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

27. Owain

A/N Leeks and new potatoes 10th Century style in Hywel's Deheubarth! (I know potatoes only came over with Raleigh but Pembrokeshire does brilliant things with new potato growing, so I couldn't resist).

For all TLK fans, this year a film company is filming the "King Arthur" BC series of books, which I have to say I struggled to get into as much as the "Archer's Tale" series set in the time of Henry V (come on, a film company, Thomas of Hookton, please?) So that is due our next year...I have high hopes!

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Kriegerkvinde. That was what Brida had called Osthryth when she had finally left the fortress at Tyddewi. That, should she meet her on the battlefield, she would turn from her. No greater honour was there than for a Danish warrior to speak of that to another. Brida had remembered.

And Osthryth had to remember that she had chosen to remain at Tyddewi. Yes, it was a vague agreement with Hywel in exchange for the use of Ice Spite. Yet, as the wagons were prepared in Hywel's courtyard, Osthryth felt utterly alone.

Yet, there was a familiar feeling about the fortress, a feeling of solidity, of belief stretching down into the earth firm and broad and mighty. Christianity had come to the British Isles when the Romans were still here and had begun to spread, at Caerleul, in Ireland, in Corbwalum.

Undisturbed by Saxons and Angles it flourished, until Rome saw fit to send Augustine, who converted the Saxons in Cent and Wessex, and the Angles in Lindsey and Deria. So the Cymric and the Sais had a second strand to their enmity from 597, with more and more layers added over the decades. Pagans in Mercia would not convert and the Cymric tolerated them, not forcing the Irish church on them, something which the Augustine Christians condemned the Cymric for.

And that was before the Norse and Danes. To Osthryth, politics and religion and geographical origin had intertwined, like a fallen wool loom, tangled, broken threads, knotted out of all recognition from the original pattern the loom master had intended for it.

Their journey was going to take them north, into the lands of Anarawd, king of Gwynedd who was, Hywel had explained to Osthryth going to meet them at an ancient holy site.

"Do not fear, you are quite safe," he told Osthryth. But Pyrlig did not sit outside her door at night, and once, when Osthryth had wakened in the night, she could see the outline of a man hovering by the half-open door.

"I would have felt safer aboard my ship," Osthryth told him. "Could Oengus not just have put in at Holy Well and I could have met you there?" Hywel had laughed at this, and shown her to the feast that night, which he was giving before the majority of the court, including his three sons, were to travel to Tref Finnau'n. Hywel had found a place for her at his table, honoured guest that she was.

"I know it was you who set that Danish bitch free," Llydoch whispered to Osthryth, leaning over to her and pretending to fill up her water cup. "I will have you, pregnant with the King of Alba's child, or not," he salivated, his greasy grey hair dangling close to Osthryth's face. "I will fill you up with my cock, and make you know what being humped by a Welshman is like." Llydoch put a hand on her leg, and leaned over to her.

"I too am very glad you are here, lady," he slimed, bunching up his hand but extending his middle finger, and rubbing it on her thigh, to imitate a peni. Osthryth pushed his hand away, but he caught hers and drew it to his groin where a hard lump was forming.

"Like what you feel?" Llydoch asked, as he rubbed her hand hard across it. It pushed back insistently onto Osthryth's hand. She turned to look at him..

"Is there supposed to be something there?" she asked. Llydoch threw her hand away, angrily.

"I will hump you, lady," he promised her, growling at his face.

"You will die trying," Osthryth hissed back, angrily. So much for safe. The seat next to her was taken and Osthryth turned to look who had sat by her.

"You are well, Osthryth?" Pyrlig asked, at the opportune moment. With heavy gratitude, Osthryth turned to him and nodded.

"Though a little tired," she told him. Beside Hywel, his three sons were engaging in an ever-escalating drinking competition. Rhodri was winning, but Edwin was not far behind. Young Owain has passed out and was asleep across the boards. "Perhaps you could escort me to my room?"

"Perhaps you could remain with me, in my room," Osthryth clarified, when they reached it. Pyrlig gave her a long look.

"Lady Osthryth," he began, "It is not becoming of one in your position to ask a man, ask a priest to - " Osthryth sighed, choosing not to unpick whether he was serious or attempting a weak joke.

"That will be because I have been propositioned twice this evening - it would never have happened if my noble lords has been with me," she added, feeling the irritation that her voice was conveying. "You promised no harm would come to me, and if Lord Llydoch finds his way to my room again, harm is what I may come to. I would defend myself," Osthryth continued, "But I am...somewhat disadvantaged currently - " she put her hand to her ever-blooming stomach, and would have sworn that it had swelled several inches in the fortnight she had been at Deheubarth

"Understood, lady," Pyrlig said, his jovial demeanour changing suddenly. "I am sorry, too, that your men are not with us."

One in particular? Osthryth thought, as she pulled furs over her and Pyrlig buried himself in his cloak and hunched down by the door.

The next morning, Hywel announced they were leaving the next day, and Llydoch was to "play king" as the king said, and Osthryth was relieved to hear that such an odious man was not coming with them to Tref Finnau'n.

"We are going by ship?" Osthryth asked, buy Pyrlig shook his head.

"Walking, although you may have a horse," he conceded, and the men did indeed walk, in robes of wool bleached in the sun, hair flowing down their backs, resembling what Osthryth knew of the ancient druide class, the intellectuals of pre-Christian society, that Paulinus had done his utmost to put to sword under a genocide over the whole of Waeleas. The druide last stronghold had been Ynys Môn, Anglesey, and there Paulinus sent his men, through the shallows, to exterminate the last of them.

Would he have come this way, Osthryth wondered. Would Romans have trod this coastal route around this huge, curved bay eliminating all of the ancestors of Hywel? Many said the ancients went to another peninsula, across the sea from Cornwalum and thrived, sending back Uther and Arthur, to be at odds with Vortigern, who had invite the Sais as mercenaries to help him.

A week, the weather mild for November for the winter comes later in this part of the world, and the landscape slowly changed, from tidal flats to wooded forests which gave way to mountains banked up on the northern horizon. Food was fish from the rivers they passed with lawr and a stew of a green-white vegetable Osthryth had never tasted before, whose flavour was pungent and tangy, accompanied with soft round tubers that Hywel told her proudly only grew in the far west of Dyfed. All of these were supplemented with a hard, bread-like substance which took a deal of chewing but seemed to last the journey and kept well without weevils.

Hywel's three sons entertained them each evening with a retinue of songs and poems, taking the time trying to out compete one another with the most melodious lay or the longest story. Branwen was favourite again, as were the Bastard Sais, and one night a familiar story of a different kind came to Osthryth's ears, of a man called Cunedda who had come from Pictland and established the northern kingdom of Gwynedd.

New, no, Osthryth thought, for she recognised the theme from Oengus and Felilim's boastful challenges on the ship as they sailed this coast but in reverse. But a new name came to her ears, a connection that she had never made: Edwin son of Aelle, of Deria, who has, according to his namesake, taken Ynys Môn and had named it after his homeland, the homeland of the Angele.

They camped under stitched sheepskin, and Osthryth insisted Pyrlig be next to her. He did not object, but lay well away from her. And Osthryth slept well, and dreamed of people living here, tiny folk from centuries before, in balmy climes, protected by cold, high mountains,which she imagined to be caused invoked by the singing and story telling.

At an estuary to the west, where they camped and rested, Pyrlig told Osthryth that they were now at the border of Gwynedd, Anarawd's kingdom, and Osthryth looked across the water, tracking another peninsula, where, she reckoned, Bardsey Island was. Anarawd, who she had seen departing his ship there with others, while Oengus looked on.

As they moved on that morning, guards came out to meet Hywel, dismounting from horses not much bigger than the ponies of Guthred's Cumbraland, and stood before Hywel. They talked to the king for some time, before re-mounting and walking their mounts sedately beside Hywel.

"An escort, through the mountains," Pyrlig told Osthryth, who was the only other person on a horse. "To protect us from the mountain spirits and the dwarves and the dragons."

In other words, the Sidhe, Osthryth thought, as their way rose up and ever upwards, for she had been able to feel them, and the Morrigan, as soon as they had passed into Anarawd's kingdom. What was it Taghd, poor, beloved Taghd would say? A king marries the Morrigan, for the is the land and the sea and the sky. And she appears to people chosen for battle, to warn them of impending upheaval and to be ready. But, what upheaval could there be here? Unless Hywel was going to attempt his takeover now, in which case he was without horses, men and supplies and was walking through Anarawd's land.

They passed a lake way down in the valley of a mountain nest, of a blue she had never seen, and mists seem to curl about the mountains here as they rode upwards. It was colder now, and Osthryth huddled in her cloak, and moved closer to Pyrlig that night for warmth, although he lay as still as rock as she nestled beside him.

In the morning, a lammergeier, a huge vulture-bird, swooped over them, which startled Osthryth, who cried out as the bird skimmed close to her head, and she stared, open mouthed, as the bird, bigger than an eagle, lifted an elderly ewe from a field and carried it off in its huge talons.

"Sing, Osthryth!" asked the king that night. Stars were overhead, the weather was fine. And Osthryth shook her head.

"Do you wish your animals to flee into the wilderness and the heavens to crack open with lightning?" Her rebuff was met with men's pooh-poohing of Osthryth's denial that she would make a good "seanchai", and she might have been reasonable. But singing always made her sad, for she recalled Taghd, and his baritone voice tripping around them so often as they rode or walked anywhere with Domhnall and Constantine. Owain stepped in and sang a song of the fey, the little people, a dragon, a hoard of gold and a magic ring.

"We must put this by the fire," Pyrlig implored, when Osthryth began to assemble under the sheepskin tent. "You cannot be that close to me, girl, even if you are great with child...you cannot," he added, a strangulation in his voice.

But it was strange to Osthryth that a man with children and who had urges with men would find her, all fat with a baby growing inside her, body plump and unappealing, no longer lithe and slim, Osthryth could no longer bind her breasts. Where was the appeal?

So she apologised for the liberty she had taken and spent the night almost sitting on the fire wrapped up between it and a tussock of grass, with Pyrlig denying she had to apologise while he settled to her left and the king to her right.

In the morning, Osthryth found Owain, Hywel's youngest son, shaking her shoulder, and looked at the world, a world with mountains behind them and wide green upland around them, falling gently to a coast about half a day's ride away.

"We are going to be at Holy Well this morning," he told Osthryth, handing her some of the everlasting bread. "Hywel, my father, has gone on with some of his men, and the other kings. Come on!" he encouraged.

"Other kings...?" Osthryth asked, muzzily.

"Oh yes!" Owain enthused, happily. "Did you not know? Ffernfail and Brochfael ap Meurig of Gwent have been with us since Abergwaun.

Osthryth did not know. Petty kings in tiny kingdoms. Yet, she knew of Gwent, for it bordered Mercia, Gloucester in particular, and she recalled Pyrlig saying many ex-patriots who frequented his alehouse had come from there. It made sense; it was just over the border. Whereas, Hywel's incursion into Gwynedd took him deeply into the land of his fellow king.

"We are invited," Owain told her, brightly. "Anarawd extends an open, indefinite invitation to any pilgrim to Holy Well. We are fortunate we can get to it before the winter storms and snows."

There was a pool, clear with cols spring water, flowing down a gentle incline which gathered in a rock depression in low lying ground. A square of sandstone had been used to support the earth and the Welsh gathered around it, standing evenly at its perimeter. It had taken about an hour for the party to reach it, in bright, easy morning sunlight.

Pyrlig drew Osthryth's horse to a standstill and stood by her watching the men, as they held one anothers' hands. Around them, stakes of wood had been driven into the ground and on the trees linen strips had been tied.

"People leave votive offerings, and prayers," Pyrlig told her, watching her look. "Oh, they are of the pre-Christian beliefs," he conceded, when she turned back to look at him, "But these are prayers to God," he added, raising a hand heavenwards, and God receives all prayers, regardless of the manner in which they are presented to Him."

Her eyes were drawn to the men, who were singing now, hair soft gold down their backs in most cases, some of them age-whitened. Edwin and Rhodri, Hywel's two eldest sons, had hair of chestnut brown which flowers past their shoulder like the rivulets of the holy water filling the well about which they stood, while Owain's matched his father's.

Time passed, as Osthryth watched the men, lulled by their chanting and humming, and she barely realised she had taken Pyrlig's hand when he offered it to her, helping her down onto the soft earth, leading her to the pool.

"Ferch y Gwythelth," Hywel said, and Pyrlig replaced his hand with the king's, so she stood in the circle, too. "Plant y Osthryth," he added, and moved a hand over her stomach. Had she realised it, Osthryth might well have protested at the rite but, looking back, she could not describe the feeling of it, except as completeness, as unifying. She was one with the land, her and Finan's child, and of the sky and of the water, and she placed her hands within the pool as Hywel invited her to, immersing her arms to her elbows.

And then she saw him.

Not immediately, and more like a slow realisation that he stood before her. Dyfnwal. Dyfnwal, yet younger, shorter of hair and hazel of eye. Yet pale golden blonde hair tumbled to his waist and he had a merry good nature in his face.

"A king wishes to talk to you," Pyrlig told Osthryth, and the men around the well drew together when she stepped away, like waterflow converging when a rock has been passed.

The morning's sunlight appeared to shine more brilliantly now, and the grass lush, like in high summer. Beyond them, a grey-green sea blended with hazy grey-blue sky. And a king stood, with the imperfect clone of Dyfnwal beside him.

"You are Osthryth?". The king asked, and as he did so, recognition lodged in Osthryth's mind. He had got out of the boat with his retinue at Bardsey Island, with this boy, too.

"I am, King Anarawd," she guessed. The boy looked up to the man, who nodded acknowledgement. And she realised something else, too. For all that Hywel said about her being kin to him in Deheubarth, this man was more her kin, descended far more directly from Urien.

