine went on, grimly. And I will try to kill Uhtred."

"No," Osthryth said, softly. "No more retribution. Not on my part, in any case. Kill him when you next attack Bebbanburg; or deny him the fortress at least, for it will feel like a living death to him." Then she looked at him, narrowing her eyes.

"These men, those who would travel with me, Feilim, Oengus, Aeswi, why should I put my trust in them? Why should they not ride with me south to Guthred, or quietly have me killed?" And the sudden hurt in Constantine's eyes made her start - he had changed; he had grown softer with her, and this was confirmed when he touched her arm.

"Osthryth, please, trust me. These men I would trust with my own life. Aeswi, Feilim you know, you have fought beside you before. Oengus is a Caimbeulaigh; again a cousin of mine. But his family have long held a blood feud with the Griogair family. Should anyone wish to harm you, Oengus will have already killed them." But Osthryth felt herself shaking her head.

"I can fight!" she declared.

"And I know that," he replied, softly. "But, you are with child, and I would not have you fight. My men are your protection - "

" - I need no protecton!" Osthryth protested, but Constantine's hand had dropped to hers, and his touch drew out her protest, and she fell silent.

"I would have you get to Hywel Dda in one piece, deliver my message and return to me, to have your baby." Constantine said the words so softly that Osthryth hadn't been sure at first whether he had said anything at all. But he had replaced his hand on her arm and was looking at her face.

"I confess, Ceinid did tell me. I was angry, and threatened to make him kill you when you returned unless he told me what you would not."

"I, for one, am glad you saw sense," Osthryth replied. Was this really Constantine? He had seemed to have changed in the matter of months. "I simply wished to carry out my duty, for Aedre," she added. "Though I have never bowed to you, or to Alba, I would not break my word to you, Constantine."

"Aye." The word came softly, and he took up her hand again. "And I will not ask you to put yourself under unnecessary strain," Constantine added. "You will have the finest care."

"Then I am sorry that I must break my servce to you," Osthryth replied, realising then that she was bitterly sorry for herself as well but Constantine waved a hand, as if losing a spy to pregnancy and birth was of no consquence to him. An idea was trying to form in Osthryth's mind. but was too complicated for her tired mind, so she let it go back into the maelstrom of thoughts.

"What I need is Hywel Dda's and the Welsh position. The kings of Powis and of Gwynedd will fall in with what Hywel says." Constantine got to his feet and began to pace, a habit that Domhnall had when he was thinking as he spoke.

"What I need is...what I propose," he continued, "Is an alliance, of sorts, that should either of ur lands be invaded, we will send men to aid their defence, and they us. The Sais should never be allowed to enfold us into their union of kingdoms. So," Constantine added, "I should have you sail from Glaschu, Dyfnwal is cock-sure but will let you pass to the Clyde, then down the coast until you get to Abergwaun. That is where he will meet you. You are to take a message, a letter. You will have Aeswi, Feilim and Oengus."

But Osthryth had only heard the one word, and was already feeling sick at the idea of travelling by boat when she needn't. She had taken a horse for good reason even if the land, which was fraught with dangers, was riskier.

"Why do you think he will listen to me? I am a Saxon, after all."

"You are also a Briton, and that is of the most consequence. You are of Rheged, in your ancestry. That means a great deal to Hywel. The Britons settled in Cumbraland first, before travelling to Waeleas, Strathclyde, Pictland, Elmet. Rheged is the ancient origin of their race; you are a Briton, even if your father was a Saxon. Do not underestimate your role in carrying this message for me, Osthryth. Hywel will respect you for your heritage before you even open your mouth."

That is a good then, Osthryth thought, because feeling as she did then she wondered whether she could string a coherent sentence together in Anglish, never mind a persuasive one in Cymric.

"There is a second part to this," Constantine added. And here it was. Constantine was going to offer her a substantial concession, for what he was about to ask was going to be risky, was going to provide him with valuable intelligence.

"Aethelstan," he said simply. "When you have finished in Debeubarth, I need you to visit Gloucester. Again, Aeswi, Feilim and Oengus will accompany you."

"Gloucester," Osthryth repeated, and suspected she knew why already. It was where Aethelstan had grown up, and still lived. Aethelstan was Edward's eldest son, with a fierce alliegance to Mercia through Aethelflaed, and had been taught warriorship by Uhtred. Constantine was right to mae a study of this young man, for Aethelstan had the makings of Alfred, and if he had the makings of Alfred, he was likely to have his ambition. And his ambition may not limit his desires for kingdom-subdugation to the Saxon lands.

"Men are asking about Aedre," Constantine asked. "She is nearly the age to marry. What blood family did she have?"

And it struck Osthryth then, that she knew very little about the girl's real heritage.

"Her grandparents were burned in a fire, her mother too." Of her father, Beocca was an orphan. When Thyra died, he moved from town to town as Aethelhelm began taking control of Edward's affairs.

"She could marry one of the Ui Neill princes," Constantine mused. "Donnchada has sons now; I could invite them here, to assess they are suitable. Flann Sinna is getting old, and has no other sons to turn. It is Donnchada or Domnall, or Niall after him, although Domnall has already been High King, and abdicated in favour of his father-in-law. The direct Ui Neill line will end with Niall, for he and Land...Gormlaith, have no issue, and Donnchada and his line will be on the ascendancy."

Osthryth felt her mouth fall open. Domnall, her dear friend, had been High King? That meant, he had had to have been king of the Ailech, of the Ui Neills! Flann Sinna had had to have left the throne, or been pushed out, for that. She glanced in the direction of Constantine's throne, and at the parchment she had stolen - temporarily. Was that what he was telling his cousin?

"Domnall has been king?" And suddenly, Osthryth missed her friend, who she had walked with and been close with, when he had been exiled in Alba from Eireann, and knew at once the sadness Aedre would feel now she was going to be kept from Ildubh.

"These last years," Constantine nodded. "Flann Sinna went to exile in the south west, and Domnall continued to expel Norse in the same manner. Very successfully, I may add. Domnall is the reason I have intelligence about the Norse leaving Eireann."

"But he is no longer king?"

"On agreement that Flann named Donnchada or Niall as king after him, he allowed Flann to return. He was a good king, well-respected, just. But it did not suit him. He felt he could never live up to Flann's or even his father's rule." Constantine sighed. "If Muire had lived a little longer, she might have instilled something in him. He made for a king which gave stability to Ulster, even the Ulaid bowed to him, and not just because someone was pushing their necks."

Osthryth nodded. Domnall always had that streak of self-doubt. Whether it was because he was the eldest and people assumed he was going to be king after Aed Findlaich, his father, or for another reason. It was a pity. But it also meant that other great men were to follow Flann, people she had once known. Still dispelling the Norse.

Dispelling them into the north west coasts of Mercia and Northumbria.

"She is part Saxon, part Dane," Osthryth said.

"And I have a name. Anlaf."

"Anlaf." Osthryth sad the name. "The man who you are encouraging to take Eoferwic?"

"We have furthered agreements to one another," Constantine told her. "He will never infringe north of the wall, and I will ensure that none of my men incur into that part of Northumbria. Your cousin keeps Bebbanburg and his lands, and the lands to the wall become part of Pictland once again. Apart from one stretch of land."

But Osthryth's mind was racing on, and she had not picked up on his subtleness.

"As far as possible, I wish for her to make her own choice," Osthryth said. "If it were up to her parents, well, I cannot say. Beocca was a stout Christian priest, yet he indulged Thyra a good deal of her own culture. And Ildubh..."

"I have already instructed Ildubh to spend more time on governance; he will be a priest after me, when Cellach takes the throne."

Both schooled in kingship, Osthryth noted, approvingly. A king may never know if or when he will need his spare. "They are not to go off together any longer."

"Like us," Osthryth murmured.

"We are the wiser for our mistakes," Constantine murmured. "I am glad we can be allies, Osthryth, and work together. After this, I wish you to serve me no longer."

She felt the shock in her stomach before it got to her brain and she pulled herself up to her feet, standing inches from Constantine.

"Aedre?" she demanded. "And what else must I do that this child is supported?" Her hand drifted to her stomach.

"I will take the child, raise it with the other royal children, he or she will be learning their culture," Constantine replied, seemingly with an answer for everything. Not everything, Osthryth would learn, but that realisation did not come until a good time into the future.

"Thank you," Osthryth said, respecting her own advice to go with all that was happening. "It is good of you."

And that was when she caught a singular look in Constantine's eyes, one she would see again, but one she would not understand for a very long time.

"So, it is agreed? You will attend?" Osthryth nodded, and let Constantine guide her to a chair again, sitting down next to her.

"I have a proposal for you," Constantine told Osthryth. She turned to look at him, shocked.

"No!" The word was from her mouth before she could help it. He was proposing to her? She would never marry Constantine! The idea was absurd, even to keep the child at the palace - was that what he meant? But the king of Alba sat still beside her, waiting for her to subside.

"Not I, Osthryth," Constantine said, gently. "I have a kinsman who has lands north of Bebbanburg," Constantine told Osthryth. "Large estates where he farms barley. You could go there; you would be Lackland no longer; you could live in peace."

"And my child?" Osthryth asked the question, though her mind was shouting a refusal: no! She would not marry! Hadn't she told Domhnall so, many times?

"The child could visit you," Constantine continued. "He, or she, will have the best of a life here, with learning, with education, with warriorship." When she said nothing, Constantine took her other hand, running his fingers over the backs of her hands, like Osthryth remembered he used to do to soothe Aedre when she was upset.

"I was so furious, when you stood in my armour, when you took my place on the battlefield," Constantine told her.

"I was taller than you then," she remembered.

"Aye, and you fought, so well, so magnificently. You were not a twelve year old girl, but a man that day, you hacked down three men including that one that was going for Domhnall." Contantine chuckled, lightly.

"Let me do something for you." He glanced at her stomach. "I can't take your place when you bring forth your child, but I can make your life more comfortable."

He was a Constantine she had rarely seen. So often when she thought of him, Osthryth remembered him as a wiful bratling, bissing her about, locking her out of the fortress, hiding her clothes. Or taking her body before she had even known what was going on.

"It is something I could consider," Osthryth said, without heart. She would not be parted from her child, never. "I thank you, lord king," she added.

"Do I look like Domhnall?" Constantine scoffed, looking away. "He was your king, that is in no doubt. I would be content if you. after you have finished in my service, would consider me "a' caraid."

"I can see that would be something to consider," Osthryth replied. "However, the man you have in mind, he is not the warrior who is the father of this child." That look again. Osthryth tried to fix on it, to examine it, but all too soon Constantine had changed his face back to his usual form, unsmiling, but with an active interest behind his eyes.

"And this warrior provide you with a home? Security? My kinsman accepts the situation, accepts you as you are, Osthryth." Constantine leaned back, letting her hands slip from his, and Osthryth folded her arms, stubbornly.

"I have a home. Here," Osthryth replied, stubbornly. Hadn't she given enough silver to the crown of Alba for that?"

"Yes, now," Constantine explained. "But one day I will die and I would not have my son - either of my sons - renegotiate your living arrangements. I do not see a convent life suiting you." He held up a hand as Osthryth was about to protest. "I would see you happy. I would see you settled, a union in the sight of God." He lowered his hand and took Osthryth's, holding it tenderly, and they were children again. He was being conciliatory this time, rather than antagonistic, trying to do right by her, or so it seemed. Osthryth nodded her head.

"I will consider it," conceded Osthryth, not meaning it in the least. "And I will go to Debeubarth, and Gloucester." Constantine took her hand and kissed it, then made to kiss her face.

"Constantine!" Osthryth breathed, a panic setting in, for all their old feelings were rising in her body, and his, by the lump at her leg. "I am at an age where birth can kill me!" She put a hand between them to fend him away. "Being active, with a purpose, is a help to me. But I cannot, I cannot risk - " But Constantine had moved away as quick as a whisper.

"Consider the child my son or my daughter," Constantine told her. "As I consider Aedre. Have no fear. The child can look to me for guidance, for safety, for instruction."