"Let us walk the coast path," Anarawd suggested, and Osthryth accompanied them, leaving Pyrlig standing and watching.

"You are in my kingdom at last," Anarawd said to her, "For I have been wondering about Gwythelth's child for so many years. She died, did she not, birthing another Saxon child?"

"Yes," Osthryth agreed. "My brother, Wihtgar, lives."

"Wihtgar," Anarawd muses, "I have heard the name. He rules Edwin's land?". Osthryh paused for a moment and thought.

"You mean Edwin, from many years in the past?" Osthryth asked. "Son of Aelle?"

"Just so," Anarawd replied, and Osthryth realised how easy he was for her to understand. Not for the king of Gwynedd the south Waelean tongue. Indeed, he spoke the words as if he had just met her beside the Forth, and she had come straight out of Dunnottar and turned to British settlement within its outskirts.

"Time moves slower in my lands, we have few enemies to disturb us. Except for the Norse, who Flann Sinna has caused to be so desperate they must raid my fishing villages for as many piscod as they can lay their hands on. But I am lucky; Hywel has settlement issues to deal with."

"He is certainly unfortunate," Osthryth conceded, as they drew up to slightly higher ground. Below them, the Welsh were still around the pool, now on their knees, praying. Pyrlig, she noticed, was over by her horse, patting its neck in a slightly distracted way.

"And when he is unfortunate, he has less time to invade my lands and overthrow me," Anarawd confided, learning over to Osthryth as if sharing a secret. The boy heard the king's words, but said nothing.

"Especially when I brine them to - I am dying, Osthryth," Anarawd continued,noting the horrified look on her face. "My son, Idwal,who is praying for forgiveness and cleansing of the sin of killing, on behalf of all the men of Gwynedd, who you may see beside Rhodri - " and Osthryth glanced to see a golden-haired man on Hywel's left, "- would - "

He broke off, and the boy who looked like Dyfnwal glanced up to King Anarawd. "I sent some men to Wodensfield, because whether, Aethelred was my enemy, or the Wessexers, or h-hm, the men of Deheubarth and Gwent, or whether they were not, the common enemy are the Norse. " He drew close to Osthryth. "Do you believe I would have anything to do with the bastard Mercians or the bastard Northumbrians, or any Said, not after Augustine would not show his humility to our bishops! Not after Edwin took on Augustine's teachings, not our own - our own! After we shielded him and sheltered him from King Aethelfrith!"

Osthryth nodded: what else could she do? Here was a man with little time left, who wished to speak to her, the past dripping from him like sweat on a boiling hot day. It was beyond her to get to the bottom of all of his nuances.

Anarawd sensed Osthryth was being patient with him and leaned across to Osthryth again, his pale hair shielding one side of his face.

"Osthryth," he said, softer now, "Idwal, my son, would yield to Hywel, to unite the northern and southern Waeleas. And it makes good, rational sense but - that is because he thinks he has no other option. He knows I have one more card I could play. Why do you think he separated you from your men?" he ventured.

"Because I agreed, in the use of a magic bl - " She stopped because Anarawd shook her shoulder.

"Whatever you think the reason is, think again!". Anarawd's face was lit up with eagerness, excitement, to convert something of vital importance. "You came here with three warriors, did you not?". Osthryth nodded.

"And how do I know this?"

"Letter? Treaty?" Anarawd laughed again.

"Because I arranged, or tried to arrange, for you to meet me at Ynys Enlli," he told her, "To meet my beloved grandson.". Anarawd put a hand on the shoulders of the boy with him, and thrust him a few paces forward. "Owain," he told her. "Owain map Dyfnwal."

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Had she heard correctly? Osthryth looked between Owain and Anarawd for a moment, questioning her hearing. Map Dyfnwal?

"Dyfnwal made you welcome, did he not? Oh, dear yes, because he is such a kind-hearted man. He came to us, you know, when Eochaid was subdued by Domhnall, after the rebellion...he was so diecast, was Dyfnwal. So I treated him a son, the last of his line, of the Hen Ogledd. And he found out about you, oh yes he did! Come," Anarawd added, scooping his hand behind Owain and Osthryth, ushering them along, as if the men three hundred yards away would have been able to hear otherwise.

"So very aware of his responsibilities, Dyfnwal, and the independence of Strathclyde. Which is why he courts the Norse, oh yes he does. This is why Dyfnwal tried to keep you at Glaschu, yes he did," the king continued, "For the little parcel you nurture in your stomach - a potential heir, for he is unmarried."

"So he has no heir of his own," Osthryth concluded, unable to help liking this king, so ebullient in his manner.

"And that's where he is wrong, you see?". But Osthryth saw something else, too. If Dyfnwal had an heir which, if Anarawd was implying, was Owain, who was unknown to him, it stood to reason that Hywel wanted an heir to Strathclyde too.

"You have seen Dyfnwal recently - how is his reign?"

"Desperate," Osthryth agreed. "And does not know about his son?" She smiled kindly down to Owain who, like Hywel's Owain, must have been about twelve or thirteen. But Anarawd did not answer, instead he looked silently at Osthryth for a moment.

"I would speak to you on the very delicate subject of your child, particularly its father," Anarawd said at last.

"A Gael," Osthryth replied, warily, and Osthryth saw that Anarawd had raised his arm above his head.

"I am speaking to you as if you are my enemy, for the benefit of my own enemy," Anarawd said. "I will pretend to shout at you; kindly react in an appropriate manner.". With his hand, he pushed Owain away, and she saw hi lm wink at the boy.

"Sorry?" Osthryth blinked, not following.

"I said, yield to me, Anglish bitch!" Anarawd shouted at her, raising a hand. Osthryth, catching on, pretended to cower.

"Good, now listen," Anarawd continued, pulling her roughly to him, his fingers, however, gentle, with no force behind them. "Hywel would take my kingdom. Owain is the son of Dyfnwal and son of my beloved daughter, Angharad," he added, and pushed her away with no force, and Osthryth saw to it she flailed and stumbled.

"You are not!" He shouted back to Osthryth, then encouraged softly, "Come at me."

Osthryth withdrew Taghd's seax, holding it low in front of her, but allowed the old king to knock her hand and the blade tumbled out of it, falling on the soft, green grass. He dragged her to him again, and Osthryth laughed internally they were noticed by Pyrlig, who was beginning to make his way up the hillock, slowly at first, and then quickening as he saw what looked like the king of Gwynedd assaulting her. Anarawd hissed into her ear.

"My son is waits only for me to die to ally with Hywel, but my nephew is far stronger, with his Wessex allies, than Idwal with my armies. Hywel will not ally, but overthrow him and take all of the kigndoms of the Cymric. Next kingdom?"

"Strathclyde," Osthryth concluded, grimly. "Owain?" she asked.

"They would seek to destabilise Alba, place Owain on the throne to control a third of Constantine's realm," Anarawd concluded. "Now I am going to let you go and you must shout back to that priest that you are well and for him not to come any further."

Osthryth did so. Pyrlig stopped running, and looked at her.

"The king will send me dow to you unharmed," she added, translating that back to Anarawd, but he answered, "Yes," in Cymbric faster than Osthryth had time to finish. So he knew some Anglish then, she thought, before turning to the king.

"What would you do, Osthryth?" Anarawd asked her.

"Pretend to hit me, your grace. I would have done something unacceptable by now, like called you a liar, or the like."

Anarawd gave her a disbelieving look, then threw back his arm into a punch. Osthryth moved away just in time to miss the impact, and his gloved hand skimmed her cheek. She pretended to reel and held her face.

"Take him with you, to Constantine." Osthryth was pretending to get back to her feet, when she looked up, sharply. Anarawd made to help her up, to show conciliation, and repeated them.

"And what would Owain want?"

"Peace. And it can only be achieved my taking his heritage and moving on. He knows who is father is, and his responsibilities. Find a way back for him." Osthryth looked to Owain mab Dyfnwal, who was smiling, and nodding. But Osthryth shook her head.

"Not I, my agreed task was - "

"Yes, with Constantine," Anarawd interrupted. "I reject his offer; we have more in common with our neighbours than an ancient blood connection through a Pictish tribe, not even related to Rheged and certainly not the Gaels. Tell Constantine, if he pursues his plans north we will support the ruler of the land in any countermeasure."

"That is your official line?" Osthryth was catching on to this king's manner, stuck in the middle, little time left for influence.

"Unofficially, I imbue you the wisdom of our line; he should return here and learn of his culture from your Rheged family. Find a way to get Owain to safety before Hywel finds a way to eliminate him - or you."

And Osthryth found herself looking back into the face of a man willing to put the fate of three kingdoms into her hands, on the basis that she was one of only two heirs of the Hen Ogledd. She dropped to her knees now, and bowed her head. To anyone else it may have looked like submission, but Osthryth was making a promise.

"I swear, kin of my mother, I will do all I can to retrieve Owain ap Dyfnwal," she promised, placing both hands on Taghd's seax, which she was making out she was taking back. The king of Gwynedd lowered his head.

"I accept your word, despite Hywel's lies. He seeks to court the Lady of the Mercians," he added, but his voice was rough, hard, and he took her by the elbow and threw her away from him.

So that is where Aethelstan comes in, Osthryth thought, as Anarawd pushed her off in the direction of Pyrlig, and she remembered to hold her face where she had pretended to be hit.

"And - " Anarawd was making himself deliberately louder now, "From the kin of Aethelfrith the Twister, the bastard of Bernicia and that disease-ridden ferret Edwin of Deria I wish you damnation!"

Osthryth hung her head, smiling to the earth, but looked up, concerned, and let Pyrlig take her arm.

"I am all right, really," she insisted, taking a glance back up the hill to the granite-expressioned Anarawd.

"He really is a piece of a turd," Pyrlig replied, and made her sit down on a sheepskin fleece.

"What did he say to you?". But Osthryth shook her head.

"I have to get away from here," Osthryth told him, and was surprised that she felt genuinely shaken. "Will you...will you ask Hywel what I need to do to fulfil his requirement of me, so I may meet my men? I cannot stay in Gwynedd, in Waeleas any longer.

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The prayers of the Welsh went on a day and Pyrlig told her he would not move if she wanted to close her eyes and rest on the sheepskin while they waited for Hywel.

And so it was the evening, at sunset, when Hywel, flanked by Pyrlig, came to her.

And it was decided, as quickly as that. Hywel has asked her what she could offer, and when she told him, Osthryth knew by his delighted expression, than it was more than he would have accepted. But it didn't matter, it was all she had: tonight she would sleep in Gwynedd and tomorrow, Hywel, Pyrlig and Osthryth would cross the Dee to the Wirral.

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"I thank you for your hospitality," Osthryth said to Hywel, when they got off the small ferry that took them from the tiny settlement dependent on eel fishing and over to, nominally, Mercia.

She had looked, with hope, with willing, that her ship with Oengus, Feilim and Aeswi in it were where the king had said they were going to be.

So,when she got out of the trap she was laying for herself, Osthryth thought, that was the next thing to do - find the ship, and sail away from Waeleas forever.

They had not brought a horse and Osthryth was slower than she might have been. Pyrlig reassured her, however, that the burh they were going to was no more than ten miles.

Which meant they reached Brunanburh in the late afternoon, the gold and green goose banner of Saint Werburh flying above it next to the Mercian saltaire.

Well, you wished for information about Aethelstan, Osthryth told herself, wryly as, above the main fortress gates a boy she knew from her pursuit of her brother peered over it. He was armed, which was good, but alone, which was not.

Was Aethelflaed really here? Because her plan would fall to nothing if she were not.

"I have with me a prisoner for your lady Aethelflaed," King Hywel told the guards. One leaned over, examining the faces of the visitors, and turned to anothe on duty. Aethelstan, Osthryth noticed, shifted towards the second man. To listen? It would be something she would do, if she were him.

Minutes later and the doors were flung open, and Osthryth saw the guard. A friend, a dear one. But she maintained the pretence.

"This warrior says she killed one of your lords," Hywel explained to an astonished Aldhelm. "Under the treaty we have with the lady," Hywel continued, "We have brought her here for justice."

He did not hold put his hand, but his abrupt silence said the same thing: payment was due.

"Lord King," Aldhelm said, inclining his thin, long neck as he acknowledged the king of Deheubarth. "We were not expecting your army."

"And, nor should you, for I sent not my army. But, I can see you gave plenty of my uncle's - the king of Gwynedd sends you," Hywel noted, as grey- cloaked warriors assembled within the walls of Brunanburh. "I take it, your lady is here?" Hywel added.

"Indeed," Aldhelm acknowledged and, with a swift look to Osthryth, which she knew completely meant, "What are you doing?"

What was she doing? Chancing on her good name in Mercia to free herself from some sort of trap in Deheubarth. She had insisted to Hywel that Ice Spite, the magical blade, should be used on the warrior harmed by it.

"Aelffrith! Merewalh!". Aldhelm called. "Your man, I believe?" Osthryth turned to Hywel, who was smiling at Osthryth, unlike Pyrlig, who looked as if he was holding his breath.

A good quantity of silver was passed to Hywel before he finally closed his hand around it.

"My lady thanks you," Aldhelm said, "And offers you welcome," he told Hywel, but the king of Deheubarth shook his head.

"This is a diversion from my pilgrimage," he told Aldhelm. "I wish to be back to my kin - " at this he looked at Osthryth, " - before nightfall.". He glanced up to the ramparts where Aethelstan was still staring over, a boy no older than the Owain's: Hywel's youngest, and Dyfnwal's heir.

"Come," Aldhelm said to Osthryth. "Father Pyrlig, if you represent Hywel in this, then please, come too."

"It looks like I represent Hywel in this," Pyrlig replied, and stumped after them.

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If one could imagine a city as big as Winchester, but walled with two timber framed ramparts, both decked and with the anticlockwise watch rotation happening above, that was Brunanburh. A large building in the centre suggested the palace, or whatever Aetgelflaed had decided to call it, and next to it, a chapel. Stables lay beside kitchens, as in any fortress, and living quarter the other. Osthryth looked at it again, feeling a rising disappointment in herself that she was impressed with what Aethelflaed had achieved.

Osthryth followed Merewalh, who kept looking at Aelffrith, across the courtyard while Pyrlig was escorted inside the hall.

"Told you something interesting was going to happen tonight," Aelffrith told his commander. "Osthryth has come home to Mercia!". But Merewalh was not so light hearted and, when they got near the stables, which was barred and clear being used as a prison, he took Osthryth's arm and turned her towards him.

"You fled!" he exclaimed, his tone hushed but urgent. "Why has the Welsh king brought you here as a prisoner?"

"So I no longer have to be his," Osthryth explained. "I trust Mercian justice over Welsh justice any day," she told him.

"But you haven't done anything to warrant Mercia's justice," Merewalh told her. "Have you?". Osthryth bowed her head in supplication.

"Murdered Lord Eardwulf?" she reminded him. "Evaded whatever it was Edward wanted me for?" - Osthryth had forgotten what, bit she remembered how, and Edward would have, too.

"It was resolved," Merewalh told her. "The condition being you left Mercia."

"It is unresolved - I cannot in all conscience continue with it on my soul. I killed Eardwulf, and it was not justified to do so. So in exchange for the silver you just provided to King Hywel I must stand before the lady."

It had come to her all in a hurry,when she had been resting, after she had spoken to Anarawd: Eadith deserved more than that; Eardwulf, though he had murdered Aethelred, deserved more than that. But ultimately, she could no longer bear it on her conscience: she had wanted to kill her brother but had attacked Eardwulf for his casual, off-hand killing of poor Hereward. She moved to the gate, and looked inside.

"You cannot be locked in there, not in your - condition - "Aelffrith had said the words before he could stop himself. "These are men who fought Uhtred, when their ship got trapped in the Maerse. He brought them in because they were a...threat." Merewalh shook his head too.

"I will ask for clemency from Aethelflaed," Merewalh furthered, but Osthryth had seen who was in the cell.

"They have been in there a day?"

"Not even a day," Aelffrith told them. "Can't or won't speak Anglish, nor Saxon either."

"No favours from the lady," Osthryth insisted, the main concern her brain was working on now was that Uhtred lived and was there, at Brunanburh, "I would sleep with the horses, rather than anything Alfred's daughter offers.". She moved to the barred gate, where one of the three prisoners approached.

"They are savages!" warned Merewalh, trying to catch her arm, but Osthryth, bone tired, hungry and thirsty, shook him off and stood inches from the prisoner.

"You know, they have just said you are savages," Osthryth told Oengus, whose eyes dazzled at her. "Except, you were taken in by my brother, so he tells me," she glanced at Merewalh, "So I am willing to guess that it was they not you who were the savages."

"Osthryth!" Her name came from both directions at once. Aeswi, who had come to stand by Oengus, reached through and grasped her hand, almost at a loss for words.

She looked back to Merewalh and Aelffrith and smiled: she couldn't help it: people who she cared for and who cared for her stood before her, and behind. Her relief made her want to laugh and gently tease them all.

"Merewalh, Aelffrith! Aelfkin!" she exclaimed.

"Osthryth, I do not think - " began Merewalh.

"What she's trying to tell you, is that we are her warriors," Aeswi told him, in Anglish. "Of Alba. You know, cold, wild, unassailable by Angles or Saxons? And, I know you - you are the men who fought with the caileag?" He glanced to Osthryth. "I cannot tell you how good it is to see you without a blade at your throat. Is that bastard inside? I saw him come in with ye?"

"I should have been in their ship," Osthryth explained. "Instead, I was taken prisoner by Pyrlig."

"By Pyrlig?" Merewalh felt his mouth fall open. "He has...he is just - "

"He acts for King Hywel in this business," Osthryth told him, and repeated the same to Oengus and Feilim in Cymbric. "I murdered a lord, it was true."

"And he did deserve it," Merewalh assured Oengus, who was glaring at him. "How it us you are here requesting a trial for this, I do not know."

"Because I believe in Aethelflaed's cold book- justice than I do Hywel's poetic justice. A man lives now, because of me - " she sighed. "So please, tell the lady Aetgelflaed that the prisoner has been detained with the other prisoners, and awaits her pleasure." Merewalh shook his head.

"Whatever you are planning, Osthryth - " he began, but she interrupted him.

"I see Gwyneddians here," she told him. "Can you tell me why?"

"I can," Aeswi said. "Let her in to us; she is our kin as well as yours," he added, as Aelffrith narrowed his eyes. "Guard her the night, and you will see we are men of Pictland, Strathclyde, Dal Riata, true to our words."

"Aelfkin," Merewalh called. "Get Oshere, and Aeglfrith. You are guarding your captain tonight."

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Merewalh brought her food and boiled water, and more for the men, and Osthryth was made to sit in a straw tussock that Feilim had built for her. They had last seen her as they sailed out if sight, and so Osthryth indulged them their overprotective fussing.

"An agreement, to keep the Dee and Maerse free of Norse," Aeswi summarised. And Oengus then told her of their departure from Deheubarth, that Pyrlig had told them she wanted to remain with Hywel for a little longer, but knew something was up when she had appeared at knifepoint on the cliff.

"We tried to sail back, but a fleet of Norse came south east from Dubh Llyn," Aeswi continued. We had to shelter around at Abergwaun. Then, we sent word to Deheubarth fortress, but were told you had gone on a pilgrimage with Hywel and to meet you on the Dee." Osthryth nodded between bites of meat and bread; it was much better than the hard loaf that Hywel had taken with him on his walk."

"So we sailed past Gwynedd, and were just entering the Dee when more Norse were in sight. They spotted us and gave chase, so we ended up in the Maerse. Our ship is blocked, now."

"By Norse, with the aim of attacking Brunanburh." Oengus, Aeswi and Osthryth looked out of the cell bars. It was Aelfkin, and Osthryth's heart softened to the young man, once a half-grown boy who would cry for strength to Osthryth when he was no older than twelve, for he was unable to keep up with the bigger warriors.

"They have anchored in the estuary," Aelfkin told them. "It's what I would do, if I were them, give them time to consider attacking the Wirral, or go up the Maerse and attack inland. Either way, the lady has a problem. She must fight, to defend her territory." Osthryth got to her feet, ignoring the frowning Aeswi.

"I am proud of the warrior you have become," Osthryth told him. "You all, Oshere," her quiet, watchful warrior who could unpick an enemy strategy just by looking at the land for three minutes, "Aeglfrith," Osthryth looked at him, Aelfkin's older brother, and deadly behind a spear.

"These Mercian bastards are yours?" Aeswi said.

"They are my men," Osthryth told him. "Every one of them has saved my life more than once."

"And you us," Aelffrith told them. "Do you know, I have known Osthryth nearly thirty years. She saved my master's life when she first came to Wessex. Proud to be her deputy." He took a step to Osthryth.

"These are your warriors from Alba?" He looked across their faces. "Don't look blue to me," he added. "Where are your fanged teeth?"

"What?" Feilim stepped beside Osthryth.

"Your fangs? If you are Picts, do you not eat your dead?"

It was Oengus who grabbed Feilim in a bear hug and clamped a hand over his mouth. When the Pictlander stopped struggling, he let him go, slowly, in case his rage began to flare again.

"Aelffrith," Osthryth reproved. "Picts do not eat their dead. Anyway," she added, but was interrupted by Feilim, who pushed Aeswi aside.

"Once!" he shouted at Aelffrith. "Once, and it was a long time ago, and it was a battle, and -" Osthryth felt her mouth fall open. "What?" he asked, shrugging. "It was Angles, after all, Northumbrians," he emphasised. There were shrugs all round as the general consensus appeared to be, as long it was the enemy, and the circumstances were desperate, it was not as bad as it sounded, and at least that one Pictlander had not evolved overhanging canine teeth to deal with being cannibals on a regular basis.

Osthryth settled down in the straw after that, Aeswi on one side of her, Aelffrith on the other side of the gate, and she did not wake until dawn the next day, with an insistent urge to pee.

"I need a corner," she said to Aelffrith, who had seemingly been beside her all night. Her men from Alba were all asleep, and she pulled herself out of the horses' future breakfast.

"Your brother is here," Aelffrith told her, as he unlocked the cell, escorting her beyond the outer rampart and into the green flat countryside of to the Wirral. "Didn't you know?" Osthryth paused. She did know; Merewalh had said when they arrived.

They walked together beyond the rampart walls. All around in every direction the sky hung low. Mist vapourised into the air and the outlines of both the northern coast of Northumbria beyond the Maerse, and Gwynedd to the south were beginning to sharpen.

Though it was flat, there was some privacy beyond some shacks in which boats were being stored. Tussocky salt-grass tufted around them. No, she told herself. Don't think it. Don't think of him.

"Uhtred is no longer Lord of Mercia," Osthryth said, as she found a tussock and she was . Aelffrith stood the other side of it, as she crouched. Blessed relief from the child within her. How does a woman cope? How do they end up with more than one?

"He chose another to rule," Aelffrith told her. But Osthryth already knew.

"Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians," she replied. And she was going to gain a settlement of her life in Mercia a reckoning. It was a feeling she had had ever since she had fled to Alba but the truth had to be settled. So she had come to Mercia under her own terms, and she was going to make the best use of it.

Her men, under Eardwulf, had been set them up to take the blame for Aethelred 's death, and had the shame of her culpability of Eardwulf's murder. Ostheyth was of Mercia, and the old adage was true: reputation was all.

As was independence. And she asked Aelffrith about the movement.

"We are here," said Aelffrith, smiling. "Mercia one. We do not need the West Saxons, but I suspect Wessex needs us. There will be a war between us before too long, I have no doubt."

It what Osthryth thought herself, and she looked along the Maerse, to the north west. Many ships were entering the narrow straits, square-rigged, striped of sail. It would be the Northmen before the West Saxons, she thought, grimly.

"Tell me of these Norse," she said, as they went towards the ramparts to the western side.

"They have raided the north coast," Aelffrith told her. "They do not like to be told not to use the Maerse - it has been a handy inland waterway for them for many years."

As were all the rivers. Norse, Danes, they all thought of the rivers as staging posts to inside the island of Britain. Waeleas and Alba limited them, for the mountains narrowed rivers and made them hard to navigate. But wide, deep rivers such as the Dee, Saeferne, Tyne, Temes...all were ideal plunder routes.

"Aethelflaed speaks of gifting them land, so they do not incur further," Aelffrith told her. "But this is not widely known, so do not let it be said, Osthryth," he added.

"I will not," she replied, quickly, then added, "Appeasement?"

"Why not? This peninsula is defendable from Brunanburh - here - Caestre. And if she can see them, she can keep a check on them." Osthryth laughed, derisively.

"Really?! As if the Norse can be kept a check on! It is appeasement, and not a strategy I would choose. But, maybe she is as clever as Alfred and has more information to play a longer game." Osthryth shrugged. Then she stopped, for a man was approaching them. Aelffrith stood aside. It was Aldhelm.

"I need to speak to you Osthryth," he told her, severely. "Father Pyrlig has come with grave news. The lady understands you wish to stand trial. The situation is...delicate." Osthryth tried not to grin. Anything that made Aethelflaed uncomfortable was not altogether wrong. She could have given Osthryth a little respect, and it might all have been different. But for Aethelflaed, there was only room for one woman warrior.

"Then it needs to be demonstrated," Osthryth insisted, and Aldhelm ushered her to continue to walk with him, leaving Aelffrith at the palisade gate. "Or else Hywel will lose his agreement with me and will be within his rights to take me back to Deheubarth."

"And this is a problem because...?" Osthryth stopped, and smoothed her shirt across her swollen stomach.

"Ah yes, I see," Aldhelm replied, nodding slowly. "And the father is keen for his child to be born in his land? Constantine?" he added.

"The father of this child is...lost to me. Constantine's palace is a place at which I feel safe." She turned to Aldhelm, and held out her hands in defiance. "But I will not return to Deheubarth; I will be damned if I am to be imprisoned when my months are passed!"

"Osthryth you might be hanged if you pursue this course!" Aldhelm insisted, behding his long neck to her and hissing the words loudly. "Aethelflaed will not like her...husband's name being brought into this, nor Uhtred, Eadith, nor your role in the Mercian guard all these years." I bet she wouldn't, Osthryth thought, the idea pleasing her for a moment.

"I have seen Eadith, and she lost her brother due to me; Mercia lost its chance of a trial - perhaps there would have been more stability if Eardwulf had been brought to justice."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Aldhelm conceded, raining both hands to Osthryth as if to settle her, and taking hers in his for a second. "But I know about your brother, and his treatnentb of you...whoever Aethelflaed brings as adjudicator might want to see your injuries -"

"Then so be it!" Osthryth shot back. And she knew he was right - whatever happened a whole ugly mess could be uncovered, for she was entitled for it all to be heard. She had fought for Mercia for all these years without crying out for glory or lauding. What she needed was for her part in it to be settled, her guilt at Eardwulf's death to be settled. And it served two purposes if she never had to return to Deheubarth.

"The facts are there. Or I will try myself," she added coldly, referring to the ancient Anglish custom. Eanfrith, half brother to Oswald and Oswy of the line of Ida, Aethelfrith's first son of a Pictish wife, was no Christian. He had put himself through self-trial against his uncle Edwin before the battle of Heavenfield, at Gyfren, the ancient captial of Bernicia, with Cadwallon of Gwynedd as witness. And had lost. Cadwallon had had to execute his ally.

Who would execute her, Osthryth though, if she had proposed that? Yet, she felt fairly sure she would be exempt most punishments because of her pregnancy. But rather fall as an honoured, trusted captain of Mercia than shirk away while Aethelflaed swanned around building burhs.