"His father - " But Constantine shrugged her confession away.

"Attend the witan at Gloucester, find out as much as you can about Wessex and Mercia's interest in Debeubarth, in Hywel's lands. Edward is owed tribute, of some amount, I gather. What is the amount, and how long for? What form does it take?" Osthryth nodded.

"Stay for as long as you are able," he glanced to her stomach, "Report to me, then birth your child. Feilim and Oengus will be with you; their Cymric speech is similar to that Hywel speaks. It will add weight to your place there."

"But you need not go just yet. As Aedre said, you have only just arrived. I will not have her upset by your leaving again so soon."

"Anlaf," Osthryth mused.

"Or a son of Donnchada. Yes," Osthryth nodded. "Please, make the arrangements, I will consent to whatever you decide." Not that she had much choice; Constantine had always been indulgent to Aedre, and Osthryth's authority mattered little.

Which was why, no matter what Constantine planned for her child just then, Osthryth would keep that child close to her, be its parent, properly, not abandon it to a royal court upbringing. And certainly not have Constantine adopt him.

"Think on my proposal, the land will be in reach of your brother, Wihtgar, at Bebbanburg. You do not have to decide now."

88888888

It was the evening when Osthryth found herself in the armoury, looking at the stores, and what was available. Constantine had said to take what she willed, but Osthryth knew there was no point taking too much. Four of them, four horses, provisions for three days until they got to Glaschu, oiled leather for canvassed sleeping. They had their own weapons.

Osthryth had her eye on a brown mare that one of the guards had brought in from a run in the middle of the day, and Osthryth wondered whether she would like to try her, or stick with Grey Shadow, who seemed to have a mind of his own, and would not go when she wanted him to, or would sometimes jolt her when he came to uneven ground. There would be a lot of uneven ground between Dunnottar and Glaschu. Maybe the beast was older than he looked; maybe he was losing his sight, or was simply stubborn.

As she was laying out the oiled leather canvases, a noise in the room beyond her made her start, and she found that it was Ceinid, laying out newly-forged weapons and had dropped a reaping hook onto the floor. He smiled when he saw Osthryth at the door.

"Constantine has said I can take what I wish. Could you check to see I haven't missed anything? These days - " Osthryth broke off and put her hand to her head. These days, she could think that she had done everything, but found out nothing had been done, or sit down and her mind would wander. It was the pregnancy, Osthryth knew, for the latest she had allowed a child to be removed from her had been the same months as she was now, and she remembered the feeling.

After this time? That was something Osthryth had decided not to dwell on - it was an unknown, and as such could not plan for it. The mission south would keep her mind occupied, at least, and Aeswi had shown he was a decent man; she remembered Feilim. And Oengus was a sworn Mormaer, a man who took the law as if he were the king himself to Strathclyde, an enemy territory to his own family. He had honour and reputation to consider.

Ceinid stepped past Osthryth and went to the armoury table, looking up to the door as Aeswi stepped in.

"Have you made the arrangements? Or is it Oengus, seeing as we go to Strathclyde first?" Osthryth asked him. Aeswi looked at her, confused.

"I was rather under the impression you were leading this mission, lady," Aeswi replied. It was news to her, if leading meant she was in charge.

"In that case, begin with calling me my name," Osthryth told them. "I am not, and never have been a lady. A warrior, yes," Osthryth added. She leaned to Aeswi. "Can I trust Oengus? And Feilim?" Aeswi reached to her hand, and suddenly, he looked familiar, like someone she had met before, someone she knew.

"You have put your trust in me, right enough," Aeswi told her. "They are as loyal as they could be. But if you have doubts, tell Constantine you will not do it. Tell him Hywel does not need to have Urien's line confirmed."

"Urien's line?" And this made Osthryth's mind work.

"The line of Coel Hen. Constantine said something about your family? Your mother, perhaps?" And realisation flooded Osthryth's mind. She had found her mother at Caer Ligualid, when she had been in the scriptorium. Gytha, her father's third wife, had been a direct descendant from Urien, the Great King of Rheged. So that meant Osthryth, as well. She looked at Aeswi.

"It will make a difference, to Hywel?"

"Constantine believes so. Hywel is not a man easily impressed. But he respects - no, he fixes Cymru with Rheged, for it was the beginnings of the Cymric in what the Sais call Waeles. You and he are part of the same heritage."

"Then, yes," Osthryth confirmed. "I should go." And after that, with a stomach full of child...

"We leave the day after tomorrow," Osthryth told Aeswi. "I wish to hasten to Waeleas, and meet Hywel."

"I have laid out everything you need," Ceinid told her, as Aeswi left, giving her a smile. "I am glad you had me check, or you would have been short of bedding, horse tack, shoeing hammers, pots, flint."

"I wish you were coming with me," she told him, flying to her friend, and Ceinid took her hand, gently. "How can I trust these men?"

"You can trust Aeswi," Ceinid told her. "You trusted Finnolai all those years ago?" Osthryth nodded, as the image of Finnolai, really Findal, now a monk at Caer Ligualid, after everything, appeared in her mind. "Then trust his brother."

"Aeswi?" Osthryth found herself looking at the man's wake, at the door through which he had left and the courtyard across which he had walked. She knew she recognised something abiut him, the same gentle wit, the same humility, the same humanity.

"Feilim you know, and Oengus is kin to Constantine, he is a good man also. If you are asking do I think you are safe in their company, yes, Osthryth, I would trust you with them. But, as Aeswi said, if you doubt yourself, should you be doing this for Constantine? Remember he was a little shite-arse, who I had had to beat round the head on more than one occasion." Osthryth laughed, and dropped his hand.

"No, I can do this. I spent so long in Mercia, I feel like I have forgotten Alba." But Ceinid was not ready to let her go just yet, and he reached for her, pulling Osthryth gently to him, before lightly kissing her cheek.

"We have not forgotten you, Osthryth."

88888888

Aedre was not in her rooms when Osthryth went to find her, nor had Ealasaid or any of the servants seen her, but a wild commotion was coming form one of the lower floors, so Osthryth went back down to find her daughter pummelling the grain sacks in the stores with a stick.

She saw Osthryth, and slammed a few more times into it, before dropping the stick, and gave Osthryth a low, moody look, folding her arms in annoyance.

"Your father has told Ildubh not to see you," Osthryth said to her daughter, as she slumped down onto some of the empty flour sacks. Aedre had been crying, her face was red and blotchy and tear-stained.

"Come here, mo alainn," Osthryth encouraged, but Aedre turned her head away from her, and sank her chin onto her hands. Osthryth crossed to her, and sat beside her, half-expecting Aedre to shake her away when she placed a hand onto her shoulder, but she didn't. Instead, she sank her head back to Osthryth's shoulder and let her adoptive mother stroke her hair.

"I would have rebelled too, if I were in your place," Osthryth consoled her, as Aedre sighed. "I did do; I ran away from my home. You know that; I've told you before."

"Bebbanburg," Aedre sighed. "Several times."

"Do you understand why?" Osthryth asked her.

"So we do not spend time inappropriately together," Aedre said.

"That is what Constantine said?" Osthryth didn't need an answer, it sounded like Constantine. "Soon, you will get your monthly bloods. That is a sign that - "Osthryth began, trying to be the responsible parent, but Aedre turned to her and nodded.

"Mhathair, I already know. Ealasaid told me, and I know my father has taken him away from me because he is worried I might become with child, but honestly, Ildubh and I? He is a brother to me, like your brother is to you."

Which one, Osthryth thought, dully. And she added "Wihtgar is a dear brother. And Constantine is considering a match for you." Aedre laughed.

"Of course he is! she replied, then added "And why should he not?

"I did not say that, Aedre alainn," she said, patting her daughter's hair again. "Do you remember the story I told you? The story of the fire?" Aedre leaned our of her arms.

"My mother was burning in a house; you took her for help. She could not be saved, you adopted me and brought me to safety here. My father," she paused, "I rememeber an old man, lying down."

"Is that all I've told you?" When Aedre did not reply, Osthryth's mind raced. What did she know about Thyra's family? Come to that, what did she know of Beocca's?

"Then listen," said Osthryth, urgently. "Listen to me. It is time you heard the whole story, and Osthryth told her about her family, out of Hiabithu, in Denmark, how they had settled, killed many Saxons - "

"Death to all Sais," Aedre put in, in Gaelish, and Osthryth nodded at the familiar refrain.

"And your family settled. My brother, my older brother was captured in battle by your grandfather, and pleased him so well that he brought him up as his own son."

"Ragnar the Fearless," Aedre murmured.

"Yes, you remember?"

"I remember some."

"Your mother's family's home was burned by another Dane, Kjartan, whose son had shamed your mother as a child, and your grandfather took revenge. Sven was his name, but then he captured and imprisoned your mother, for years and years."

Then Osthryth described how Young Ragnar and Uhtred had raided Dunholm and freed Thyra. "Your mother and father found each other there; Beocca helped her find God, and peace. And you were conceived in love and safety in Wessex." She took Aedre's hand.

"So, the Norse, the Danes...all are your relations. I only ever met one other, Thyra's brother." Oshtryth remembered Ragnar the Younger, tall, broad, fair-haired, fair, just, good humoured. Handsome. Not a wonder that Brida, wherever she was now, had loved him.

"All relatives of yours," Osthryth persisted. "Anlaf is a cousin of some sort...you have such a culture to discover, Aedre," she enthused, smiling at her. "Constantine did not want you to be told yet, ever, I think if he had his way. So when you go, you will still know him as "athair," and you will never forget Alba."

"I will never leave Alba," Aedre said, stubbornly, folding her arms again. "This is my home; Anlaf can live here." But Osthryth shook her head.

"If you marry him, then no. You would go with him. He is trying to re-establish his claim in Eoferwic, as is another Norse-Dane, Sytryggr of Dubhlinn. Anlaf is a good man, so Constantine says, and he would never say so unless he is sure. You are his daughter, Aedre, the daughter he never had, more a child of his than ever Ildubh or Cellach."

And then suddenly, Aedre did a very un-Aedre like thing: she threw her arms around Osthryths neck and hugged her, hard and intensely, like she used to do when she was a tiny child.

"Oh, mhathair, I love you so!" She declared. "That you saved my life, that you brought me here, I have never had an unhappy day, not really!" Osthryth laughed lightly into her hair.

"Not when you tried to jump into the Forth and swim alongside the boat to Culdees, and Ceinid fished you out? You were having a pretty bad day screaming and cursing at him with all the new swearwords the fisher boys had taught you." She felt Aedre cry-giggle into her shoulder.

"And what about the day you came back in the middle of the night because you and Ildubh had walked ten miles west instead of east and you had lost a shoe in the mud?" Aedre laughed again, and looked Osthryth in the face.

"Yes, it will all change now," and she looked at Osthryth's stomach. "And you will have a new child to care for.

"I will need your help, Aedre," Osthryth said, "And you are always my daughter, and I will always be here for you when you need me. You were mine first." And she saw the girl's face lit up with the idea of a child, and put a hand to Osthryth's stomach.

"I will be in the birthing room with you, mhathair, I will never leave your side!"

"No," Osthryth said, "Not that. I did not mean that," she insisted. Because Osthryth would be out of control then, and would not be able to direct Aedre, or protect her. "You will learn to hold your brother or sister; dress them, how to tie them out of the way -

"What?" Aedre looked at Osthryth with a frown.

"Swaddle them, and bundle them up, so they learn to hold up their heads and grow straight. Although I never did that with you; I wouldn't let you out of my arms for the first six months of your life. You nursed from me, I changed you, I was there when you explored. You slept beside me." Aedre was looking at Osthryth in wonder, and then smiled.

"Ealasaid has said I can help," Aedre told her. "And Ealasaid has birthed hundreds of babies, so she has said. You don't need to protect me, mhathair, I can help you."

And Osthryth looked at Aedre, really saw her then, nearly old enough to marry, no longer a child.