"Wait here," Aldhelm insisted, and he took Osthryth by the shoulders. The morning sun was shining weakly on her face as she agreed, and it was some time before Aldhelm returned.

"Aethelflaed wishes to speak to you," he told her, and escorted her inside the burh and into the hall. Here it was, Osthryth thought. To settle the matter, one way or another. Aethelflaed could no longer ignore her role in Mercia, she will have allowed Hywel to gian favour with her, and her men would be left in no doubt that their captain was no murderer.

"You wish a show trial, to relinquish yourself from a bargain with Hywel," Aethelflaed said, when she finally appeared in the hall. Her face was pale, her hair braided so it looked as if it crowned her head in thick, brown plaits. She had a wearied look to her face, of one who had frequently gone to bed late and got up early. Advisors? DId she have any? Uhtred, perhaps, Aldhelm, yes. But as a queen, promising herself to her land rather than any man, she stood aloof.

"I do," Osthryth agreed.

"And what was this bargain?" Aethelflaed asked. Pyrlig would have told her, but she wanted Osthryth to tell her too. Examine for inconsistencies, probably. It was the role of a monarch; she had many to keep safe. But Osthryth was not about to make this easier for her.

"If the Deheubarth king has not told you, if Father Pyrlig has not told you, then neither will I," Osthryth told her.

She glanced to one side, and saw more grey-cloaked Gwyneddian warriors. If Gwynedd was here, under some sort of command from Anarawd, did that mean Aethelflaed had less of an alliance with Hywel than he had led her to believe? Or was Aethelflaed shrewdly keeping both kingdoms dangling, waiting for the one with the most benefit to Mercia to reveal themselves.

"Aldhelm tells me that it was you who killed Lord Eardwulf from the warrior-love you bore my husband, and to protect your men," Aethelflaed went on. "They fled to you from my estate that day because they would not be parted from you, I recall. Saltwic?" she added when Osthryth was unmoved. But Aethelflaed was doing the trick of her father, standing immobile, face fixed, waiting. Endless waiting. Most men cracked. But Osthryth could wait longer.

"I know the strength of bonds between warriors, it makes them act together, for the benefit of their lord. And you saw the captain - "

"- Hereward," Osthryth supplied. "And the lady Eadith, who is...here in Brunanburh with you?" she guessed. Again, correct, for although Aethelflaed tried to hide her expression, she could not conceal a little crinkle around her eyes.

" - Hereward slain, as he had already slain my husband."

"He was the one who relieved Eardwulf of the Mercian ring," Osthryth told her, inclining her head towards Aethelflaed's hand, where the large square emerald set into its gold mount glimmered in the morning light. "On the word of Eadith, his sister."

"And I believe the penalty was that you were to leave Mercia. Yet, here you are."

"Here I am," Osthryth agreed. By her own design. Go to Mercia, and all agreements were void. The allegation was active and she was obliged justice. Osthryth knew it; Aethelflaed knew it. "But that was not the penalty. It is what I chose to do, to ensure shame did not fall upon my men. The lord Uhtred had this resolved, when we were on the road. It is a pity that I bring it to you now."

For that was another reason. Uhtred had been the one to dismiss the record if murder against her and her men, but Aethelflaed had not, despute the convention that previous monarchs' decisions were generally upheld. Osthryth was being provocative, and they both knew it. But, proving it was a different matter, and Osthryth was asking for a public trial, so Aethelflaed had to be seen to deliver justice.

"Congratulations on your coronation lady Aethelflaed," she added.

"I understand you had been travelling to Waeles with the lords, the mormars - " she struggled over the word, "Of King Constantine? And that the lord Uhtred had detained them thinking them to be Norse?"

"Indeed, lady," Osthryth told her, trying to make the word lady sound as genuine as possible. Adhelm stepped next to Osthryth, and bowed his head. Aethelflaed turned her head to her advisor and nodded briefly.

"They are model prisoners, from what Merewalh tells me," Aldhelm told her.

"I should have them vouch for you." She nodded to Aldhelm, who left the hall. Neither woman followed his egress, rather, stared at one another, and Osthryth noticed Aethelflaed take in Osthryth's bump.

"While we wait for your men, I have a letter for King Constantine." She extended a long arm, as if trying hard to be as far away from Osthryth as possible. "What it proposes requires you to return to Alba as quickly as ever you can. And, to do as you agreed to the king of Gwynedd," Aethelflaed added.

So, she knew of it, then, Osthryth thought. Spies. Like any self-respecting leader of a nation, Aethelflaed of Mercia would have spies everywhere.

"I am willing to make a tripartite alliance with Alba and Strathclyde, to prevent Northumbrian and Norse incursions. With Dyfnwal assured of an heir, he may think it less important to send Norse south with a pocket of silver for their trouble."

"Like the Norse in the Maerse?" Osthryth asked. "Sytryggr? Rognvaldr? Brida?" And that gave Osthryth much delight then to see the lady of the Mercians start, for Osthryth was instantly resentful that Aethelflaed knew of King Anarawd's arrangement with her. There were Gwynedd warriors in Brunanburh now, though, Osthryth told herself, and once you knew about Owain ap Dyfnwal, it was the next logical step to reunite him with his father. Perhaps Aethelflaed's compass was veering to the northern Waelean kingdom rather than that of Hywel, after all.

"I will speak to your men," Aethelflaed said, when the silence had lingered between them for an inordinate amount of time. Aldhelm had been sent to get them, but they had not yet arrived.

"My Pictish man, lady? My Strathclydian man? Or my Gaelish comrade?" Osthryth asked. "Or are you referring to my Mercian warriors, who are condemned should I not stand trial. No captain would let blame fall to the shoulders of his men, she added, enjoying Aethelflaed's expression. Or do you mean the Gwyneddian guard who are here, to whom I am kin, or - "

Aethelflaed started, and took a step towards her. Osthryth froze, though for a moment, she expected that the lady was going to hit her. But she didn't. Instead, Aethelflaed regained her poise and looked at Osthryth without expression.

"All who will speak for you, yes," she replied, with one swift nod. "Of the Mercians, I will choose one - " She broke off, and Osthryth turned to see Aldhelm. Beside him, chins out, proud of stance, were Feilim, Oengus and Aeswi. She smiled when she was them, and Aeswi asked her in Gaelish, what was going in.

Osthryth told him she was giving herself up for an alleged crime, and the lady had asked them to be character witnesses. She then translated for Oengus, and then for Feilim, who nodded between themselves when they understood.

Language. If you had writing or if you had language, you had power. Osthryth did not know whether Aethelflaed knew that she spoke Danish and Norse, but now she would know she commanded Pictish, Cymbric, Gaelish, and again, Osthryth noticed with satisfaction Aethelflaed's surprise at this.

"Of your men, Aldhelm, would you suggest Merewalh to be the best of them to speak in Osthryth Lackland's favour?"

"Certainly. Osthryth was his captain, under his command, if anyone can advocate for her character it will be him."

Was I, indeed, Osthryth thought again. Yet more information to disquiet Lady Aethelflaed. While she was making herself comfortable in Saltwic, Osthryth was actually doing some of the muscle-work to make the land safe. And she knew it now, and could not take Osthryth's service to Mercia away from her.

"How will I communicate with these lords?" Aethelflaed asked. "Apart from Osthryth herself, do we know anyone who can speak their language? Gaelish, for example."

A chill passed over Osthryth, then. Please God, no. Not him. Aethelflaed would ask around, ask Uhtred, who could not fail to come up with the same candidate. But her horror was abated when Aeswi said, "I can speak Saxon. And I can translate for my lords," he told them.

"So, I will discuss with the lords," Aethelflaed concluded. "And you are to discuss with the adjudicator at your trial," she added, flicking Osthryth a look. She was to get one after all? Osthryth's heart began to rise again.

"Father Oswald will preside," Aethelflaed continued. "He will need your testimony; his judgment of your character will be absolute, and the need for publicity will be...minimal," she added. And behind Aethelflaed a cassocked man appeared, and was standing quietly beside the lady.

At the mention of a priest, Osthryth wondered whether it would be Osferth, although he had no monastery, nor bishopric now. But no. Aethelflaed would need the judgment of a man with standing.

It would be a joyless man who would judge her for her pregnancy and her war-mongering, and would conclude accordingly, no doubt, Osthryth thought, and she steeled herself for the word-fight that was to come. Be persuasive, not brittle, Osthryth told herself. Do not challenge him, or insult him. You catch more bees with honey than with vinegar.

Osthryth looked again, and again at the joyless priest Aethelflaed had chosen, forcing her lips not to break forth the joy. It was her nephew who stood before her, Father Oswald, Bishop of Caestre.

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Osthryth noticed him recognise her, but made no expression towards her. He was Bishop of Caestre then? A good appointment. And he would be fair, no doubt.

"I would speak to the priest alone," Osthryth offered, which seemed to surprise Aethelflaed, and made Osthryth think that the woman had not designed this, knowing that Osthryth was his aunt, which she must have.

"Agreed," Aethelflaed agreed, then turned to Uhtred's elder son. "Father Oswald, please take Osthryth to the antechamber. I will have Merewalh turn the key on you - bang three times in the door when you have finished.

When Merewalh had escorted them, to a windowless room beyond the living quarters, he clapped Osthryth on the shoulder. She smiled back to him, and placed her hand over his. She heard the lock scratch behind them, and it was only then that her nephew smiled at her.

"Come, aunt," Father Oswald said to her. "You must put yourself at your ease." He put an arm out to Osthryth, who took it, and she sat in some fine, oak-carved chairs padded in velvet. Oswald sat in one, next to him. He looked as content as she had seen him in Aylesbury, and felt glad for him. Despite Uhtred, he was following what he truly believed.

"I'll come to the point," Oswald said. "I have heard the testimony you gave to Aldhelm, and to Aethelflaed. I believe you have extenuating circumstances, so caught up in the grief of the death of Lord Aethelred. You were overcome with the callousness of Lord Eardwulf's actions to a fellow captain, and you were not yourself." He put his hands out to hers, but Osthryth did not take them.

"And that is what you will put to Aethelflaed?" she asked him. Her nephew nodded.

"It is what she needs to be said," he told Osthryth. "She needs an end to this, as you need an end to this."

"I need an end to this for other reasons, as well as just for my position in Mercia and the honour of my guards. And what do you mean by, "You were not yourself"?"

"You are with child; you were with child then. I understand it changes one's outlook."

"No," Osthryth said, shaking her head. "Do not bring this child into this. There is another reason, a far deeper one than merely love for my lord." And one more complicated, which had kept her hand from Uhtred, and had driven her here. Finan.

"May I hear it? It may help you," Father Oswald encouraged. Osthryth shifted in her seat.

"You were there, when I tried to save your mother's life, that day in Winchester?" A brief nod - they both knew he had been. He was Uhtred then, Young Uhtred, his father's vessel for all hopes and dreams. "She was your mother, where do you stand on the events of the day?"

"Honestly, aunt?" Father Oswald shook his head. "That nothing could have been done, whether you had helped or not, you couldn't have made it worse."

"On the day I killed Eardwulf," Osthryth confided, "I was not coming for him. My aim was for another." And Osthryth got to her feet and stood in the centre of the room, beginning by taking off her jerkin and then lifting her shirt over her body. Kicking off her boots, she drew down her breeches, until she was standing naked before him. What a poor sight she must have been to look at, Osthryth thought, and she turned so Father Oswald could see her back, her legs, her thighs.

"Say it did kill Gisela," Osthryth continued, her head still turned away. "Is this a punishment in proportion to her death? Speak!" Osthryth implored him. "I will have your answer, honest and true as it is!"

"No," her nephew replied, after some time. "No it is not." And Father Oswald got to his feet and picked up Osthryth's clothes, handing them to her, one by one and she dressed quickly. Oswald was waiting beside her when she had finished, and held out an arm.

"So you see," Osthryth said, not taking it immediately. "I was aiming for your father, and I saw Eardwulf, and I realised at that moment no matter what Uhtred has ever done to me in vengeance for the death of your mother, it was nothing compared to the callousness, the arrogance, of that lord, in his quest driven by greed for the throne himself. That captain did not have to die." And then she took his arm, and Oswald crossed to the door, banging with his fist on the thick oak panels once, twice, three times.

"Thank you for being honest with me, aunt," he said to her, and smiled.

"Does she know you are Uhtred's eldest son, in his first appointment?" Osthryth asked. Her nephew smiled.

"Oh yes," Father Oswald told her. "But I could not use the name my father selected for me when he disowned me - my flock would think it most peculiar."

"That was?"

"Judas. Father Judas." It was Osthryth's turn to be shocked, and she drew on Oswald's arm and he stepped closer to her, smiling.

"It matters little to me, though once it did. I thought to our conversation, our last one, a dozen or so year ago," he confided. "Oswald is an appropriate name, do you not agree, aunt? Northumbrian king; Chester. Our beloved saint far from home, his death at the hands of the last pagan of Mercia?" Osthryth laughed aloud - it was indeed an wily choice of name which only a few could possibly have understood.

And, as the key turned in the lock, Osthryth pulled Oswald close to her, and held onto her brother's eldest child like she had not been able to on the day his mother died.

"You are my kin, Uhtred," she told him, calling Oswald by his birth name. "You are never, and will never be other to me."

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"Lady of the Mercians," Osthryth declared, as they stood before the hall, outside in the courtyard. "I am sworn to your land. If you have harmed in any way those men, or had others harm them, I will kill you right here." Osthryth put her hand to her seax, and glanced across to Aethelstan. "I take it your father got out of the holding cell at Aylesbury?" she whispered across to him. Aethelstan said nothing, and it was Aethelflaed who spoke and pulled Aethelstan away from Osthryth.

"Do you understand the implications of bringing yourself forward with confession of this deed?" It was Aldhelm speaking now, and he stood between her and Aethelflaed. Best place, Osthryth thought, as she tried not to look at everyone assembled before her, everyone who was at Brunanburh.

Her brother would be there of course, his men, Aethelflaed's household guard. There would be her Mercian men, Merewalh, Aelffrith and Constantine's lords. Even the servants would be squeezed amongst them.

"I do indeed. It is because I am of Mercia that I come before you today. Fellow Mercians," she continued, sensing Aethelflaed's irritation. "It is because I served the lord before this lady - " they could make of it what they wanted - she meant Aethelred, though many might think Uhtred, " - that I acted beyond the law. I should have brought Lord Eardwulf back to Aylesbury for trial. I did not, and acted out of love for my Lord, with emotion, not my head." Look, look out to the people, Osthryth told herself. Make them see you mean all of your words.

"It is under these circumstances," Osthryth continued, "That I bring myself to the justice of the land that I love, to have its judgment against me. I would have my lady understand," and here Osthryth turned to Aethelflaed, "That all I did was what I thought was the good of Mercia, the land I served, the land I am most proud to have given those years of my life."

And at this, she stepped back, not without catching Merewalh's eye. He did not have to nod and smile at her, but in doing so, it made Osthryth feel the most sure she had ever felt in offering herself up to Aethelflaed rather than return to Deheubarth with Hywel.

Father Oswald then crossed between her and Aethelflaed. He said nothing to her, but stood before the people with a comfortable, well-practised manner.

"I will hear your oath on the book," Father Oswald told her, and placed in his hand a copy of the Bible. It had a lattice-work inscription on the front of it, and Osthryth recognised it as one of many Alfred had commissioned to be sent to all Bishoprics in the country.

"Do you swear, on the book of our Lord, and His holy word, that all you confided to me was truth?" Osthryth stepped towards her nephew, looking between the Bible and his face.

"I will swear," Osthryth said, "But I do not recognise this book," she continued.

"Osthryth," she heard behind her, and Aldhelm's words came to her ears. "You a play a dangerous game.

"I believe you carry with you a book just as holy?" To give him his due, Oswald was unmoved. But she had seen a copy of the British Gospels, created at Lindisfarne, in a stack of books in the ante-chamber. It must have been his, Osthryth reasoned. And he would know the significance. They were Oswald's gospels, commissioned by the king - late saint - in his lifetime, and it had given her joy to see them for she thought them lost with the Danish and Norse raids.

"What is she doing?" hissed Merewalh from within the crowd.

"They are the Gospels of Iona," Aeswi said to Oengus and Feilim. "She is showing she is a true ally to Alba, and Constantine."

The gold shone up from the pages and Osthryth smiled at the illuminated pages. Even Aethelflaed could not object to these, so famous that they were, that even her father had used much gold to locate their whereabouts and bring them to Winchester. He had failed, and they had been with Saint Oswald in his burial tomb in Bardney, and Osthryth had been delighted to pass them on to the Bishop of Liccefeld, who had clearly passed them to the Bishop of Caestre.

"I know," Aelffrith told him, reaching for his hand for a moment. "She is proving she is of Mercia."

"Our servant Osthryth," Father Oswald spoke, loud, and commanding. "On these our most holy gospels, do you swear your testimony to be true?"

Osthryth lowered her right hand to the pages, hardly daring to touch the centuries-old parchment with her palm. Then, she placed her left, her damaged hand, over the right, and Oswald placed his over hers.

"I do," she said, making sure she was loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Then, I will say this," Oswald said, holding the gospels high, and at an angle for all to see. "I have heard your confession. The witan of our lady Aethelflaed have convened. And you are guilty of the killing of the lord Eardwulf - "

Good, thought Osthryth, as a murmur went through the crowd. She glanced down, and noticed there was more than a murmur - a figure was pushing themselves through the crowd. She stood at the edge and looked across to Father Oswald, glancing at Aethelflaed, and then at Aethelstan, who was standing beside his own aunt.

"No!" Eadith protested. "No! If she is guilty, it is because of her love for the Lord Aethelred!" Osthryth turned her head. This was what Aethelflaed had wanted to be kept from public ears. But the victim's sister was here, and having her say.

"This warrior," Eadith continued, "Did act out of grief for her lord. And what grief it was! I witnessed the murder of the lord Aethelred." She was addressing all of the crowd now. "I saw how my brother tightened the tourniquet of bandages around the skull of our lord, crushing it beyond any hope of life for him! I fled - " Eadith continued to nod around at the crowd, "To defend my lady's daughter from a marriage to him, so he would become lord - "

Not what Aethelflaed would want shared. Yet, she had shunned Eadith too, when she could have had a governess, a caretaker, of Aelfwynn, but she had chosen to drive her away and, ultimately, into the arms of her lover, Uhtred.

"If Osthryth is guilty in the eyes of the law, then she by my hand - " at this, she raised a milk-white arm and held a dainty hand towards the Gospels, it was shaking a little, as Osthryth's had been, no simple words scratched into cleaned cow skin - these were the words of God made physical so they could be seen by all.

"I swear here," she said, and Osthryth admired her humility, for the woman had reined herself in suitably to be acceptable when she bowed her head to Father Oswald. Osthryth's nephew held out the Gospels to her and she placed a hand steadily above the pages, not quite touching the page, then placed her left one over her right, as Osthryth had done.

Father Oswald placed a hand on top of Eadith's flame-red head and said a small prayer, closing his eyes as he did so. The congregation waited until he had removed his hand, and Eadith bowed, and moved off back to the crowd. Aethelflaed, meanwhile, had taken a a few steps to Osthryth and spoke near her ear.

"If you think coming to me with this confession now will save you," she hissed. "Think again for my judgment will not make a concession for your condition. You know I cannot hang a pregnant woman."

"Whatever your judgment, I would see this pregnancy through," Osthryth hissed back, "Lodge the child with its father and then submit." Osthryth turned her head. "What you fail to understand, Aethelflaed, is that I am a warrior first and foremost, my sword is my life; defence of my lord is my purpose." Around them, people heard their words, if not all understood them. "And I failed my lord Aethelred when I acted in haste and did not allow Eardwulf to live to stand trial." Osthryth glanced at the crowd. "They need to know your judgment, lady," she added, now Eadith had disappeared.

Aethelflaed stood upright, and walked across to the front of the steps. Father Oswald closed the gospels and stepped backwards.

"We have heard all," Aethelflaed told her people. "In light of new evidence, a witan will be called. The accused," and here Aethelflaed turned her cold gaze to Osthryth, "Will remain here, under guard until we reconvene. "Before we leave, are there any more people who will stand for this warrior?"

At first, there was no movement, and Aethelflaed made to turn. As she did so a quiet murmuring came from the crowd as people were pushing forward. Osthryth could not see exactly who they were until they had passed by Aldhelm, and it was only then that she felt overwhelmed to see her men, the men she had captained, for months, for years, their wellbeing she had managed, their glory she had promoted. It was all Osthryth could do to stop her gathering them around her, clapping them on their back.

It was Aelfkin she saw first, tall, broad, blonde, followd by Aeglfrith, his younger, leaner brother. Oshere, brown haired and stoic stood next to them, and last of all, her friend for the longest time, Aelffrith. Osthryth nodded to them, captain once more. But then she saw Merewalh, her commander, stand beside Aelffrith.

"Her division," Merewalh said simply, when Aldhelm raised his eyebrows. "Her men."

"Not so!" came a voice from the crowd and, stalking between the Mercians were Constantine's lords. Oengus and Feilim stood to her right, and Aeswi at the end. How was it that she was so blessed, Osthryth asked herself.

"You may have a long wait," Osthryth told the men of Alba, in Gaelish.

"Then we wait," Oengus the Mormaer told her. "Your man here," he gestured to Merewalh, "Has told us we are free to go, when the Norse allow our ship to leave. So we are in no hurry." Osthryth nodded, and then turned to Aelffrith, and said the same.

"Do you think the men whose reputation you are defending here would be anywhere else other than by your side?" he asked. And Osthryth nodded in return, and went back to listening to the blufferings of the geese that were making their homes in the Maerse's shadows and the thin cloud coverings which stretched thinly over blue heavens.

After a time, Osthryth felt a hand on hers. Her oldest comrade, loyal to the last. She turned her head to Aelffrith, and Merewalh glanced over to her.

"Never have I felt as proud of you, Osthryth Lackland, than today." He nodded, and Osthryth remembered the crabby, bad tempered young captain she had been under, in Odda's guard. Would the younger Merewalh have believed her, Osthryth wondered, had she been able to tell him? She laughed to herself.

"Just once?" Aelffrith leaned across to Feilim. The Pictlander looked back to him, narrowing his eyes, and narrowed his lips."

"There was Catraech, as well," he conceded.

"Northumbrians," nodded Aelffrith, nodding to the man.

They waited.

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Aethelflaed's next move was one that Osthryth did not expect. It may have been an hour or it may have been two when she stepped out of the hall and stood before her people again. She scanned the crowd and then spoke hastily to Aldhelm, who strode into the mass of people emerging with Eadith.

Osthryth watched as the woman stood before Aethelflaed, and inclined her head, briefly.

"You are the sister of the lord who was slain," Aethelflaed said.

"I am."

"And did you see Osthryth, former captain of the Mercian guard cut down your brother?" There was pleasure in that, "former", Osthryth could hear.

"I believe it was in error," said Eadith replied, not taking her eyes of Aethelflaed. Osthryth turned to stare at her. "Grief, shock...all cloud the mind. She was recovering, and still is recovering from great trauma. I witnessed Eardwulf kill my brother, and I believe Osthryth heard me say that."

"Nevertheless, you did kill a lord of my land?" Aethelflaed now turned to Osthryth. "You will speak!" she shouted. Of course I'll speak, thought Osthryth, dully.

"Yes."

"And your men?" She looked at the Mercians beside Osthryth. "They witnessed this too?" Osthryth turned to them, giving them her sternest look. Tell the truth, was what she meant by that look.

"Yes," they all agreed.

"You may go," she nodded to Eadith, then bent briefly to Aldhelm, who crossed to Osthryth, and placed a hand firmly on her shoulder.

"I am sorry to be the one to do this," he said, and took her by the arm to stand in the very centre of the steps.

"Osthryth Lackland - "

" - of Strathclyde -" Osthryth heard Oengus shout, then heard Feilim add, " - Alba!", and at least one of her men shout, " - Mercia!" Aethelflaed, if she heard them at all, continued stolidly.

" - you are judged by myself, as the ruler of this land of Mercia, in an emergency witan, to be guilty. It only remains to pass sentence - "

"I understand you have received wergild?" This interruption came from Aldhelm, who called down to Eadith, who was standing before the crowd and was looking up at the proceedings, beautiful eyes, open and alert. She looked to Aldhelm. Aethelflaed bridled at the interruption, but said nothing.

"I have," Eadith confirmed, then stepped up to the first step and repeated loudly, "I have!"

"And was it enough?" Aldhelm pressed.

"It was more than enough!" Eadith assured him, again, loud enough for all to hear.

"There is another witness." This time it was Osthryth who spoke. "Another witness, my lord," she said to Aldhelm.

"Who, Osthryth?" Aldhelm asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Lord Aethelstan."

And, whether Aethelflaed wanted him to or not, the black-haired boy - young man now at aged about fourteen or fifteen, came to stand by his aunt.

"It is true, I witnessed it, as did your own daughter, Aelfwynn." Aethelstan was clear and to the point. "She would say the same as I: Osthryth Lackland did indeed kill the lord Eardwulf."

"Then she was out of her mind," Aethelflaed concluded, glancing at Osthryth's stomach. "And as such - "

"So a disturbed mind is a a woman's mind?" Osthryth asked. "You are suggesting a woman is unfit in a position of power, Lady Aethelflaed?"

"One with child may make...irrational judgements," the lady of the Mercians admitted. And it was true. She had made an irrational judgment over Eirik when pregnant with Aelfwynn. She knew Osthryth knew that very well.

"Then I am guilty," Osthryth proclaimed. For there can be no other conclusion.

"Guilty," Aethelflaed summised, and looked around at her people again, making sure she was well heard. "My sentence is this. When you have had your child, you will return to Mercia, you shall be taken to a place of execution - "

But the rest of her sentence, whatever that might have been, was drowned out by the uproar, from the congregation before her, from Osthryth's warriors behind. Even Aldhelm recoiled. In the noise, few saw the lord Aethelstan lean across to his aunt and confide something.

Aethelflaed held up a hand.

"- a place of execution, to witness how justice should be done, lest you do not make the same mistake again."

She had tried, Osthryth thought, she would give Aethelflaed that. But no-one could be convinced that the lady of the Mercians really meant it, or had intended to say it. Aethelflaed had not played the publicity well. She had said it, however, and stood at the front of all her men, her warriors, her people.

"And you will serve Mercia in her armies for a period of two years at a time I or my successor sees fit."

"My thanks, Lady Aethelflaed, for judging me under Mercian law has demonstrated that I am, indeed, a Mercian." Aethelflaed turned her head to her.

"Constantine said he would send me aid one day," she replied, as the crowd, encouraged by Aldhelm, dispersed. Osthryth made sure she did not look at the people too closely; she would not be distracted by Uhtred or his men.

"I did not expect to pass over the Dee to give it to you," Osthryth replied, "Nor these warriors be blocked in on the Maerse. I am glad your commander gave them the chance you would not give them."

She glanced across to Aldhelm, who had ordered Merewalh to hold Constantine's men at spearpoint again. How dare she, Osthryth thought, after everything? When she held a letter that Aethelflaed wanted her to take back to Constantine about some sort of alliance Osthryth turned to the young man to the left of Aethelflaed.

"Aethelstan, it is good to meet you."

"I have not been introduced," Aethelstan replied, a smaller imitation of his aunt's ice-queen manner.