"Since when did I get such a grown up girl on my hands?" Osthryth asked, and this time pulled Aedre too her. "And, as to Anlaf, you do not have to marry him, even if Constantine says he is a good man. In fact, do not decide until the time, I may not even be here; if I am going away."

"Athair has never decided to send you to do something for you now, when you are with child?" Aedre asked, aghast.

"Why not?" Osthryth replied. "It is not like I am going to give birth tomorrrow; it takes many months until the baby is ready."

"Nine cycles of the moon," Aedre told her. "How many cycles has it been now?"

"Four," Osthryth told her. And that had been her limit. Osthryth had never been pregnant for longer than four months. It worried her, the loss of independence, the loss of her freedoms and, a reasonable risk of loss of her life. Osthryth wrenched her mind to Aedre as a thought crossed her mind and she looked at Aedre.

"Has Constantine told Ildubh that he must not see you beginning immediately?" And she watched her daughter's beautiful face light up like a day in high summer. Aedre shook her head, then slowly got to her feet, realisation filling her mind.

"Enjoy yourselves," Osthryth called, then added, "And don't get into too much bother, or Constantine will be wanting to speak to me about it!"

From down the corridor, which led to the stables she heard her daughter call, "We won't, mhathair, we won't!"

88888888

Osthryth returned to the armoury, which was deserted, to consider the plan before them, until hunger crept upon her like a thief to steal her energy and she made her way in the dusklight across the stableyard to the kitchen. From beyond the kitchen garden wall Osthryth heard Aedre laughing, but trying not to laugh, and Ildubh talking to her, which was making her laugh all the more.

Glymrie was making a stew for supper, and told her she could go to join Constantine and the lords in the hall. But Osthryth shook her head, and told him she was too tired to be sociable, so he took her by the hand to the little annexe beyond the kitchen and got her to sit down with her wooden bowl full of broth, before leaving and returning with bread, and some blankets.

He had remembered her, then, Osthryth thought, despite what must be very advanced years, and she marvelled that Glymrie could still do his job with crinkled eyes and a bent back. He had remembered where she used to sleep, too, and that she did not take meals with the royalty.

And Osthryth did sleep, and would probably have slept until morning had not an owl hooting in the blackness had made her stir.

She got up, and found in the darkness a candle was still lighted within a lanthorn at the very centre of the table. Fresh-drawn water was in a jug beside it, along with more food, some which looked suspiciously like portions which could be taken on a journey, and Osthryth's heart melted as she guessed the only person who would have thought of this, when she had not. Osthryth had a lot to thank Ceinid for.

A drink, and a walk made Osthryth feel better. She knew she should speak to Oengus, if he were the Constantine's mormaer for Strathclyde. Osthtyth knew little about Dyfnwal, other than what Constantine had told her, that he was a petulant brat, or words to that effect. Yet, they were travelling to his kingdom to sail south - there must be a reason for that particular arrangement, rather than just riding south. It was quicker, of course, and would allow them to arrive to Debeubarth in a few days rather than several weeks, and meant no kingdoms would be crossed.

But was that all? Knowing Constantine as she did, Osthryth supposed not.

Her walk took her past the throne room where two guards were standing, protecting the door. Light could be seen around the door frame, so Constantine must be meeting with lords, she gathered.

Then, the door opened. Instinctively, Osthryth pressed her back to the cold stone of the fortress wall, as Constantine stepped out, and then, behind him, Oengus. Both men nodded to one another. Osthryth could just see, into the dimly lit room another figure. Aeswi, perhaps? But her eye was drawn back to Constantine and, when he turned and walked past her without recognition, Osthryth waited, and then followed Oengus.

Feilim she knew, from Glen Orchy. He was loyal to Constantine, so Osthryth had a lot of faith that she could trust him, doing as she would be the king's business. But Oengus? She did not remember him, and barely knew the connection between him and the crown of Strathclyde.

But, he was mormaer of that land; Contantine must trust him enough to give him the role of overseer of his laws. Which, if she were Dyfnwal, would anger her. Dyfnwal was Eochaid's son, and Eochaid, son of the last Briton in the throne of Strathclyde, had claimed Dunnottar, a failed claim, even with the help of the wily Griogair.

As the Britons in the Heptarcy distained the Saxons and the Angles, the Britons, the Cymric nations: Strathclyde, Pictland, Rheged, although this kingdom was now obsolete, felt the same about the Gaels. It did not matter that Ceinid mac Alpin married a Briton, and overthrew Drest; it did not matter that his descendants had held the territory and held it further against the Norse. To many Cymric the Gaels were pirates from over the sea who took their land, and still held it, and now made their authority over it. And from the few words Aeswi had given to her, Dyfnwal felt much the same, despite his father, Eochaid's own mother being mac Alpin's own daughter. Dyfnwal was as much Gael as Constantine was Pict.

So she wanted to get the lie of the land. Heritage apart, what did Dyfnwal want? Why were they going via Glaschu to take a boat to Debeubarth and to Hywel? There was more than the idea of easy passage to be considered here. Finan had once said that Uhtred had remarked of King Alfred that, "The bastard thinks." Therein the same epithet could be given to Constantine, for he was equally cunning, equally head-smart as the former king of the West Saxons.

Osthryth caught up with Oengus as he got to a door that looked to have a bed behind it. She waited until the man, broad, and at least a head higher than her, turned to close the door. He did not start at her appearance behind him, but narrowed his eyes.

"I am Osthryth," she began, and the man straightened up in the door frame and peered down at her.

"Yes," Oengus, "I know who you are. We have met before."

"When I stood before Constantine, this morning," Osthryth continued.

"When you stood beside Domhnall's bastard of a Gaelish cousin outside the stable yard at Glen Orchy in only your slip, and ran when a load of drunk Cymru chased after yer both." But Osthryth shook her head.

"You must be mistaken; I have never owned a slip." Oengus looked at her again, then drew a hand to his head. "Oh, now, wait, maybe it was when yer were up in the stable loft giving yon bastard a good seein' to." Osthryth rarely blushed, but she could feel the warmth spreading across her neck and face.

"Aye yes, everyone kenned what ye had both been up ter, very quet the next morning, was Prince Constantine." Oengus chuckled. "And then yer left, sailed off somewhere, with others of Domhnall's men, and that bastard Griogair." He looked down at her. When Osthryth said nothing, Oengus glanced at her, and then away for a moment, seeing her pink face.

"I am sorry for that," he said, as silence fell between them. "I meant no offence."

"None taken," Osthryth shrugged. "Men hump, and brag about it to anyone who will listen. Why should women not hump and enjoy it?" Oengus said nothing for a few moments, then breathed in sharply, and gave a brief nod. "Except there are more risks for women," she added, touching her stomach lightly, then folded her arms and gave Oengus a steely look.

"And yer are back. Constantine says you are to be trusted."

"He said the same thing about you," Osthryth embroidered. He hadn't, in so many words. But, Osthryth felt safe in the assumption that, if Constantine wanted her to go with three warriors to Glaschu, that she could at least trust the basic premise that they were loyal to him.

"If that is the case, then it is the most generous thing he has ever said about me in his life," Oengus conceded. "What is it yer want, bean?"

"Osthryth," Osthryth told him. "And I am not a woman, I am a warrior." Oengus threw back his head and laughed.

"Not looking like that yer not," Oengus chortled, looking at her rounded stomach. "See yer have had yer fun with Constantine again?" But Osthryth folded her arms.

"He is not the father of this child!" she retorted. But Oengus's face did not move from the triumphant grin on it.

"Only yer can say, I suppose," he shrugged. "So what is it yer want from me?"

"Information," Osthryth said, baldly. Oengus held open the door, and grinned an opportunist's grin at her. She folded her arms again.

"Tomorrow. Before we leave. I need to know about King Dyfnwal, and the true reason we are going to Glaschu."

"Yer don't need to wait until the morning for that," Oengus replied, still holding the door open to invitation. "We are going so we can get, fast, to Hywel Dda of the Waeleas, and have you deliver a message to him." But Osthryth shook her head, feeling the ground move beneath her feet. Keep it together, she warned herself, you are not a fading, knocked-up kitchen maid.

"But why Glaschu? We could go south east, to Caer Ligualid, or further down, into Cumbraland. Dyfnwal owns to Eamont, does he not?"

"You know a great deal," Oengus conceded. "So let me give you a bit of advice - "

"No, let me give you a bit of advice!" Osthryth shot back. "I may be younger than you, I may be a woman, but I have led men across battlefields, I have stood in shield walls, I have killed Norse and Danes, and one or two Saxons. I stood beside - "

" - beside Domhnall when he killed Ivarr," Oengus finished for her. Osthryth listened, and ran his words through her head. But they were not mocking her, no. Oengus was repeating what he thought was fact, and perhaps betraying a little respect into the words.

"I was twelve; the Norseman was about to kill Domhnall. I just did what I could. And then Ivarr fell. I don't remember much."

"Few remember battles," Oengus replied. "Those who claim to have never handled spear or axe or chain or sword." He glanced down to Osthryth's hip, to Buaidh. "I remember you had a sword; not that one, I do not think." Osthryth shook her head as Oengus continued, remembering Faedersword.

"I was there. I fought before these very gates." He looked down the passageway where, at the end, the great gates of Dunnottar were, locked now it was night, inner gates, which led across to the outer rampart gates. Just out there, Osthryth remembered, and how it felt like it could have been yesterday. "Constantine was sore you took his place," Oengus added, still supporting his chamber door at the top with his huge hand. "He talks about it, he jokes about it." Oengus looked to her. "When he is like that, you know, when he makes light of a situation, well, you know he is feeling sorry for himself."

"It was not my intention to make him feel ashamed," Osthryth admitted. "I fought, because one more warrior for Aed meant a chance of one less Northman, and he would not put on his battle armour. I wanted to do something for him that I knew I could do." And Oengus said nothing for a moment, just stared at her.

"You have my ear," he told her. "Please, ask what you will. I am, hmm, sorry if I treated you badly."

"You did not. Few expect a female warrior. It unsettles them, you get the advantage for a moment." Osthryth nodded.

"Come," Oengus invited again, his demeanour much different to the leering man who had she had first encountered. And this time, Osthryth did pass the threshold, and found a chair near a case on which to sit. Oengus did not sit, but stood before her.

"My lady, who did once called Bebbanburg her home," he hypothesised. And he was right to, but Osthryth shook her head.

"No more. Not since I was driven from it. To here. To where I was given a home, with King Aed, and is kin, and the servants who were always kind to me, even though I was a bastard Sais." But it was Oengus's turn to shake his head this time.

"Aed knew very early on whence you came," he told Osthryth. "But you were lost, and vulnerable."

"Therefore valuable," Osthryth interjected.

"Aye," Oengus conceded. "Valuable trade asset. But, bring you up in the Gaelish way, and more likely would you be willing to go to whatever marriage had been designed for you, than sell you back to Aelfric for pennies."

"Then, glad I am for speculation on my own life," Osthryth concluded, trying not to let the flavour of bitterness enter her tone. "But the gamble did not pay off; I am unmarried, and lived for many years in Wessex." And nor will I ever marry, Osthryth repeated in her head, the same words, the same phrase, since long ago. She meant it, even if she had agreed to a match with whoever Constantine meant when he said, "his kin".

"From where you fled, and sought refuge in the place you thought of as home. I say that Aed was successful. You are a Gael in your heart, not a Saxon." Oengus was rubbing his chin. "Not even a Briton."

"My mother was a Briton," Osthryth replied.

"Dear Gytha," Oengus replied. "Or, should I say, Gwythelth, last Cymric princess of the Hen Ogledd." And Osthryth found, as she stared at the man, she was gripping the chair, her joints feeling strain as she held it.

"And you are her only child," Oengus continued, as he looked at Osthryth's face, with intense curiosity.

"No, Gytha had another, my uncle forced her to marriage, my brother Wihtgar who holds Bebbanburg, in Northumbria." The words came from her mouth, but Osthryth's mind was racing, and she did not see the look on Oengus's face. He did not know that; he did not know that a second heir lived. Osthryth, however, was thinking of the last memory she had of Gytha, black haired, pale face, lined, care-worn, but always smiling at Osthryth.