"It is so that your lady failed to overlook one of Mercia's captains? For I served your land well for a number of years. You were, late to the battle, lady?"

"We were in East Anglia," Aethelflaed admitted.

"Ah, yes commanding Edward's men." Osthryth shifted her weight between her feet. "As I recall, you used to commit your poor brother's toys to the fire, upsetting an eight year old just to watch him cry. I see nothing has changed." She saw Aethelstan reach for his sword, but Osthryth was quicker, and Buaidh was in her hand. He stopped, without breaking eye contact.

"Try it, and it will be Aelfweard who succeeds to the crowns," Osthryth told him.

"I have killed," Aethelstan informed her, still looking at her. "And I will do so again." Osthryth smiled, and shook her head.

"If you had wanted me dead, I would be dead. What is your purpose?"

"One day I will be Lord of Mercia. I understand you have sworn to Mercia?"

"I did," Osthryth admitted, "I have. And I have 2 years service indentured." It was beginning to sink in. She had pulled it off - cleared the names of her men, restored her reputation.

"Then I humbly accept your service," nodded Aethelstan, and his voice took on a humble tone, respectful. She turned.

"And when I am free to fulful my oath," Osthryth said, with deliberate purpose, "My blade will be yours."

Osthryth lowered Buaidh a little but was met with Aethelflaed's blade, steel meeting steel andshe saw the ring of Mercia again. green set in gold, that had been passed from ruler to ruler since the first Icling, the first leader of the Angles in the middle of the Heptarcy. Yet, Aethelflaed was also a Iffing, a Saxon from the line of Iffa who had begotten the West Saxons.

"Not today," Aethelflaed said, shaking herself as if ridding herself of an irritating wasp and handing her sword back to Aethelstan. "You are no longer for Edward, then."

"And you would take Wessex from him," Osthryth scorned, "Like you would steal his toys when he was but a child, because you were jealous you could not succeed Alfred's crown." Osthryth stood still, awaiting forthe blow to come, for Aethelflaed to strike her, and she saw the Lady of the Mercians raise her hand, but pull it down to her side at the last moment. More than that, Aethelstan had also seen it. She waved to Aldhelm.

"Imprison these men," she told him, and although they didn't understand, Feilim, Oengus and Aeswi got the idea. But Osthryth stood in front of Aldhelm.

"If you take his men, you are fighting Constantine," Osthryth told her. "So there was little point in troubling yourself with a letter, lady."

"It will not matter," Aethelstan told her. "When my turn comes, I will rule all of Britain, and Alba too."

"He says he will take all of Britain," Osthryth told the Mormaers, who laughed, and in Gaelish, again, told Aethelstan, "You will try; Constantine respects that."

"My father was right," Aethelflaed told her. "You cannot trust a Gael."

"Then it is you who are foolish - did you not treat with Constantine at Heavenfield?" That stopped her, and Aethelddlaed dipped her head.

"He is indeed a fortunate man to have such an intelligent woman as the mother of his child," Aethelflaed told her, gesturing a hand to Aldhelm to let the men go.

"It is a common mistake that many people seem to be making. You are in good company." Aethelflaed gave a hmph but said nothing, then walked past Osthryth as if she did not exist.

Two years for Mercia, Osthryth told herself. Well, she would make sure it would be when it suited her. Then, she noticed all of her men had come to stand by her.

"A drink!" Aelffrith declared. "Aeswi?" he asked. "Drink? You understand?"

"I can speak Anglish," Aeswi told him. "And you drink ale from Buccstan, and your commander drinks local Aylesbury beer."

"Constantine has his spies too, it would appear," Merewalh chuckled. And then an almighty crash came from beyond Brunanburh's fortress, before a rhythmical thumping: sword, spear, axe on shield.

Merewalh raced to the palisade and called up to the men on guard. But there was no need for him to act as intermediary, nor as translator. For the warrior aloft screamed but one thin, over and over, in a language universal to everyone.

"Norse!" He shouted. "The Norse are invading." Osthryth inhaled deeply and turned to her men. She noticed Aethelflaed, however, racing out of the hall over to Aethelstan.

"Looks as if I am to begin serving my time to you now, lady!" Osthryth called, her life given meaning once again. The Norse were invading, and she was in the fortunate position to have fought with every one of the men who had stood by her, literally, at her trial. The Norse would meet its match with her division.

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"I have seen her; I must go to her!" Finan's voice was one filled with piteous sadness. He had watched everything from the very back of the crowd. Though his eyesight was incredible, his hearing was not.

"She was brave, I will admit," said Osferth. "Not many people would call their own trial."

"She did that?" Sihtric asked, placing a hand on Osferth's shoulder, for the baby monk was just about to walk away. Osferth nodded.

"So Uhtred said."

"Come on, you slow bastards!" Uhtred was at the palisade gate and was beckoning to them. At the other, Osthryth with her men. Not one of them had told her not to fight though, if she were honest, she probably should not have been fighting at all.

But she had men, with different skills around her, and while they spoke different tongues and held their weaponry differently to one another, Osthryth knew that lead them all was the key to victory.

She knew that Aelffrith and Feilim worked alone, and would take everything into consideration before they attacked, a hugely different approach to Oengus and Merewalh who, though different in build would tear onto the battlefield facing each danger fiercely and systematically. Her quiet Oshere would be thinking about his move before going onto a flurry of execution. Then there were the "all rounders", Aelffrith, Aeglfrith, Aeswi.

But there was a difference in culture. How could they go out to a battlefield wearing different clothing, with different blades, different war cries? The Gael and the two Cymric would tear into battle with the hollow yelling cry she had learned when fighting with them, in contrast to the Saxons, who roared very little.

What could unite them? This was proven to Osthryth when she tried to move with her men. When the Mercian warriors went with her, the men of Alba remained where they were.

"They are the enemy to us," Feilim replied in Pictish. "Sais," he added, and Osthryth saw the recognition of the word on Merewalh's face.

"They are my men, were my men, in Mercia, not two months ago," she told them. "They may be your enemy in the future, but not today." Aelfkin and Aeglfrith stopped their advance and went to stand beside Oshere and Aelffrith.

"Of Alba?" asked Merewalh, Osthryth nodded, and he turned to Oengus. "She is with child, and surely must be resting," he told the Strathclyde Mormaer.

"In our land, it is custom to let the woman decide," Aeswi told him.

"She is dear to us!" Merewalh insisted, advancing him one step, two.

"Aye, to us too," Oengus replied, fiercely.

And then, Osthryth felt old, old and tired, and wanted the fireside and rest. Her bones ached. She felt insulated by the care these men, who she had spent time building bonds with, showing respect to and having the privilege to manage, were showing her, and knew she could only go to safety if she found something to unite them.

"Listen!" Osthryth did not mean to shout as loud as she had. When she had looked at all men, who were giving her their attention, she said again at a more suitable volume. "My brother once told me, although he did not know it was me," Osthryth said. "About a whore who was a bishop's wife - I stole a good deal of his money from him when he was busy admiring her."

"You don't mean...Gomer? Bishop Leofstan's wife?" Aldhelm asked her, shocked.

"She was called Mus when I first met her," Merewalh told him. "Funny, how they are in Caestre now," he added. "Not too far from Brunanburh?"

"I do mean her," Osthryth clarified, and she saw Aelfkin and Oshere shuffle their feet. She had seen her once, and she had indeed been beautiful: dainty, poised. And Osthryth had stolen her brother's silver when Uhtred had been distracted.

"We are in need a battle cry, and those who have met Mus will know that we are fighting to protect all in Mercia, including those who give warriors so much pleasure when they return from battle. For Mus!" She declared, then spent a moment translating for Oengus, Felilim and Aeswi who, after a moment's delay laughed too."

"Mus!" They all shouted. From across the other side of the palisade, the message must have been heard, and a response was shouted back.

"Mus! The best whore in the British Isles!"

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The Mercians had assembled around the ramparts of Brunanburh, assembling for the fight, with West Saxons to their left, huddling together to give the greatest density of bodies. Amongst them, Uhtred's men. One of them could see across the field, could see Osthryth with warriors around her.

"It is Osthryth," Finan declared, his eyes right. Uhtred next to him spat.

"What does that bitch want now?" Uhtred groaned, pain from his healing wound from Ice Spite needling him. Finan said nothing for a moment, but when she withdrew her seax, he stepped past Uhtred.

"Look at her!" Uhtred declared. "She should be sitting indoors waiting for that bratling to be born, not fighting. She is no better than she should be!"

"And what should she be?" Finan asked.

"Not so...arrogant! Not so...carefree! She dances into a fight as if the world is going to part before her magnificent self!" he scorned.

"She fights like you, Lord Uhtred," Sihtric said, with a grin.

"She does not!" Uhtred rounded on his warrior.

"She does," Finan replied, watching her. Beyond them, a fight had broken out between the West Saxons and a Mercian division. On her horse, Aethelflaed was going over to it, and when they saw her, men withdrew their weapons.

"No longer Mercia and Wessex!" everyone heard her declare, "But Saxons and Angles, one!" Osthryth heard, and glanced at Merewalh and Aelffrith.

"She means just today," Aelffrith said aloud. "We are not a union of kingdoms, we are separate nations, and will remain so."

Sihtric moved across to Finan when the battle lines moved. They were nearer the front, where the bravest men stood.

"What would you tell her?" asked Sihtric, who had had his own share of maligning from Uhtred about his wife.

"That I love her. I don't need to own her to love her. I can love her without expectations."

"Then go to her," Sihtric encouraged, glancing at the ranging Norse. "Before we begin here. Tell her!"

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"Why do they fight now?" It was Aelfkin who asked Osthryth that as they slowly progressed over what would be the battlefield. Along the bank of the Maerse, ships, so many she could not see across to the land on the other side of the river. "It's nearly advent" he added, "Christmas." Osthryth looked at her youngest warrior, but it was Aeswi who answered.

"The Norse do not recognise Advent, not Lent or any other of our holy days. To them, if it is a good time to raid, it is a good time to raid. They stop for Jul though." Osthryth nodded. She had been with the Thurgilsons when they and their army had stopped at midwinter for this festival. Games, good food, song. It seemed like a good time had been had by them all, and now, with that time long gone, she could look back at it with fondness. It had not been fondness at the time, thought, they having fled Caer Ligualid, with who knew what sort of welcome when - if - she had got to Dunnottar.

And from their higher vantage point, Osthryth could see yet more Norse attaching themselves to the main body, small, sporadic fighting beginning at the edges of the groups, though neither commander, a tall, thin man with dirty, long hair for the Norse, nor Aethelflaed for the temporarily united Saxons, had issued a command to engage.

A group of Gwynedd's army had migrated to Osthryth's left. A commander called over in Cymbric, and Oengus answered, giving his status. The captain bowed and saluted, and Osthryth's men joined with them. Osthryth dug her boots into the malleable soil. This was it. They were not as far forward as she might have hoped, for all knew the weakest fought at the back of a shield wall. But they could not jostle forward for the density of men, all buoyant with battle-readiness as they saw their lady ride up and down the lines.

And still they had not engaged.

Osthryth looked around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Next to her, Aelffrith turned too, and Aeswi. It was Pyrlig.

"You cannot be a part of this," Pyrlig insisted. He looked at her men. "Have you not told her this?"

"Do you tell the lady Aethelflaed what to do, even if you think she could be better served with different advice?" Merewalh's voice was thick and strong, and he smiled across to Osthryth. It was her choice, he was telling her, and there would be no shame if she quit the field.

At the far end of the field Wessex banners were held high and amongst them ones displaying the red dragon. Hywel was with the West Saxons then, as was Idwal. Not Gwynedd, but declaring his lot in line with his allegiance.

"Pyrlig, listen to me," Osthryth implored. "Only you can will Steapa to side with Merewalh, to unite with Aethelflaed against the Norse, who would be far worse than any Anglish or Saxon. Did Britons not invite the Saxons to this land? Yet none of us invited the Danes and Norse. Flann Sinna successfully repels them from Éireann because the Irish are more of one mind than are we." She waved her hand to the river. "I was never a part of this, not Constantine's Mormaers. We cannot leave, the the river is blockaded."

To the left of them, there was more fighting, Wessex banners flying in the face of Aethelflaed's goose of Werburh.

"Whom do we fight Osthryth?" Aelffrith asked. "The bloody West Saxons are fighting the Mercians! Aethelflaed has just given a speech about how united we are - I thought they had come to help us!"

"Where do we stand?" Aeswi asked, in Gaelish.

"Exactly where we are," Osthryth told them. "Who do we all have as a common enemy?" She asked this in Gaelish, Anglish and Cymbric.

"Norse!" came the reply, even from the grey-cloaked men of Gwynedd and Osthryth ignored Aeglfrith's cry of "the Welsh!".

"Do not do this," Pyrlig asked again, and he spoke quicky to Merewalh, who then stepped across to Osthryth, speaking low to her.

"If the Alba Mormaers will take orders from me," he proposed to Osthryth, "In your place, will you retire?" The banging of Norse shields began again. They would begin soon. And still Aethelflaed held.

"Yes," she agreed, and told Feilim and Oengus this. Oengus took a step towards her and placed a hand over her stomach.

"We have to take you back alive, and unharmed," he told her. "If we were to all die here, Constantine will kill us!" He looked at Pyrlig and tried Saxon.

"Are taking of her? Fortress?"

"Yes," nodded Pyrlig. And Oengus raised his blade to Merewalh, touching his steel with his. After a second, Aeswi and Feilim did the same and then all of the warriors. Together, a union of warriors. Osthryth's men. She turned under Pyrlig's gesture and looked at the fortress. A figure, small but watchful, was on the ramparts. Merewalh stepped to her.

"I kept it safe for you," he said, and dropped her coin into her hands, the thin chain slipping around her fingers, Alfred's and Ceowulf's images looking back to her and he slipped it over her neck. "Give it to the child, it clearly means a lot to you." And when she had placed her hand on Merewalh's forearm and shaken it firmly in reassurance for the battle ahead, she saw Finan.

Merewalh saw him too, and his demeanour changed. He pushed past Pyrlig and strode up to him, blocking the Irishman's path.

"You are the bastard that beat her and left her!" Merewalh snarled. At that, Feilim drew his sword.

"Bastard Ulaid" he said in Irish. Finan glanced past Feilim, and looked at Osthryth, his eyes lighting on the coin she was wearing.

"Anything that you would like me to tell your brother before battle?" Finan asked, ignoring the warriors. It was a concession, but at least she would be speaking to him.

"Tell him I am glad the blade restored him at Deheubarth." At this, Finan gave her a look of hope. "I am thankful," she continued, "For I have another chance to thrash his arse! Bebbanburg?" Osthryth prompted, her words in contrast to the softness in her heart, and they were the only things preventing her from tearing to his arms.

"You burned his charters," he reminded her.

"They will be rewritten", Osthryth said, "They probably already have been, but you know and I know it is not what is on paper that matters but what can be won by strength." She had stepped away from Pyrlig now and was standing next to Merewalh, who was holding his ground.

"Osthryth come with - " Finan began, but she put a hand to his mouth.

"I will wait for you to come for us," Osthryth reiterated. "God willing, the plan is Alba. I am safe there, from conniving and politics."

And knew then all was lost, for the pain in his face betrayed the fact that he would never leave Uhtred. Still, it was what they had agreed and she felt she had to say it. She felt a breath by her face. It was Feilim, the usually reserved Pictlander. His sword was raised, as were the swords of the rest of her men, and Osthryth felt weak. No, not now! Why had he had to come over now?

"Picts!" Finan said in is disgust, glaring at the mormaer. "They eat children!"

"It was a hard winter and a harder battle season!" Feilim protested, and a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

"That is a bad rumour," Aelffrith replied, grinning at Felilm. "It was just the twice, if you believe the stories."

"We were all once pagans," put in Aeswi, glaring at Finan. "But it was no worse than sacrificing men to the bogs." But Osthryth shook her head.

"We will be just here if you want us to fillet the bastard," Oengus told her, his Gaelish somewhat better than his Saxon and, with the exception of Merewalh, the men retreated.

"What are Strathclyde Britons doing down here in Mercia? No more sheep left to hump?" Finan shouted, but then looked at Osthryth and his face changed and a barrier holding Osthryth back dissoved, and she smiled to the man she loved dearest in the whole world.

"Osthryth, I love ye," Finan told her and reached for her hand. Osthryth let him take it, and he wrapped his other one around it, too.

"I am going somewhere safe to have the child," she told him. "There are people, good people who can help me at the time," she added. A cry came from over by the West Saxons and Osthryth knew that the battle should have started by now: men were getting testy and irking one another.

"I will wait for you," she added. "I will be with you when you come for me." And again, Osthryth saw the pained look on his face. "Our child will be safe," she reiterated. Next to her, Merewalh folded his arms, glaring at Finan.

"In the court of that Gaelish cock-sure bastard Constantine?" Finan scorned, loudly, so that the Picts - Oengus and Feilim, and Aeswi the Gael, could hear him, and then his voice softened. "It is a good choice," he told her.

"Come with me, now!" Osthryth asked him in Gaelish, panic filling her. What if she never saw him again?

Finan said nothing, did nothing, and Osthryth made to turn. As she did so, Finan took a step towards her, and pulled her to him, kissing her full on the lips, supporting her back, holding her close. And when they broke apart, Osthryth's knees gave way. The day had been too much and blackness encroached around the peripheries of her vision.

Pyrlig was there, and scooped her up, looking at the horror on Finan's face. From behind Merewalh, the warriors piled around, but it was Merewalh who landed a punch into Finan's jaw, and the usually agile Ulsterman caught the full force.

"She is only fainted!" Pyrlig called, but Merewalh had raised a seax between him and Finan, Osthryth's warriors piling in behind their temporary captain.

"If she dies," Merewalh began, but Finan looked across to Osthryth, who had looped an arm around Pyrlig's neck.

"Dies?"

"She is old to be a mother, it is dangerous." The words were Sihtric's and he took his friend's shoulder. "I have known women to give birth at her age," he tried to reassure her, and it was Finan now, his obvious feelings for Osthryth, that kept Merewalh from attempting to attack him, and he lowered his seax.

"I will go to her," Finan confessed, as Merewalh let them remove themselves back to Uhtred. "Do not tell him, please Sihtric;" Finan implored. "When he has reclaimed Bebbanburg, then, then..." He turned suddenly and watched Pyrlig traverse the ground towards Brunanburh's outer gate.

"I have seen her to be an honourable woman; she commands respect of men to follow her to battle; she is a formidable fighter," Sihtric reassured him, as they fell into battle line next to Osferth and Berg. "If only she and Uhtred - "

"If only she and Uhtred what?" Their lord stood between them, defying them to keep silent about where they had been.

"Nothing lord," Sihtric said, and glanced at the Norse lines to be away from Uhtred's accusing stare.

"And where is my daughter?"

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Stiorra was on the other side of the gate when Pyrlig brought back Osthryth and closed the gate. The ground looked firm again, and Osthryth wondered why she had been brought back there, when her men were in the middle lines.

Good, part of her mind thought, vaguely, they are in the middle lines. No man wants to admit being at the back. And she saw Pyrlig pull the gate closed behind her and demanded Osthryth bar it from inside.

"May God go with you, and my men," she called to Pyrlig, but had no idea if she had been heard, for

"I am stuck here too, aunt." A voice came from the rampart walkway and as she looked up, saw it was Stiorra. She sounded grumpy and her eyes were fixed out into the sea of men.

"Come, come up here. Watch the battle with me!" Stiorra called.

"I would rather not," Osthryth said, and supported herself on the beam. Stiorra shrugged, but narrowed her eyes for a moment as she saw Osthryth sway.

"Here is some water," Stiorra called, and dropped a leather skin onto the ground beside Osthryth.

"My thanks," Osthryth called back, and it was exactly what she needed. The day had been long and she had already been standing for several hours at her trial, and had last drunk something, goat milk, at dawn.

"What is his name, the man you look for?" Osthryth asked. It was always a safe question, and if the person Osthryth asked it of denied an answer, fair enough. Mostly it yielded results, and the result from Stiorra was, "Sygtryggr."

"The leader of the Norse?"

"We are betrothed," Stiorra said, confidently.

"And your father knows about this?"

"Oh no," Stiorra replied, brightly. "But he will come around."

And the battle began at last. Although Osthryth had come to sit with her niece, she looked away. Too many people she cared about fought that day. She sat with her back to the rampart wall as Stiorra surveyed the battlefield.

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Darkness was beginning to threaten, but the lack of light was not going to be the reason that the battle had come to a halt. The Norse had been repelled, with many Saxons pushing them, confidently, back towards the Maerse. As if waiting for an invisible clue, Uhtred's daughter sprang to her feet.

"My thanks for your company today, aunt," Stiorra said to Osthryth. "I do hope that your baby is born well, and that you live." Osthryth jerked her head. Not at Stiorra's words, blunt though they were, but at the fact that the young woman was now beginning to hoist herself over the ramparts and was hand-holding her way down the wooden joint beams that stuck out from the wooden wall.

"Where are you going?" Osthryth called over the top of the wall. Stiorra looked up to her.

"Sygtryggr," she said, simply. And before Osthryth could get down the rampart steps, Stiorra had managed to get to ground level and was running, pell mell, through the dead and the dying.

Osthryth managed to heave the rampart gate bar out of its holding struts, and it was now far heavier than it had been when she had pushed it into place. Finally on the other side, she saw her brother's daughter make a direct line for the Norse ships. Someone was waiting for her, Sygryggr, perhaps.

Too tired to curse, Osthryth ran after her, Buaidh in her hand without any conscious thought of her actually drawing the blade. She would be damned if Uhtred thought Stiorra's flight was anything to do with her.

And then Osthryth stopped. A figure rose from the ground and had his arm raised, a spear in it. Now she was going to see her niece die, for Stiorra had seemingly not seen the assailant.

But someone had. It was Berg, the man Osthryth had noticed as one of Uhtred's men. He had asked for his life to be spared when Rognvaldr raided Deheubarth, and St. David's monastery.

It took a few moments for Osthryth to catch up to the ship, but a fog was descending and she could not run. The direction of the river was lost to her. She stopped.

What now? Well, she would have to go back and hope that someone believed her. Uhtred, of course, would assume Osthryth had done this out of spite.

Then she heard her men. Aeswi's voice came first out of the thickness of the mist, and she heard him tell Oengus that there was food aplenty aboard.

"Are we on the right ship?" Oengus's voice filtered through the fog, dissipating through it, so it came to her ears much softer than usual.

"Who cares," Aeswi said. "We have food! Let us go with the Norse, we will be able to leave the Maerse then."

There was no question that Osthryth was going to be left behind. Who could have hoped to try and find her in this? They could sail to safety and then come back to Brunanburh another day, for it had been a Mercian win, after all, and the fortress was not breached.

Osthryth stumbled onwards, using Buaidh to feel ahead of her and found the boat.

"Feilim?" Osthryth tried, for she had not heard this man's voice yet.

"Lady Osthryth?" He was there. So all three of her warriors from Alba were aboard.

"Help me up, will you?" she asked, and a hand appeared in the fog. The bank was higher near this side of the river so the distance up to the taffrail was quite short, but even so, the distance was large enough that she needed Feilim's strength to lift her some of the way by her armpits.

"Oengus? Aeswi?" Osthryth asked, and could vaguely see her Mormaers in the fog.

"Osthryth!" Aeswi declared, and crossed to her. "You...you...we are pleased to see you!"

"We don't think it's ours," Oengus told her, guiding her to the rear of the ship and handing her a fleece. "Then again, the one we had was not ours, either."

"Gaels," Osthryth heard someone say, from far at the prow of the ship. It was in Norse, but there was little movement. There was, however, scurrying below, for this was a ship, not a boat, and it had more than one level. Norse were on the ship too.

"There are people with us," Osthryth hissed to Aeswi, as he sat next to her for a moment. "On this ship."

"We know," he replied. "We are waiting for them to identify themselves."

"Who is on the foremast?"

"Feilim, we think. But it is being rowed, and it is none of us."

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Dusk was coming upon them, and the ship was underway. How that was possible, Osthryth did not know, but it seemed like Feilim and Oengus were angling the sail enough to fill it while at the same time unknown Norse were using oars to get them through the straits between the Wirral and the north bank of the Maerse. It was ridiculous, for none of them had openly acknowledged the other, and Osthryth closed her eyes for a moment, before looking at the west coast of the Wirral until it disappeared in fog and darkness.

Suddely the ship shuddered, and slowed. What was that? It felt as if someone had thrown over an anchor. Nighttime and they could not sail, so it made sense. Osthryth curled up in the sheepskin and slept.

It was Aeswi's face Osthryth saw first the next morning, one of silently strangled horror, for the second face she saw was that of a Norseman. He had a spear to Aeswi's back, and it was clear that, in the dawnlight the Norseman had told Aeswi to wake her.

"His name is Sygrtyggr," Aeswi told Osthryth, who made to get up, but was stayed by a spear pointing at her too. Similarly, behind Aeswi, Oengus and Feilim were similarly threatened.

"Stiorra is with you?" Osthryth asked, quickly, glancing around. She had seen her niece be saved from death by Berg, but had she made it to him.

"How do you know about Stiorra?" Sygtryggr asked, suspiciously. Behind him, a small figure stood, having ascended the steps.

"Because she is my aunt," Stiorra told him, handing him and the seven other Norse bread and meat and smiling at her. After a second, she also gave some to Osthryth. "You followed me, then?"

"I followed you," she told Stiorra. "I did not know you were on this boat, though. The fog was thick." And she then translated the Norse for Oengus, Feilim and Aeswi's benefit.

"We must go back," Osthryth told her. "I will not have your father blame me, after everything else he blames me for."

"No!" Sygryggr shouted, his long hair curtaining on both sides of his head. "Stiorra is coming with me, back to Dubh Llyn. I don't care what Ragnall is going to do, I am staying there."

Ragnall? Osthryth thought, and remembered tell of two brothers, Ivarsson brothers, from Dubh Llyn. So Ragnall wanted to invade Mercia, or Northumbria? Osthryth would bet all the wealth she had on guessing Eoferwic.

"Yes," agreed Osthryth. "Go to Dubh Llyn. We wish to remove to Alba in any case. Perhaps we can work together?"

"You have very good Norse for a Saxon," Sygtryggr said.

"I am many things, but not a Saxon," Osthryth told him, and her hand felt for a jewel, Eirik's jewel, which was still in her hair. "I spent several months with a Northman once, and he taught me your language." But the leader of the Norse shook his head.

"We are not going to Alba!" scoffed Sygtryggr. "We only have let you live so far because we did not have enough hands to manage this ship. And Osthryth tested her Alba comrades' knowledge of the Northman language by getting to her feet, so Sygtryggr could see her pregnancy.

"I am Kriegerkvinde!" She declared, in Norse. "I am the prisoner of these bastard Gaels and Picts, who wish to sacrifice me and my child!" And Sygtryggr threw back his head and laughed, waving to his men to lower their spears.

Perhaps it had been a good move not to have challenged him with the threat of involvement of the death of his grandfather, the Boneless, Osthryth thought, wryly. Playing on this man's sensitive side, for he clearly had one, rather than threaten him was a good move. And Osthryth saw his reply rather than heard it as the wind fell from the sails.

"I know you," a voice came from beside Sygtryggr. "Haan. I was there, with Cnut and Ragnar, at Dunholm. You are Kriegerkvinde!" Osthryth looked at the man, but could not place him. It had been over a decade and there had been a lot of Norse with Ragnar at Dunholm.