She had sat in the throne room of Bebbanburg cradling her stomach, as Osthryth cradled her own, but Gytha - Gwythelth of Rheged - was more term, and she had gone into confinement with nuns from St. Abbs coming to tend her. And had come out wrapped in a shroud, Wihtgar, who Aelfric had named, "Uhtred", to fit in with the inheritance of Bebbanburg, in the arms of a wet nurse.

Osthryth had had no-one to turn to, no-one's arms into which she could bury her head. Beocca had gone, there were no other women, and Osthryth had crept to the top of the chapel and watched her uncle's proceedings from there, the burial of her mother, the baptism of her infant brother. Perhaps that was why she was an unfeeling bitch who felt little when she fought, except for getting the job done.

"You...knew my mother?" The words slipped from Osthryth's mouth as she looked at Oengus, who stopped pacing and took a chair next to Osthryth, still looking at her face.

"Yes," he told her, resting an elbow in his knee. "Yes, I knew her. She was, well, much like you. The Briton part of you. They said Eochaid's father, Rhun, was the last Briton king of Strathclyde; he married mac Alpin's daughter, who was Eochaid's mother. But your mother was Rhun's sister, much younger than he was. Gwythelth grew up with Eochaid, inseparable, they were, aunt and nephew, more like brother and sister." Oengus shook his head.

"But she was sent, sent very young, as a wife to the lord of Bebbanburg, for his own wife had died in childbirth. Nearly broke Eochaid's heart. And I remember her waving...huh...as the carriage went away...I loved your mother, so very much," Oengus confessed, looking away. "How she was pleased to be carrying on the tradition of Rheged princesses and Bernician Saxon princes."

"Like Oswy and Reienmelth," Osthryth whispered. Oengus stepped towards her, and lowered his brow.

"Reienmelth," he echoed. "Yes, yes!" He declared, his reply booming around the walls. "Daughter of the son of Urien, betrayed by Morgant Bwlch on the eve of Catraech. But for this, the Britons would have driven the Saxons back into the sea...if Prince Urien had been amongst them..."

Oengus trailed off, and turned, as if his own thoughts were filling his mind and he needed a moment to himself. But Osthryth had her own line of ideas now, and she went with the one uppermost in her memory.

"That is the point, is it not?" she asked. "Stabilise Strathclyde into an alliance, bring in Hywel and Flann Sinna...or wait for the next Ui Neill, who may be even more willing to fight with Constantine? That is what he means about subduing the Saxons and the Angles?" Oengus turned back and gave Osthryth a grave look.

"Were that everything," Oengus said, grimly. "Dyfnwal seeks to ally with the Norse in the Western Isles; the king believes that he is trying to form enough of an army to mount an uprising." Oengus looked at his arm as Osthryth placed a hand on it.

"Will he listen?" Osthryth wondered.

"He is petulant," Oengus replied, taking Osthryth's hand off his arm and putting it into her lap. "I wouldn't trust him, but Constantine has. He is Eochaid's son. To any Cymric, the Gaels are the invaders, pushing themselves into power, now claiming they rule over an entire land called Alba, with Strathclyde within it." Oengus sighed. "Hen Ogledd, the Old North, is the original kingdom for all Cymric, and though they have nothing now, not even their original homeland, all Britons have a collective memory of the land told in song and story to the next generation. Constantine clever, he is wise to let Dyfnwal still rule.

"But he is not a mormaer?"

"He is king; he bent the knee to Constantine." Oengus got to his feet. "And we were happy when it was just us and the Pictlanders to fight; the Gaels hold that we did not do enough to convert them and it took their own ColmCille to do it."

"And who do the Picts hate?" Osthryth asked.

"Us, the Strathclydian Cymric, for they claim they were happy with their old gods. And that there was a feud that could not be won against the Angles because of Urien's death, although their king ordered it." Oengus sighed. "Both hate the Gaels, the black-haired strangers from over sea."

"Can he be talked to?" Osthryth returned to her original point.

Oengus fixed her with a stare and replied, "Perhaps. So, you are coming?"

"I've organised supplies and food for us all," Osthryth told him, though it had been Ceinid, for most of it, not her. "I intend to - " But Oengus held up a hand. At this, Osthryth got up too, outraged at this man telling her what to do. But she fell silent when he looked down at her and smiled.

"Trust us; you are not to fight, your child needs its mother," Oengus said. "Allow us to protect you. Constantine would - " The door was flung open. On the other side of it, the king, who strode in towards Oengus.

"I have considered that you - " Constantine begain, then saw Osthryth and stopped.

"What is happening here?" He demanded, and made to take Osthryth by the arm. She pulled her arm back, so all that Constantine gripped was empty air.

"Osthryth!" He glared at her, and then at Oengus. then turned to Osthryth again.

"What are you doing at this hour in the room of one of my mormaers?" He made to grab her again. Old Constantine was back, Osthryth thought, dully. Petulant, demanding Constantine.

"I could not sleep; I went for a walk, saw Oengus, remembered that I needed to speak to him about our venture, and - " This time, Constantine caught her wrist.

"And where were you sleeping?" Constantine demanded, as Osthryth struggled.

"Where I always sleep at Dunnottar, with the mice at the back of the kitchens!" she retorted, aware that Oengus was looking at the both of them.

"You will come with me!" Constantine demanded. "Oidche mhath, a caraid," he said to Oengus, still holding Osthryth's wrist, and she grew angry when she could not get her arm away.

"And where exactly is it you want me to go?" Osthryth demanded, finally shaking Constantine off as they got outside the door. Constantine made another grab of her, then stopped, looking defeated and stopped, aware perhaps that his mormaer was watching them.

"Go back to the kitchens; rest," Constantine told her, sighing. But Osthryth took a step towards him.

"Can Ceinid come with us?" she asked, bluntly. "To Glaschu?"

"No," Constantine shook his head. "He is my household guard; trust me when I say you will be well cared for by my lords," he reasoned, aware that Oengus was in the doorway staring at them both.

Saying nothing to his Strathclydian lord, Constantine marched down the passageway. After a second or two, Osthryth followed, down past the hall and onwards, following Constantine until he got to his own chamber. Osthryth looked at the door frame, remembering that she knew the place so well. Constantine pushed open the door, and Osthryth followed, not waiting to be invited.

"Osthryth!" Constantine exclaimed, staring at her as if he had never seen her before that night, looking a little abashed, his tone lower, conciliatory. "It was wrong of me to not have invited you to the meeting this evening. Of course, of course you want to know what your role is."

"Something about my being the last of the Hen Ogledd?" She asked, as Constantine crossed behind her and pushed the door closed with enough force so the latch caught in place as it slammed. He crossed to a table on which a quill and parchments lay, and drew up a letter, which he pushed in Osthryth's direction.

"You are to take this letter to Hywel, that he be reminded of the alliance that once existed between Waeleas and Alba, he said. "It is in Gaelish, so I want you to translate it for him, to demonstrate trust. Of course, he can get it translated himself, and he will find it is exactly as you say, so my words will bear heavier on him." Osthryth said nothing as she took it, looking only at the wax seal that had the letter, "C" pressed upon it.

"Your ancestor, yes," Constantine said. "Your mother was of the line of the Hen Ogledd, back to Coel Hen, the merry old soul, through Urien and beyond." He paced past her, and glanced back at the documents upon his table.

"It was a source of shame that Morgant Bwlch sent an assassin to kill Urien on the eve of battle. His men, out of their heads on mead in mourning, still fought, as did the men of Pictland, but were too disorganised to win against the Angles." Constantine shook his head. "There is always a fight, always fighting, killing, always a blood feud. I seek to put an end to it. Do you notice there is little like this in Eireann? Because of the High King," Constantine concluded.

Osthryth said nothing, considering the events in Ireland - having a High King and regional representatives did not seem to have served Flann Sinna too well, she thought, and there seemed to be a lot of bloodshed. However, it seemed to have been working under Aed Findlaith, Domnall, Ethne and Niall's father, whose funeral she had witnessed at Ar Macha; she remembered Tara as a great meeting place with so many peoples in one place at peace, networking conducting business, enacting law and generally being content under the emperorship of the Ui Neill. It was no wonder that Constantine wanted that for Alba, for who would not want peace, when war was so endlessly draining, of men, money, energy. Nothing lasting could ever be developed under the threat or actuality of war.

"And Hywel? Debeubarth is so far away from us."

"Hywel feels threatened," Constantine replied back, simply.

"Threatened?" She would have Constantine spell it out, though she knew exactly what he meant: Mercia was client to Wessex now because of Edward's power; Northumbria next. Wessex pressed to Hywel because ofa shared old enemy, namely Mercia, and though Hywel claimed independence, Deheubarth he relied on Wessex for access into the Frankia sea and European trade, and Constantine said as much, while looking back to his parchments.

"Can I trust the men?" Osthryth asked him. "I would be happier if Ceinid was with me. Or else I can go alone." Constantine gave her a look, narrowing his eyes, and then sat down on the bed Osthryth knew so well, patting a place beside him. Osthryth did not move, and he did not insist.

"You are not strong enough to go alone," Constantine explained, "And for my plan to succeed, the game is planned far ahead. I would have sent you alone, but I did not count on...a child." He nodded his head to Osthryth.

"I need Britons, all Britons to be assured of my alliance, and theirs for me. Hywel Dda is a closed man - he can afford to be. No burhs does he need, for he has mountains and valleys - as do I, particularly in our ancient lands, Dal Riata, and many sea currents in the islands there that only men who were brought up to them know their ways. Mountains and valleys mean most offensives fail - your ancestor Ecgfrith found that out, at Nechtansmere." Osthryth nodded. She knew the stories of her Saxon ancestors from Beocca almost as well as she knew the stories her mother told her, when Gytha had crept illicitly into Osthryth's room, of her Old North ancestors, although she had thought them to be carefree, soothing bedtime stories then.

"So Hywel can afford to be choosy," Constantine continued. "I need to send him something that will help change his mind."

"And what is that?" Osthryth asked.

"You. There is one thing that will turn Hywel's head is your ancestry, of Rheged, they are the origin of Cymric in Waeleas. If you bring my mesaage, it will add weight to my cause." Osthryth nodded, regretting the offer of a seat now, for she felt tired, and sleep was beginning to nag her eyes. But she would not let Constantine hump her, that night, or any, and sitting by him would encourage old habits between them.

"And your brother, at Bebbanburg," Constantine continued. Osthryth's breath caught in her throat before she realised he meant Wihtgar. "I need a bulwark to the Saxons, when the ,ormaers next meet, I plan to invite him to Dunnottar, make him an honourary mormaer, so to speak."

"If you want him," Osthryth advised, "You need to give him a good reason to join you. Like Aelfric, I do not believe his heart is in a fight; he sees Bebbanburg as a home to return to after travelling overseas."

"Good, good," Constantine nodded, "So presumbly he will not object to Scots guarding the place." I am sure he will, Osthryth said to herself; for the natural enemies of the Bernicians are the Scots. "And I hope he does spend time away," Constantine added, with a chuckle. "An absent Lord makes claiming the disputed lands to the wall a much easier prospect."

She could stand no longer, and Osthryth paced to Constantine and belatedly took up the offer of rest. Constantine did not move, save to look at her, shirt, given to her by Merewalh in Mercia loose over her trousers, outlining her bump, huge sleeves which she had tied back.

"Why do you hate Uhtred so?" Constantine asked. "You left your home to go to find him."

"I did," Osthryth agreed. "I did find him. And...we did not get on," Osthryth replied, laconically.

"Oh?" It was no good prevaricating, so Osthryth pressed on.

"We tore pieces out of each other; most of the money I brought to you was his, or at least, he was the latest owner, and of course that did not go down well. I did not try hard enough." But she heard Constantine sigh the sigh that Osthryth recognised, when he had caught someone out in a lie. Osthryth had not lied. But the truth was hard to encapsulate in words.

"No, it is more than that," Constantine said. And Osthryth stared at him, then got up.

In the candlelight, she turned away from him and began to undresss, unfolding her sleeves first to loose her shirt, then pulling it off, so she was standing with her damaged back towards Constantine.

Then, she pulled off her breeches, so Constantine could see her thighs, beaten and scarred, before turning, and showing the whole of herself, distended stomach, deep scars to her abdomen and chest, and down her neck, her breasts out in front of her, now large with pregnancy, with protruding, tender nipples, dark and wide. Not her breasts, Osthryth thought. Not her body.

There was silence, but even looking away from Constantine she could tell she as looking upon her.

"I have seen your body since you came back from Wessex, just before Domhnall died," Constantine said, grimly. "This has happened recently."

"No, you haven't," Osthryth retorted, as she watched Constantine's eyes roam over her body again. "You have taken my body, you have touched me, fondled me, felt me, ridden me, given me pleasure, given me pain, but you have not seen the damage done from a calculated, considered attack."

"Who?" Constantine demanded, sharply, look of deep fury bedding into his features.

"Uhtred," Osthryth said simply. And she dipped to collect her clothes, but stopped when she saw Constantine's expression.

"What did he do?"

"This?" Osthryth waved a hand over her form. "He gave me to a monster of a man to do with me what he willed, and that man did what he willed," she said, simply. But, it is long past. I no longer wish to murder Uhtred - "

"I do. No man should border me who has such little regard for a person." But Osthryth shook her head.

" - but if I deny him Bebbanburg, he would be living a life worth than death to him. Wihtgar does not have the will; I need another plan." She made to dress, but Constantine got to his feet, taking her clothes from her hand, then leading her to his bed. He had changed, now, he was tender, his petulant streak gone.

"Sleep here," Constantine said, and opened the sheets and blankets. When Osthryth did not move, he gently pressed her shoulder, and she was aware of his cool fingers in her skin. "Sit," he encouraged.

No! Osthryth protested silently, thinking Constantine was about to join her, and for a moment, wanted him to, wanted to hold his hand and have him curl her into his arm, and she took her shoulder away from his grasp. I was too much pregnancy, Osthryth knew, she had seen a vixen, whose fox had been hunted, and with cubs had coerced another male to act as their father. The fox had, too, and had brought back food for his adoptive cubs. She now understood what Aethelflaed must have felt, pregnant and captured by the Thurgilsons - Osthryth touched the jewel in her hair - like Finan, Aethelred was lost to her, and Eirik was in her full sight.

"Rest, Osthryth," Constantine said, softly, letting her swing herself into his bed. "Mairi was always tired when she was halfway with child." And Osthryth remembered that he had gone through it all before. She watched, with half open eyes as Constantine made his way to the door, before calling to him.

"Can you sit by me?" she asked. The steps stopped. Constantine turned and moved back towards her, his body stiff from the restraint he was showing, for she was naked and it was clear to Osthryth that he wanted her still. Instead, Constantine waited for Osthryth to lie down as he reached for her hand. Osthryth curled her own around his, and closed her eyes, resting her head on his arm.

"You test me, Osthryth," he sighed, when he considered Osthryth to be asleep. "Every day, since you came to Dunnttar, you have tested me." Then he prised his hand from hers, and slipped from the room.

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It was mid-morning when Osthryth was awakened by a door opening and closing. She tried to blink, but her eyes weren't having any of it, and she rolled over, taking the covers with her.

A "clink" made her turn back over, and she saw Ealasaid, the fortress's elderly servant turn back from the food she had brought to her and had set down on Constantine's writing desk. Realising she was unclothed, Osthryth sat up, bringing the covers with her. Ealasaid smiled, and gestured towards more clothing that she had brought with her, folded shirt, jerkin beside breeches. Osthryth's own boots were beside them and her belt, on which hung Taghd's seax and Buaidh.

"Thank you for looking after Aedre for me," Osthryth told the woman, who was, in effect, the hands everyone went to for business from cradle to grave and everything in between.

"She is a wilful treasure," Ealasaid replied, in her usual manner, sparing few words. "Just like you."

And, Osthryth thought, as she ate the bread, meat and sipped the cooled boiled water, how right she was, a wilful treasure described Aedre perfectly.

After dressing, Osthryth was astonished that the day was now up. Though nearly the end of the year the sun was bright, and lit up the gentle hills to the back of Dunnottar, illuminating their dark greens and golds and purples. Light clouds flitted above her. Were it to last, Osthryth thought, and the journey east would be a treat. But the weather was fickle, and changed at will - it was no wonder the Danes and Norse, and the Britons too, believed there was a god who decided the weather based on the effect of it on people. Even Saint Ceadd had prayed with all his might in a thunderstorm to beg God to spare them from his wrath.

They were going today, Ceinid told her, as she looked in surprised at four readied horses, and was pleased that the mare, rather than the flighty Grey Shadow, was going to be hers.

"I asked for you to come with me, but Constantine has refused," she told him. Ceinid nodded.

"I am needed here," he replied.

"I need you," Osthryth replied, needily, then added, "But as you are here for Constantine, he needs you more." Ceinid grinned at that, and showed her the provisions he had had packed for them.

"Tell me about the defense of Dunnottar; do the mormaers send men?"

"They send men, boys, we train them, send them back," Ceinid replied. Good, thought Osthryth. If Constantine wanted a peaceful nation he needed one with a degree of unity. The meeting of young men to train in the same way with the same purpose would only foster strength of military might. Very, very shrewd.

"There is trouble in the west," Ceinid continued, his usual economy of words abandoned just then. "Refugees, Gaels, come from Dal Riata; the Norse incur more and more into our ancient Gaelish territory."

"Dyfnwal?" Osthryth asked, guessing the answer. Stirring up the Norse, encouraging a land grab, turning a blind eye, rather than actively helping his so-called compatriots in the northern lands.

"I believe you are to visit Glaschu first. Constantine believes that Dyfnwal is building a rebellion and attempting to separate Strathclyde from Alba. By not opposing the Norse, he is gifting them land with the promise of future support if he rises against Constantine.

That made sense - total sense, and after that, Osthryth needed to find out nothing more. Constantine's unity of Alba was threatened, he was sending his mormaer for Strathclyde with them for legitimacy, under the cover of a genuine reason that they were going south to Debeubarth, so any spies could not fail to find out the truth. And by wooing Anlaf, Constantine would be able to neutralise any threat that may come out of the western isles.

"Then, Constantine sends us, as peaceful travellers, so to speak, to gain witness." She turned to Ceinid, and took his hand. "That is what I would do. I wish you were coming with us," she added, and the head of Constantine's household guard kissed the top of her head.

"I wish to see you well, so you may birth your child safely," he told her. "I have no doubt of your fighting skills, having trained you myself. Will you promise not to use them, and let those bastards fight for you?"

He led her to the door of the stables, and pointed across the courtyard to where Constantine was standing, with Aeswi, Feilim and Oengus. They were going, that day. They were heading east, and then south, by boat. Osthryth was the key Constantine wanted to use to open the box that would unleash Britons of all creeds against the Angles and the Saxons and even now, at this late hour, do what the Rhegeders and Pictlanders could not do at Catraech - drive them all back into the sea.

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"Can you sing, Osthryth?" asked Aeswi, a few hours into their journey. It was warm, pleasant, and Osthryth considered if their mission was all like this, she would not be so displeased. From her horse, Osthryth turned at Aeswi's words and smiled, shaking her head.

"No," she replied.

"Come on, give us a song," Oengus encouraged. But Osthryth shook her head.

"If you want the birds to fall out of the trees and the mountains to fall away in horror, I will try," she said, then glanced across to Feilim, who seemed to be doing better than she had on Grey Shadow. Then again, it was probably her; Osthryth was not comfortable on horseback, though the dark-coated mare she was riding now was comfortable.

"No Hen Ogledder are you then," Oengus teased, with a grin, before striking up a song of his own, in Cymric. Feilim joined in, and the two sang in unison. Osthryth could not catch all of the words, but the jist was the battle of Alt Clut, where Rheged fought Pictland, and she smiled when the men took opposing verses, presumably opposing voices of the sides of the battle, and sung a battle of their own, both smiling at one another, their kin long ago enemies where now they were trustable allies.

They were following the route they had taken before, Constantine, with Taghd, Feargus and Finnolai, fleeing Dunnottar, but moving in an orderly fashion so it looked as if they were merely travelling. How long ago that seemed to her now, and she remembered Finnolai trying to teach her and that she had fallen off more times than she could count. It had been Domnall who had really taught her, at Glen Orchy, but Osthryth often wondered what her life would have been like had she been taught to be a lady, learned to manage a household, learned to spin, to organise and dismiss servants, know the jobs of those servants to they could be monitored, have the soft, effective words to praise or chastise.

Instead, she had fallen into being a warrior, and had no-one to teach her. And when people looked to Osthryth for those qualities, they had to look again, for she was blunt and forthright, and spoke her mind. Yet she had learned to be a warrior, which was a career for men, something they developed to be, to be a leader, and teach men their own skills. And she knew she understood strategy.

Which is why it felt that Constantine trusted her, respected her a little more than he used to, and that made Osthryth feel happy, happy and proud that she was from Alba, and could call Dunnottar her home. Happy that she had found out about her mother at last, and that she might be able to settle as a wife to a mormaer, when she returned.

Had she really thought that? Osthryth asked herself, as Feilim and Oengus's sing came to an end and Aeswi struck up a gentle song, which undulated like the hills over which they rode. Was she really prepared to settle? It was not a question she could answer just then, but equally, she would not be parted from this child, she had done barely a job with Aedre, being absent for most of her life.

So no, Constantine would not raise hers and Finan's child. But she may yet consent to marriage as long as the mormaer in question expected precisely nothing of her intimately.

It began to rain as they passed by Scone, the place where Domhnall had brought the huge red sanstone block from Tara, to mark the place that, ever onwards, the kings of Alba would be crowned on behalf of the three kingdoms. Osthryth shuffled her cloak further round her shoulders, fearing to take her hands from the reins to adjust the tie in case she toppled off, and water settled near the collar.

She could feel the Morrigan now, flexing her fingers, bristling with satisfaction that Osthryth was now within her realm. And the queen of the Sidhe beat rain down onto them all as they wound their way across the border of Strathclyde - though little in the scenery or landscape marked any such boundary - and took a road that followed the Clyde river that would take them to Glaschu.

Guards were beginning to line the roads at a place where Osthryth recognised that the landscape opened out into a glade where trees grew, sparsely, marking an approximate way to the palace.

It wasn't much more than Dunnottar, wood knitting with stone to make the formidible fortification which backed onto the river and whose other side lay on a ridge which fell away into a tree-lined glen. It was easy to defend in a siege, and had the advantage, which Domhnall had taken the night they had fled, Finnolai taking a sleep-muzzy Osthryth by the hand, that boats could be readied for imminent escape.

Oengus was slowing up as torches flickered in the deluge, and Osthryth shivered as the Strathclyde mormaer looked to the ramparts.

"Who is without?" came a voice, and Osthryth saw that two men had appeared, peering over the ramparts at the little company. Aeswi's horse blew through its mouth, steam coming from its lips into a cloud of steam in the rain.

Osthryth couldn't hear all of the exchange, but it was laboured enough to cause a rise in Oengus, who was clearly annoyed at being delayed entry to the fortress, and eventually the gates were pushed open so the four horses could carry their riders over a small bridge and into the inner courtyard of the palace.

"The king is not here," came a voice beside Oengus, who has slipped from his mount and was leading his horse into the stable. Aeswi and Feilim were taking their horses too, but Osthryth was still on her mare, rigid with cold from holding the reins.

"Osthryth!" Aeswi called, turning back to her, but she felt her fingers too cold to move, so she sat still, trying to move her leg, watching as Aeswi walked back over to her.