"Then, you are welcome," Sygtryggr smiled. "If Haan vouches for you, that is good enough for me, Kriegerkvinde. Should I do away with these men now, if they are such a threat to you? Give the fish their breakfast?" It was Osthryth's turn to smile.

"There are few choices for a woman in my position," Osthryth told him. "I know I almost had you fooled."

"Perhaps," Sygtryggr replied. "But we are still going to Dubh Llyn. You may depart from there, back to Alba, if that is your desired destination." A hand on his shoulder made Sygtryggr turn around.

"We are going to Dubh Llyn," Osthryth told Oengus. "These Norse want to go home."

"Good news," Oengus told her, and Aeswi sat next to her.

"We accounted for all of your Mercian men," Aeswi told her. "When Feilim spotted the ship, they were all alive, at least, that is what I saw."

"Good," Osthryth said, refusing to let her mind wander to the next logical step. Next to her on the other side, Stiorra sat, eating some bread, her eyes barely straying from the Norse leader.

"And is it yours?" Osthryth asked of Stiorra, who had come to sit by her. "Do you wish to go to Dubh Llyn?"

"Yes," Stiorra said, happily. "My father will understand. He will come round." And Osthryth got to her feet then, and approached Sygtryggr.

"My men will help you get back home," Osthryth told him, "But there are two conditions." The tall Norseman turned to her, and inclined his head. For a moment, Ivarr the Boneless stood before her, just before Domhnall struck him down.

"Name them," he said.

"We will need a craft, a ship, a boat, to get us back to Alba," she began.

"And?" prompted Sigtryggr.

"We must make a detour, go somewhere on the way." An image of Dyfnwal appeared in Osthryth's mind, and then of his son, son of Anarawd's daughter. Owain.

"Where?"

"Ynys Mon," she told him. "A child is to be taken."

"Willingly?"

"To his kingdom, to restore a bloodline," Osthryth told him. She stopped, for a man had appeared at Sygtryggr's shoulder. "Willingly," she agreed.

"We are going to Dubh Llyn," Sygtryggr told a man who had come up beside him near the orlop, after he had said a few words to their leader that Osthryth couldn't catch. Sygtryggr caught Osthryth's eye, his words deliberate.

"So you do not wish to go to Alba yet, Anlaf? I believe the king waits for you?"

"He has a daughter he wishes me to marry," Anlaf said, non-committally. "But I do not wish to marry a Scot."

"She is no Scot!" Osthryth replied, stepping between the two men. Anlaf stared at Osthryth, taken aback at her strong words.

"Oh no?" Anlaf asked, his tone mocking.

"Culturally, yes, Aedre is of Alba, and half Anglish," Osthryth conceded. "But her mother was Thyra Ragnarsdottir, her uncle Ragnar, her grandfather Ragnar the Fearless. I am guessing you know who I mean?"

"And why is she in Alba?" It was Sygtryggr's turn to speak.

"Thyra died in a fire," Osthryth replied, and realised that for the first time in the retelling, her heart was breaking, and her eyes were filling with tears. She turned to the sea, making the most of the ship's splashing.

"Set by good Christian men, no doubt." Osthryth turned her head. It was Stiorra who had spoken, and she was standing next to Osthryth. "I know this story, it is a sad story, Sygtryggr."

"I tried to save her mother," Osthryth told them, "But I could not. She was delivered of a daughter. And the child was born and had no-one, so I took her somewhere I knew to be safe, and have spent my life earning her keep." Osthryth looked out to sea, to the north, and continued.

"Aedre is of Alba, "ingen Caustin,"" she added. Constantine has raised her, and considers her his own daughter.

"It is no matter her heritage," Sygtryggr replied. "We see how Constantine is, running a policy integration, making all countries to follow our laws. Forget our Norse ways is what he means." Osthryth shifted her weight. It was true; they were better off with Dyfnwal, if they wished to preserve their heritage. But, that may be irrelevant, if she managed to get Sygtryggr to get her to go to Aberffraw, and to Anarawd's palace.

"Do you know who gave me the name of Kriegerkvinde?" Osthryth asked him. "You all acted on it, so the name means something to you," she cautioned, then pulled the jewel from her hair, looking at its milky jewel in the morning light.

"Eirik Thurgilson," said Anlaf. "I was at Dunholm too." And Osthryth looked back to him.

"I have given Thyra's daughter all I can of her heritage," Osthryth told them. "She knows she is Danish; you cannot see her and fail to know she is of Thyra. At least meet her before you decide whether to ally with Constantine or Dyfnwal - I know the king of Alba will allow you to remain in the Western Isles no matter what the king of Strathclyde has told you."

Anlaf stepped in front of Sygtryggr. He too must have been of the same stock, for he was tall and thin like Sygtryggr. He bent his long neck to Osthryth.

"I will consider all you have said, Kriegerkvinde," he told her. "But not yet will we go to Alba. We sail to Éireann today." But something in his eyes told Osthryth he was intrigued. "Tell Constantine I will return, in my own time." Osthryth smiled. Here was a handsome man, a sensible man. She could at least tell Aedre she had met him.

"When you meet Flann Sinan on the battlefield," Osthryth said to Sygtryggr, as Aeswi moved to one side of her, "Tell him, tell him...tell him I live, and remember his hospitality with great fondness."

So they were to Dubh Llyn. Aeswi took her shoulder, but Osthryth was not ready to rest yet.

"To Ynys Mon first?" Osthryth asked. Sygtryggr nodded his agreement. And Feilim took the tiller and Oengus the sail sheets, while the Norse rowed them out into the Irish Sea. South west first, then to the north. Then to Alba, Osthryth thought, as the November sun shone on them all.

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On a high cliff stood the fortress of Aberffrau, captial of Gwynedd and scene, if the Welsh legends were true, where Branwen wed her Irish chieftain.

They had sailed through the straits between the north coast and Mon, the same high, imposing mountains to the left of them peering over the skyline, or so it seemed to Osthryth, as if watching their passage. A few questions by Oengus of some of the fishermen by the banks of the strait and they learned that Aberffrau sat on the western edge of the island, looking to Eireann.

And Owain had been waiting for them.

How long had the young man stood there, on the shore, looking to sea? How many days? And how many days would he have? They anchored off shore and Osthryth had wondered how they would reach the strandline, for they had no boat. But Anarawd had a boat, and it was being rowed out to them.

"Owain!" Osthryth had greeted him, and the boy shine his happy face to her, the same joyous one that his father had charmed Osthryth with at Glaschu.

The boatman did not seem to want to let the boy get aboard a Norse sailing ship, but Owain said something to him, and he relented, moving aside and allowed Oengus to pull him aboard.

"You come of your own accord?" Osthryth asked, as the boy's feet met the deck, and translated for all concerned. Owain nodded, which needed no translation, then added, "It is good to see you, Osthryth of the Hen Ogledd."

As he sat at the stern, looking around at the landscape, as if he had never seen the sea or the sky or a ship before and was finding them to his liking, Osthryth saw Anarawd. He was standing on the beach as the ferryman took back the boat.

"Who is he?" Aeswi asked, looking where she was looking.

"The king of Gwynedd," Osthryth told him. "I agreed to do a task for him."

"Him?" Aeswi asked, nodded to Owain. "He is the task?" Osthryth inhaled. Of course, they had not been with her, and did not know.

"You know how I was held captive by Dyfnwal because he thinks he is the last of the line of the Hen Ogledd?"

"Yes, of course," Aeswi said, patiently, as the wind caught the sail. It was a southerly, a good one to butt them across the Irish Sea.

"Well, he was wrong," Osthryth told him. "He left a part of himself, shall we say, in Gwynedd when in exile." Aeswi looked, and looked again. Owain was sitting quietly at the rear, and even the usually uppity Stiorra was trying to talk to him. "He is going to Constantine."

"He arranged this!" Aeswi said, as if all of their journey had been a puzzle, waiting to be worked out. "Constantine wanted this to happen! Don't ask me how I know, but he has, and he has managed to work it all out."

"The bastard thinks," Osthryth murmured. She had heard it said about Alfred. Yet, to Osthryth, it applied even more so to Constantine. Hywel was going to reject his unification strategy, he knew that, somehow. And he knew he had to call his bluff to harden the allegiances already formed. He had already treated with Aethelflaed, and she had told Osthryth about the idea of a tripartite alliance. Strathclyde had been included in that alliance, and it depended on a king of Strathclyde not so embedded to the Norse.

"How?" Osthryth asked Aeswi anyway, for she wanted to know his view on things, and she was unsurprised that he had an even bolder idea of Constantine's ambition.

"The king needs to consolidate Alba, yet the king of Strathclyde is, as ever, bent on independence. So if you raise the king, a king will have few inclunations to rebel."

It made sense.

They sailed unhindered across the Irish sea, other ships running close near them as they went, but many, more than were heading west, were heading east. Osthryth looked at the water, with the sun reflecting pale golden on a calm, glass-like sea. How was it that the weather had been so mild? A cold winter then, she thought, as a skein of geese embroidered their way across the grey-blue sky.

A rowing boat had come to meet the ship in the estuary of the Lubh river and the Norse, all seven of them - eight if you counted Stiorra - went to shore.

"How is it we get to keep this ship?" Osthryth asked her, before her niece uncharacteristically gave her a deep hug.

"I have asked it of Sygtryggr, as a gift to me when we wed."

And Osthryth watched her niece cross the water, before they sailed down the coast a little, putting in off the coast at Tara, where the slaver ship once anchored, taking Ethne ingen Aed Ui Neill, and almost taking Aeswi's brother, Finnolai. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but Osthryth told Aeswi about it, anyway.

It had been the beach she and Constantine had been together, the first time she had wanted to fuck the young prince back, rather than him take her. The first time she had known what sex could be like for a woman. The first time she had learned to grind her clit on his cock-mound and have an orgasm.

Osthryth thought she and Constantine were going to be together for the rest of their lives, and they had been, but not as lovers. Their souls seemed never to want to untwine; her life seemed more bound up with Constantine and Alba even now than it had ever been. Domnall had been right, she was always making excuses for him, even when Constantine wronged her.

Perhaps that was why he had never made to pursue anything with her, though Osthryth had masturbated many times at the thought of Domnall and her humping one another, riding up her clothes, imagining the pressure and the tension was him. He was not Constantine, and Domnall knew that Osthryth knew that.

Her mind looked at the coast of Domnall Ui Neill's land, and wondered about her life there. How close she was now to the land she had spent merely two years in. So many changes. Flann Sinna's son Donnchada challenged his father for the throne; poor Gormlaith was married to the big-hearted Niall Glundubh who, if he did take the throne, would have to plan his Ui Neill legacy now, for there would be no children, if Domnall's letter was to be believed.

Osthryth closed her eyes to an Irish night sky.

And opened them to one within ten miles of the Isle of Mon.

"We are I am not going to Strathclyde, not any part of it," Osthryth insisted to Oengus, who had, by all accounts, plotted to take the ship north and into the Clyde river. "We cannot take Owain to Glaschu," she added, nodding to the boy, who was helping to reef the sail.

It made sense, and they turned south, and it took them three weeks to round Waeleas and Cornwalum and creep along the Wessex coast. Once or twice Osthryth spied a fishing vessel and wondered whether it was Gert and Ulf, still trading after all these years.

And winter began, snow falling onto the deck as they rounded Cent and began the journey north.

"I know the waters in the east from Lundene, north," Osthryth told Oengus, when Feilim fell to exhaustion one morning, and Aeswi was treating him below decks. "I could try with the rig-sail - "

"No, yer will not, caileag," Aeswi told her. "You have done enough. Rest, and let us do something for once."

So she sat curled up in furs and spoke to Owain, who told her about his life at Aberffrau, which sounded to Osthryth like any life of a prince growing up in any fortress, and of his hopes for Strathclyde, and meeting his father, and he asked Osthryth about her mother.

"You will miss your grandfather," Osthryth told him.

"He has taught me not to miss him. He has told me that I have seen the best of Gwynedd, and it will become a part of Deheubarth, soon, under Hywel's rule."

So matter of fact, Osthryth thought. King Anarawd had pragmatically prepared the young man so well. Were that all princes thus prepared. He would get on with Constantine.

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A month after leaving Tara bay, and the Norse ship sailed along the Forth, and they sailed unhindered up the river, until Culdees came into view.

They disembarked, and Osthryth looked upon Dunnottar, wondering at all they had done.

For all of five minutes.

As she made to follow Aeswi, with Owain in tow, across the flat land before the fortress, she saw a figure haring across to them and stopped. The mormaers had gone ahead, with instructions to the guards on the river that the ship was indeed theirs and there were no Norse aboard it. As the figure approached, Osthryth saw it was Ceinid, and she waited for him to get to her.

"You are here!" he told her, reaching for her hand and Osthryth was just about to agree when a sharp stab of pain came to her stomach, and she stepped back. Ceinid caught her before she fell, and scooped her up into his arms.

If Osthryth had any doubt that Finan was the child's father, for the next two days was going to show her how much of a fighter this infant really was.

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Aeswi had gone on to Dunnottar, leaving Oshryth with Ceinid, as he escorted the future king of Strathclyde to Constantine. He was just debriefing the king, when a rattle at the outer door came to Constantine's attention.

"...Yes, he was there, Conall mac Ainbith," Aeswi confirmed to the king. "He was fighting for Ragnall - "

" - his brother was there?"

"Yes," Aeswi confirmed. "And - " But as the door banged again, Constantine held up a hand.

"Yes?" he called, and a guard opened it.

"Ealasaid?" The elderly woman-of-all-work pushed past the guard, and nodded to Constantine.

"It's the caileag," she told him. "It has begun for her."

And Constantine fell to his knees and began to pray, pray for the life of the child, for whom he had so many ambitions, and for its mother, whom he loved dearest in all the world.