"Get off, stupid bastard!" shouted a guard, pulling at the horse's bridle, and Osthryth, not expecting it, fell onto the mud and straw. She must have cried out, for beside her were Aeswi and Feilim, and she felt Aeswi touch her arms and lift her as her eyes closed, an image of Oengus beating the guard the last thing she saw until she opened her eyes again, lying as she was in a soft bed. The rain had stopped, the sun was pouring through the window and Osthryth was looking out on the following morning.

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"You're awake," said a voice on the other side of Osthryth. Turning, and expecting Aeswi to be there, Osthryth readied a smile on her lips, only to see a man, pale golden hair falling to his waist and a beaming smile on his own.

"You don't need to move," the man said, and he brought the chair on which he was sitting closer to her bed. "I am sorry I missed your arrival; Oengus punished the guard who pulled you." He looked down Osthryth's body over the blanket under which she lay. "I took the precaution of sending my physician to you, in the presence of your guardian. Nothing untoward. He feels rest will do you good, and food, before your journey.

"My...guardian?" Osthryth touched her head, feeling a lump near her temple. The young man smiled again, and it seemed to Osthryth she knew him, although she could not place where.

"The man with the long black hair, bald on top? Swears like a Sais?"

"Aeswi?" Osthryth considered.

"Perhaps. All Picts look the same to me," he added, "All Gaels too." He leaned over and put an arm out for Osthryth to hold as she tried to shuffle up the bed, and she gripped it tightly and pulled herself to a semi-sitting position, one hand on her stomach. Had the child grown in the last two days? It certainly seemed noticeable to her that she was having a little trouble bending.

"Do I know you?" Osthryth said, and the young man shook his head. He looked to be about Aelfkin's age, and had that bright air of optimism that young people naturally exude when the cruelties of life had not yet been experienced.

"No, not yet. But I do hope to get to know you, Osthryth," he said, smiling again. A piece of the puzzle dropped into place in Osthryth's head and she tried a little test.

"Osthryth is the name I chose for myself," Osthryth told him. "My mother chose me a different name."

"Aedre," the young man said, at last, after examining her face. "Aedre (of) Uhtred," he said. And then Osthryth knew, and spoke to him in the Cymric she knew.

"King Dyfnwal," she said. "I am pleased to meet you, at last." At her last remark, Dyfnwal laughed.

"You have heard so much about me?" he asked. "And where did you learn your Cymric?"

"Dunnottar, amongst the Britons," Osthryth replied. "Is my pronunciation poor?" Dyfnwal shook his head, his long hair moving as he did so, then he stared at Osthryth for a moment, as if checking she was real, his cornflower blue eyes on hers.

"You have a Gaelish accent," Dyfnwal replied. "You can work on that."

"Why would I want to work on that?" Osthryth asked. "We are simply here to sail from your fortress to Debeubarth." And she did not know whether she was angry, or also amused when Dyfnwal threw back his head and laughed at her.

"Is that what that bastard Constantine told you?" he asked, then saw that Osthryth was not amused. "No, no," he said, "That is not all you are here for. Constantine...he, well, has a plan. You are to - "

No! Shrieked Osthryth in her mind, thinking of Constantine's pointed insistence she should marry. The king was old enough to be her own son!

"Calm yourself," Dyfnwal cautioned, gently. "He merely wishes your Cymric to be more, shall we say, polished, when you meet Hywel, and - "

"I am not marrying him, either!" Osthryth protested, making to get out of the bed, not caring if she was in her ludicrously long shirt that looked like a short dress, not caring if he had to hunt for her clothes. She was going back to Dunnottar to tell Constantine that someone else could take his letter. And she noticed, beside her, that the letter was waiting.

"Marry Hywel?" Dyfnwal laughed again. "He is already married, and has grown up sons. You think Constantine plans to marry you to someone?" But already Osthryth was trying to get up.

"Where are my companions?" she asked, as Dyfnwal tried to chlde her back to bed. "Tell them - " But Dyfnwal was getting to his feet.

"Would you like me to fetch Aeswi?" he asked.

"Yes," Osthryth replied.

"Then I will." Dyfnwal got to the door, a hand on the handle. "I am sorry that our first meeting was in such circumstances. I was looking forward to meeting my cousin, and seeing what the last of the line of the Coelings looked like for myself." He gestured to the table by the door. "Eat, drink, our land produces much bounty," he added. "I will get your companions for you."

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The milk, sheep, but not vomit inducing, settled happily in Osthryth's stomach as she consumed some of the bread and meat. Apples sat next to plums, which tasted delicious with some of the soft cheese that had been wrapped carefully in linen, food which Osthryth normally would not have cared for.

He was so unlike what she had expected, Osthryth thought. Young, vigorous, perhaps yet unmarried, she had been prepared for a king, the son of Eochaid, riddled through with bitterness about his land and his circumstance, for he must have suffered the sanctions his father had endured with his fall from the throne of Alba, and the death of Griogair.

Osthryth wanted Dyfnwal to return, to come back so she could ask the questions, all the questions, she had for him. Like, who else were her kin? Like, did he know about Wihtgar?

Like, why did she count as the last Coeling - of the line of Coel Hen, Old King Cole - with a Saxon father when he did not? Why Dyfnwal was not being trusted to go to Hywel by Constantine, when it would provide an ideal opportunity for the young man to make a connection with the Waeleas Cymric, in line with Constantine's wishes?

So Osthryth's heart began to rise when, after dressing as well as she could, for she would not linger in bed when there was nothing wrong with her, the door opened. She expected Dyfnwal to step in, but it was Oengus, worry in his eyes, his brows down as he looked at Osthryth.

"Cailin," Oengus said softly, though being called a girl was pushing the definition somewhat. "How bides ye?"

"I am well," Osthryth replied, then asked outright, "What is it that we are staying here for, Oengus? Dyfnwal said I am to stay, I am to learn things, things that will please King Hywel. Better Cymric?"

Looking abashed, Oengus sat on the chair Dyfnwal had just vacated and stroked at his long, orange beard.

"Aye," he replied. "Constantine did think we could use our time profitably." Osthryth turned away. And thought. Thought like Constantine would think.

"Ah, no, ye bairn," Oengus began, thinking she was crying. But Osthryth turned back and got to her feet, a little unsteadily, but up.

"It's a cover," she told him. "He has told Dyfnwal that I, as the last of the Coelings, needs to learn about her culture, especially to pass on to the child. Yet, he wants you all to be here, under the premise that you are guarding me. And...and you can uncover any plots and rebellions that Dyfnwal may be involved in." Oengus said nothing for a while, and Osthryth sat herself down on the bed.

"Well?" She asked. "Am I right?"

"You are right," Oengus agreed.

"Then I wished he would have told me!" Osthryth snapped. "I am sorry, Oengus, I am not angry at you...he says he trusts me; he says this is my last work, and how important it is, and then the very thing vital to its success and he keeps it from me."

"Do yer wonder why?" Oengus said. "He is king; he does not want you to usurp him, now, does he?"

Osthryth stared at him, blankly, running his words through head. Her? Usurp him? That was...that was...ludicrous! He had two sons, to start with, and how many kin across in Eireann, many cousins in Pictland!

"Put your mind to this, Osthryth," Oengus said, as she sat in silence. "Yer worked out his plan. But yer didn't ken his motive: you are the last of Urien's line: you. He confided you this knowing that a whole kingdom could, potentially, fall behind you in a rebellon campaign, you, who fought your first battle at twelve, and, aye, a cailin, a bean. Two of his three nations could look to you to be queen, a third, Dal Riata, if the child you bear has a Gaelish father." Oengus shook his head. "For a woman of your intellect, your bravery, you didnae see that?"

And Osthryth hadn't. She did, it was true, have a blind spot when it came to the motives of others, and she would never think she could be used as a pawn by others to overthrow Constantine.

Me? Queen? Her mind worked this out, and couldn't think of it. Outside a breeze blew up, and she turned. A voice seemed to fill the air outside and enter her mind, the great queen of the Sidhe roared in the world, "Yn lle Brenin, byddai gennych Frenhines, nid yn dywyll ond yn hardd ac yn ofnadwy fel y wawr! Yn beryglus fel y moroedd! Cryfach na sylfeini'r ddaear! Bydd pawb yn fy ngharu ac yn anobeithio!"

Osthryth jerked her head and looked at Oengus. Had he heard it? Had she said it? A queen of the three nations, of Alba, mighty and powerful, all would love her; all would despair? She felt herself get up, move to the window, and shout to the Morrigan: he is dead! Taghd, to whom I promised! Me, on whom I let you put a geas! He was taken from me! And I will not be queen of Alba!

There, she had said it. The great queen of the Sidhe could rise high, with the air, swim deep with the waves and Osthryth would not be found owing on a bargain to the Spirit Queen of this country. She looked back to herself, but Osthryth found she was not by the window, but was still sitting on the bed.

Oengus was, however, for he had got to his feet, glancing out of the shutters, down onto the river, which was winding westwards, widening into an estuary into the dispersed into a mist towards a hill of darkening trees. He turned back, and bent his head to Osthryth.

"So he is trusting ye, as a potential threat to him, with something vitally important on a whole other level - the uniting of Cymric and Gael in the repulsion of the Angle and Saxon. He is willing to risk you travelling to his overt enemy here, in Strathclyde, where you could be used by this genial, outgoing, charismatic king, and yes, he is all you will have seen. The people love him, and he appears not to have any other motive but to disunite Strathclyde from Alba, and have his own independent kingdom. Why do you think Constantine tolerates Dyfnwal - tolerated Eochaid - being called king? Stripping him of that title would be a huge incendiary thrown onto an already fomenting population." He stoked his beard again. "I am Strathclydian, and even I am opposed, by being mormaer. Things are delicate."

"Understood," Osthryth nodded. "I will play along. But, tell me, how long do you anticipate we remain? I - " She broke off. She had told Finan she had gone to Alba for a safe birth; she did not want to be birthing a baby in a ship off the coast of Waeleas with three hairy warriors as midwives.

"No longer than the next new moon," Oengus estimated. That was in about a week. "The weather will still be fine enough for sailing, Dyfnwal will be able to spend time with you on the pretext of educating you about your family, about Gwythelth, and we can feed back valuable intelligence to Constantine." Osthryth made to get up, and Oengus held up a hand. She ignored him and he turned his hand to her, instead.

"And, as I am well, I intend to look around the home that was once my mother's," Osthryth decided, and smiled at Oengus. "Where do you suggest I begin?"

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Oengus suggested the woods whose leaves were turning red and brown, chestnut and beech and birch and alder crowding for position as they stood together between the fortress and the river.

It was the day after, and Dyfnwal had been attentive, walking with her around the forest, telling her all he knew about her mother, before Oengus advised her to rest, and she was shown to the scriptorium beside a small chapel within the fortress's walls. Osthryth sat, leafing over some of the parchments bound together, such as any other scriptorium she had ever been in, except that the words were picked out in Cymric rather than Anglish or Gaelish or Saxon.

From there, Osthryth could see the trees and from a storey up it looked to her that they were not still, trapped in the soil, but mobile, as if they were fleeing down the hill from the outer gate of Dyfnwal's palace towards the river. Indeed, some were so close to the water's edge it looked as if they were trying to make it across. It was an ancient woodland, with twisted roots and gnarled branches.

And she had noticed votive offerings upon the branches, which told her the ancient practises of the Britons, heathens, as Christians would call them, were tolerated by Dyfnwal. Another reason for resistance, Osthryth supposed, for Constantine would insist on ColmCille's church being upheld with no exceptions, as Domhnall had done in Dunnottar.

As the week drew on, walking the grounds, reading the manuscripts, Osthryth noticed a ship being readied on the Clyde river, just beneath her window. Soon, then, soon they would be out of this kingdom and on the way to Hywel, and she felt a pang of pity that she had come to her mother's land under such circumstances, a sadness she shared with Dyfnwal on the day before the ship was about to sail.

"This is your land," Dyfnwal told her, as they walked together beside the river, the single-masted boat tied up by the quay. "You never have to ask to come to visit, even if I am not here. I will have Oengus know of it, so the guards know."

"Are you away often? I understand your southern border is at Eamont, and your northern Mallaig?"

"You are very well informed," Dyfnwal told her, combing back his waist-length hair back from his face. "I have been to Eamont, and Cumbraland, although my father's former slave claims to be king there," he added.

"Guthred," Osthryth replied, dully.

"Guthred," Dyfnwal reeated. "And it is Fortriu land as far as Mallaig; our lands go to Gwilm, that is my nothern border. However - " he broke off, his up-beat manner halting as he looked around.

"However?" Osthryth prompted, looking at him.

"However, I do travel into the old Dal Riatan lands; many of my allies live on the islands there; I have to visit them, their leaders, to offer tribute, to offer trade."

The Norse, Osthryth knew. Iona had been regularly attacked by some of them; Dyfnwal was supposed to help the Gaelish islanders protect themselves from Norse raids, but they had stood by and watched as these people, of a race they disliked, were killed or displaced.

"So Constantine had a second plan. He wishes me to marry a Gaelish princess, if there is one in any of the households over in Eireann," Dyfnwal added. "He discussed the young daughter of the Lady of the Mercians."

"Aelfwynn?" Osthryth sought to clarify, as if there were more than one, idiot, she told herself afterwards.

"Just so," Dyfnwal added. "But, there is strife still in that kingdom; though the Lady is a fine ruler she is surrounded by enemies, Waeleas, Northumbrian Elmet and Cumbraland, even Eoferwic, whose leaders are being threatened with Norse again." He looked across to her. "Are you quite well?"

Osthryth had stopped and was staring at him. She was not, but she carried on walking anyway.

"Just a little dizzy, may we go back?" Dyfnwal nodded, and touched her shoulder as Osthryth turned.

"I think that it is not a bad suggestion," Osthryth admitted. "Are there no other princesses closer to you?" Osthryth meant geographically, rather than spiritually, although who was she to judge of Aelfwynn and Dyfnwal would be a good match or not.

"You were in Eireann once, were you not?" he asked.

"Yes," Osthryth nodded, and withdrew Buaidh from her scabbard with a clean, "schrmmm" which made Dyfnwal laugh, a little nervously.

"You know of Domnall Ui Neill?"

"The King of the Ailech?" Osthryth nodded.

"I once met him, when I was very young. When I was taken by Oengus to Dunnottar. He was an exile then."

"I won this from him; we were at Tara, to watch the High King choosing, and Mael Muire's wedding."

"Ah, yes," Dyfnwal nodded. "They have those very rarely these days; the Norse incur, there is infighting which spills into civil war. I believe you must have visited Eireann at a good time for the country. You got your blade from there?" Dyfnwal asked.

"I won it from Domnall, in a fighting competition," Osthryth told him, "And he hated that I did. Yet, we grew to be good friends." And she realised that Dyfnwal had stopped walking. Osthryth stopped too, and waited for the king to say what he wanted to.

"Bastard Gaels," Dyfnwal cursed, automatically. "But, if I recall the time, then you must have known Muire's son with her first husband, Aed," he ventured. "Niall."

"Niall!" Osthryth exclaimed, as she recalled the young boy, dedicated to the natural world, the dirtiest child she had ever known, always playing in mud or dirt and water, kind, thoughtful. Brave, Osthryth recalled, on the day that the Norse invaded, when she had directed Mairi to take the children quietly back to the Doire palace.

"Then, you knew his sister, Land," Dyfnwal told her.

Land. The name was not familiar and, as Dyfnwal pulled on the gate that led them between the ramparts and the palisade wall.

"No, wait, she changed her name to something Gaelish, as your mother changed hers to a Saxon name," Dyfnwal added, playing for time so that his brain might spit out the name. Eventually, he said, "Gormlaith? I only ever met her once, and she was rather tall, thin, like my father, really. My aunt Land - " Dyfnwal broke off when Osthryth gasped loudly. He looked down to her stomach, but Osthryth was not touching her bump, her hand was at her mouth.

"Gormlaith!"

"You knew her?"

"Gormlaith," Osthryth repeated. How could she have forgotten her? Tall, thin, quiet. If talking was needed, she let Eira or Mairi do it. Gormlaith was a little older than Osthryth and remembered them all going to the monastery, learning there while she looked after Niall and the two other princes.

"Eochaid's daughter?" Osthryth asked, wondering how it was she did not know that about Gormlaith. But then she did not know a lot of things, and national feeling ran as deep between Dal Riata, Pictland and Strathclyde as it did between Wessex, Mercia, East Anglia, Waeleas.

"Gormlaith was treated badly by those Gaels," Dyfnwal spat, as he showed Osthryth into the passage down which the kitchens were, for some food. "Mael Muire adopted her into their household at Doire. And she let her be bargained to the king of Munster, never asking my father, for he was a Briton," Dyfnwal continued, his voice hostile

"And when she was not able to produce a child, Flann Sinna sold her to one of the Ulaid princes, until they had had enough of her. I was so angry when I knew," Dyfnwal said, holding open the kitchen door so Osthryth could get past. Instantly, the servants within stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads. "My friends," he said to them, waiting for them to go about their duties, which seemed to Osthryth to be filling up the big kitchen table with food.

"Niall found her wandering as a beggar, and in his kindness, married her, to keep her safe, even though she was much damaged and no children can come of their union." Osthryth nodded. She had heard the story before but, listening to it told by her relative, and realising she was Gormlaith's relative too, it left a deep mark in her mind.

"You are angry," Osthryth said. "I am, too. I knew her. And even if I hadn't, to be treated like that when she went there for protection."

"You have heard the story before?" Dyfnwal asked, his bright blue eyes on hers. Osthryth nodded.

"But it seemed like you needed to share it." And her cousin smiled, before pulling her to him for a moment.

"Eat," Dyfnwal said, placing a kindly hand on Osthryth's back. "And please, rest. This is your last night here in my palace, and I would have you remember your kin."

And Osthryth did rest. She slept for most of the afternoon and woke when it was dark. In the room, a chill wind had found its way, and Osthryth reached for her cloak. A candle had been placed in her room, and she managed to get to her feet, making towards the door.

A guard had been placed by it, and when Osthryth opened it, he turned to her, asking her to wait while he fetched one of her men, by which he meant Aeswi or Feilim or Oengus. And it was Aeswi who came, concern in his face until he saw Osthryth standing beside her door, waiting.

"There is to be a feast?" Osthryth asked, and Aeswi nodded.

"It is where we are all now," he told her. "Dyfnwal said to bring you down if you wakened. Are you strong enough to be sociable?"

"For a little time," Osthryth told him, "But if we are intending to leave at dawn I should get my rest, or I will be in no fit state to help you sail.

"You, help us sail?" Aeswi asked.

"Who is sailing?" Osthryth asked.

"Oengus," he replied. "He has the spirit of a Gael, even if he is a bastard Cymric. He will take us straight past Mon to the very end of Hywel's kingdom, where we expect to find him." Osthryth patted the seam where she had fixed Constantine's letter.

Aeswi helped Osthryth down the steps to the hall of Dyfnwal's palace. She had sat there, many years ago, with Aeswi's brother, Taghd, Feargus, Constantine and Domhnall, listening as Eochaid wove them promises as fast as mists in their reliability, while Griogair planned to kill them all in their beds that night. So they had fled, to Rathlin, on the way to Doire.

No such necessity to flee, Osthryth told herself, as the walls, hung with skins of wolves and a huge one of a bear, was lit with many candles. At the top of the table say Dyfnwal, who was eating one huge thigh piece, presumably from a deer, and when he saw Osthryth he got up, and welcomed her with enthusiasm to the table.

"Sit with Oengus," he encouraged, and to one of the servants added, "Bring a plate! Bring meat!" Oengus, whose place seemed to have been taken by a huge man, pale hair as long as Dyfnwal's, got up, but then stood still when he realised that it was his seat Oengus was wanting.

"For the lady," Oengus said to him, in Cymric. But the man just stared back at Osthryth.

"For the slut," he replied, before sitting back down.

"Get up!" Oengus demanded. "Don't you know I am the mormaer of this country?"

"Don't you know I am Connah mab Tewdr?" He asked, as if the name should have meant something to Oengus. It may have, for Osthryth saw Oengus's face flicker, but before he could say anything, Dyfnwal stood up and looked across to them.

"Connah!" Dyfnwal called. "Shove up, yer great big hinge!" But the man was not for moving, and Osthryth, tired and wondering why she had decided to come at all, pointed to a settle over where Feilim was deep in conversation with Aeswi.

"I can sit there," she said, but was ignored as Oengus stepped across to the man. Dyfnwal was also standing up, the men around him, presumably his lords, were all now looking at the mormaer they resented and one of their own.

"Osthryth! Cousin!" Dyfnwal called over to her. "You may have my place, and you can tell the lords Owain and Llew of your time in Mercia!"

But it never got that far. Connah, who had stood facing Oengus had now headbutted the man so hard he had fallen onto the floor, rolling in the straw as blood ran down his face and into his long, red beard. The Cymric man made a grab for Osthryth, tearing at her jerkin, but the attack had no energy to it, and served only to make Osthryth stagger.

"Mab Tewdr!" Dyfnwal shouted, but he rounded back onto Osthryth, who was holding on to the back of the settle with her weak, left hand.

"Slut!" He called again, as Oengus rolled on the floor, trying to get up. "I was there when you stabbed Cailean! He was my friend, and you killed him!" He made to swipe at Osthryth, who managed to dart backwards in time, for she too would have been thrown to the floor.

"But Griogair paid you out!" He leered at her, his voice triumphant. "He liked the feel of your tits, and your cunt was very tight. How was it like to feel a man ride you?"

"Did he tell you he got his cock in?" Osthryth bit back, scornfully. "If he did, I felt nothing!" Connah made to hit her again, but Osthryth stepped forward, Taghd's seax in her hand, its blade at the man's stomach. "Was he your kin? How bad you must have felt to see him taken down, a traitor to both Eochaid and Domhnall!" Connah made to step forward but felt the blade.

"He went mad, in the end!" Connah retorted, putting a hand round Taghd's seax, its blade cutting his fingers raw. "The same will happen to Constantine if - " He had almost removed the blade from his ribs, but had not counted on Oengus grabbing both of his legs and he toppled over, onto the floor, where Oengus sat on him, squarely.

"Constantine's man! Come to lord it over us!" Connah screamed, scrabbling at Oengus, who got off him, and soundly punched him in the stomach. Grunting, Connah rolled over, but managed to turn his head to Osthryth.

"Is that the father of your brat? Do you even know?"

"Oh, I know!" Osthryth shouted back, as the man was hauled away by two guards. Another appeared at her right, supporting her elbow.

"He is going to the dungeons," Dyfnwal said, his voice at the side of her head. "But I wish to speak to you, Osthryth." He turned to a maid. "Bring the lady some food, we will be in my chamber."

And, blithely ignoring the frantic waving of arms from Aeswi, Osthryth followed her cousin from the hall.

88888888

"I cannot forget what my man said to you," Dyfnwal said to Osthryth, "And I offer you, cousin, my sincerest apologies."

"None are needed," Osthryth replied. "It is true that Griogair kept me prisoner at Caer Ligualid on behalf of King Guthred. A ploy by Domhnall, I think, to wed me to the man in order to gain the city."

"Indeed?" Dyfnwal looked intrigued. "You married the man?"

"I was sent before a priest and words were said between us," Osthryth admitted. "It is claimed the marriage had been set on paper. But, as far as I am concerned, there was no marriage, and Domhnall did not claim Caer Ligualid."

A look appeared on Dyfnwal's face which Osthryth had not seen before, and the king, with his customary light heartedness, had given way to one more grave.

"So, it is true," he sighed. "Guthred claimed it so, but you were gone from Alba, and I could never find out."

"Find out what?"

"Whether you were my cousin, and if so, whether my cousin had finally reclaimed the citadel, our long lost jewel." But Osthryth did not follow.

"Caer Ligualid?"

"We called it Caerluel," Dyfnwal explained. "Long was it taken from us by the Romans; it passed into the hands of stewards, but it was always ours. We lost it, and had to move to Alt Clut, where we are now. Rheged passed into myth; our kingdom was split and Cumbraland was lost to the Angles, to Ida the Flamebearer and his kin. But I always hoped...we always hoped...all Strathclyders knew..." He got to his feet.

"Osthryth," he said, and his eyes were alight with hope, with happiness. "I have prayed to God ever since I knew you were our kin that something good would come of our reunification, and it has, it has!"

And the warning Oengus had given to her, when they had arrived, began to trickle into her brain. Do not get caught up in a scheme of rebellion against Constantine. You are valuable; you are of worth to the king's cause.

"Cousin, I am tired," Osthryth told Dyfnwal suddenly, hoping it was enough to break his chain of thought. "May I go to my room? We begin early tomorrow."

But Dyfnwal either was ignoring her, or else had not heard her. Instead, he was walking towards a table on which sat a parchment. Her parchment.

"You will be needing this," he said, "And when you return, you will return to my harbour," he nodded towards the window, underneath which flowed the Clyde.

"I am sorry my man was rude to you; I had to know the truth, and now I do: Caerluel is ours again, ours!" He reached for Osthryth's hands, and she let him hold them, in his joy. He had tricked her? Tricked her for something which was out of her sphere of understanding. Her chance, her only chance, was to play along, and she quavered, which was not altogether an act. Dyfnwal glanced at her, before leading her to his bed, and inviting her to sit.

"Osthryth, cousin," Dyfnwal said, the pure delight and happiness apparent in his words. "Rest here, we can talk in the morning."

"We cannot; I leave in the morning - Dyfnwal," she put in, determined for him not to talk just yet, " - I do not understand what you are saying, but I am pleased for you, I am." Do not deny you did not marry Guthred, she told herself, sharply, because the joy he is showing is because he thinks that you did. But her new-found cousin did not seem to be listening.

"Osthryth we can talk in the morning, or we can talk now," he enthused. "Are you prepared to fight for Strathclyde? Putting aside your differences with my father, of course," he added. And there, Osthryth was confused again, for she had never spoken more than a dozen words to Eochaid, and then that had been at the table below, when she had been there the last time.

"Eochair? Your father, son of Rhun?" But Dyfnwal shook his head.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. And it was then when Osthryth realised who Dyfnwal resembled. She did not know how she had made her way to the door, but when her back pressed to the planks of it, she stopped, raising a hand between them.

"I rather think you do know who my father is, or have worked it out," Dyfnwal said to her slowly, a hint of menace in his voice. "My mother, a Cymric woman, bore me, but it is Griogair who is my father, Giric to the bastard Picts." He glanced at the door.

"I am not royal; though I am Cymric. I am not Urien's heir." He stood apart from Othryth, his eyes merry with pleasure that his plans had come together.

"And we will have this conversation tomorrow. For, unlike your three guardians, you will be remaining here, the last of Urien's line - " He glanced at her stomach. "The second-to-last." And smiled that winning smile. "You will get the best care, when the time comes, and this child will then be king or queen."

"No!" Osthryth protested, trying to fight past Dyfnwal, but he gripped her wrists and pulled her heavily towards the bed, forcing her to sit.

"My men will be on guard; you cannot get down to the river, there is a two-storey drop and you will be killed; there are no other entrances or exits in this room. I am leaving now and will assure my mormaer, and your two other warriors that you were overcome from the excitement and I offered you my room, which you graciously accepted. Then, in the morning, you will be so overcome by emotion at reaching the land of your mother that you are refusing to go to Hywel, but instead are intent on remaining here with us."

Osthryth just stared at the young king, as he merrily told her his plan. And a light illuminated in her mind as she watched him leave, and a key turn in the lock: never tell your enemy your plan for, no matter how good it is, there will be a weakness, and an informed enemy will now have time to find out what it is.

"You want my weapons?" Osthryth asked. Dyfnwal laughed.

"They are of no use to you here," he replied, before treading the boards and opening the door, crossing out into the passageway with one triumphant glance back in Osthryth's direction, before being locked behind her.

It was no use thinking just yet - Osthryth was tired, that was true, and she lay on Dyfnwal's bed as she thought of all she had been told that day. Could she manage these people and be Queen of Strathclyde, and a threat to Constantine's Alba? It was absurd. But, what she did know was that here felt like home more than Mercia, more here than Alba. She could hear the Sidhe here, in the groaning of branches in a winter storm, or the sussurus of the air crackling around the high hills and across the surface of the Clyde.

And though she would be leaving, one way or another, on the ship with Aeswi, Felilm and Oengus, Osthryth knew she would be back, back to the land of her mother.

88888888

What was concerning Osthryth when she woke before dawn, was the idea that she was married, even now, to Guthred. How did writing down that a marriage had taken place on a sheet of paper and adding it to a book mean that she and Guthred Harthacnutsson were unassailably one? She had not seen him for nearly thirty years and presumed him dead. But, alive he was and still ruling Caer Ligualid, which showed, ultimately, how unimportant that citadel was to Mercia and to Alba, that it had appeared so low down on either Aethelred's or Constantine's list of prioriries.

But still married to him? Osthryth shook her head in the dark, dismayed. She could not give over any more thought to that now, though, for she needed to piss - there was a bucket in the corner, and presumably a maid would come to take it away at some point, which meant the door would be unguarded for a split second.

She also needed to deduce a way out. Too keen to accept to stay, and Dyfnwal would know that Osthryth was not serious; climbing out of the window was, as he had pointed out. Even not pregnant, and Osthryth would have sustained serious injuries if she fell, but she went to look anyway, and looked down at the thin strip of ground acting as a quay between the fortress and the river. In the pre-dawn light the ship's single mast waved gently in the breeze.

Stuck.

Osthryth sat there, wondering for a long time, before lying back down and closing her eyes. Where was the weak spot? What was the flaw? Why had he allowed her to keep her weapons?

And Osthryth thought. Dyfnwal had let her keep her blade, no food or drink had been forthcoming, no servants to open the door.

Was this it, then? Yield or starve to death?

She heard it again. The first time had just been on the threshold of consciousness. This time, Osthryth turned her head to the door, which she had already tried to pry open at the hinges.

"Lady?"

"Yes," Osthryth replied, the voice in Gaelish now not Cymric. "Yes."

"I am Challan. I..." a nervous pause, "I tried to take your horse when you arrived last week. I am sorry you fell," the voice called.

"How can I get out of here?"

"You can't."

"But you could open the door."

"No."

"Then why offer me hope?"

"I wanted to warn you," the man said, his voice quavering. "Dyfnwal wants you to be killed, he does not want you to challenge his kingship."

"But I do not challenge his kingship."

"By your very blood you do."

"What do you mean?" There was silence. "Challan? Challan?"

"He wants you to birth that child and bring it up as his own. That child carries Urien's blood, it carries the blood of Coel Hen, so he says."

The bloodline of Rheged. How was ever she to have known that the child could inherit a whole kingdom? It was no wonder Constantine had offered to raise him or her; to control Strathclyde meant to control the Irish sea and all who entered it. No rogue king, but one whose blood was bred to it, and whose allegiance was wholly Gaelish. Osthryth knew Constantine was clever, but this was above anything she had ever known.

"Challan? You have to get me out of here," Osthryth called. "I thank you for warning me." Osthryth placed a hand on the door. "Challan?"

No answer. Osthryth looked around the room. No way out, not even the ceiling, no crevices or cracks or chinks to begin on. Dyfnwal wanted her dead as a threat, that made sense, and to imprison her before the child was born, so did that. Yet, he was wholly Cymric, so it made no sense; this child was only half Cymric...

Osthryth looked out of the window. The ship was being loaded with bags and ironware. And I would be on that, with my letter from Hywel, she thought bitterly as an oak tree clattered its upper branches against the stone wall. Too far to jump, nothing to act as a rope.

And the scratching came again. Osthryth did not need to be told twice. Oak was strong, even the spindly branches, but from her estimate, she would have to jump several feet to get hold of a bigger one, and they overlapped well enough that she should be able to climb.

More than several feet, Osthryth thought, as she leapt towards one of the forks of the tree. Her hand caught on dead leaves as she made to grip, which scored into her hands as she used her knees to hang on.

There was a commotion below her, but, incredibly, no-one on the side of the river had seen her. If she were to drop directly into the ship, Constantine's men could board and she could be with them.

But Osthryth was wrong. Someone had seen her, and that someone was climbing up the tree from the bottom, in his mouth a short knife. Dyfnwal's intention - for that was who was climbing - could not be clearer.

Osthryth climbed down further, on a course that would bring her to him. She could not go back, and she was too high up to drop down, even if she wasn't pregnant.

"I would do that, if I were you," Osthryth said, when he was in reach of her. "I would kill me. There is nothing I can do about it. But you condemn my child too." Dyfnwal, his pale golden hair shimmering in the autumn light, smilied softly, as he raised the knife.

"I do not want your child to die; climb down with me and we can make other arrangements for your stay." But Osthryth shook her head. Below them, Aeswi and Feilim were in the quay, looking around, quite unconcerned that she was not with them, it seemed. Osthryth looked back to her cousin.

"Dyfnwal, let me go," she begged. "Let me do what Constantine wants, let me fulfil my prior commitments." But the king of Strathclyde inched towards her more and held the blade at her neck.

"You will, then, vow to Strathclyde," he told her. "Vow to your country, cousin. Be amongst us; fight with us. Keep your mother's memory alive."

Below, Oengus had joined the other two warriors, and was looking about him. Any minute, Osthryth thought, someone will look up. Someone would see them. She forced her eyes back to Dyfnwal.

"I will be in the position to vow to you,"she told him, once I have done what I have promised I would. It matters not you are Griogair's son; you are Cymric, your mother and father, a union of Cymric and Pict, you are more than worthy of your crown, lord king, than I or ever my child could be. To whom would you be wed? Bring forth your own children to inherit Coel Hen's legacy." And Dyfnwal dropped the knife and leaned out to Osthryth, reaching for her hand. Below, Aeswi looked up, and up.

"You are your mother's daughter from all accounts," Dyfnwal said. "And I accept, oh, how I accept, Osthryth, for you unwittingly brought back to me, by your marriage to my father's slave, Guthred, Caerluel! Strathclyde...Rheged...they are once again whole. I accept your vow to your homeland; you are of Rheged and - "

Osthryth did not know how it was that she lost her balance. She could have moved strangely as the tree blew in the brisk breeze, or mistook her distance from Dyfnwal. She could never countenace what Aeswi told her later, that Dyfnwal had caught her wrist, causing her to topple. One minute, she was looking into kind, brilliant blue eyes, the next she was falling.

But not for long. Branches caught her awkwardly, and at the same time, Aeswi took her legs, bringing Osthryth her grip. Above her, an arrow whistled, intended for whom, and by whom, Osthryth did not know. She continued to climb, heart beating, as Aeswi climbed beside her, and, nearing the bottom, Oengus's strong arms carried her and placed her into the ship, which was already free of its moorings.

How strange to see the capital of Strathclyde in the daytime. Three small boats had left the palace in utter darkness thirty years before. Now, Constantine was fleeing again, not himself, but his three warriors, and Osthryth. Feilim, standing at the stern, shot back more arrows to try to deflect those which were coming after them, as Oengus implored that they were his people and for the bastard Pictlander to try to miss them.

"We were coming to get you," Aeswi said, in a quiet voice next to Osthryth. Scrapes covered Osthryth's hands and arms, and he held out a bowl of water in which strips of cloth had been soaking. "Now will you leave it to us?" And despite herself, despite the fact that Aeswi was not Finnolai and she was not with the people she truly loved, Osthryth curled her head towards him and placed it on his shoulder.

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes closing, feeling safe enough to sleep. For she was to meet Hywel soon, and then she would be able to return, and have her child. Hers, and Finan's.