Chester, Autumn 914
What had she expected? To fall back into her old life, and be accepted back amongst them? Four years had passed; it was a wonder that all of her company lived.
And yet, though they had been absent from one another for so long, it seemed to Osthryth that it had been a mere day or so since they had last met, so easy had it been between them, in the end. Aelffrith still had dark hair, with the same flecks of grey; Merewalh too seemed to have all his colour, and both men must have been in their late fifties. How strange time seemed to be that in some senses moved so quickly and in others was waylaid.
Now, there was no time to think of it, as Osthryth was crossing the stable with Aelffrith, Merewalh to her right, and was striding down the passageway towards the hall, which was clearly being used by the ruler here, from the richness of the surroundings. Ranked with soldiers, the chair in the centre empty, and Osthryth looked from it, searching for her men.
To the right of the chair - or throne, Osthryth supposed, if it were Aethelflaed's, she saw Aelfkin standing beside Oengus, the men from Alba beside him, and Osthryth's Mercian company beside Aelfkin. Her heart settled down from its urgent concern that they would not be able to gel - in fact, as she drew nearer Aelfkin, tall, broad and blonde, with what looked like a new scar across his nose, took a slight step towards Oshere, leaving a space for Osthryth and gave her a huge grin. She was about to step into it but a scraping of stone in front of her caused Osthryth to turn.
It was Aldhelm. Time had worn more quickly on that man, however; lines creased his cheeks and forehead, and his once nut-brown hair was now paler, as if he had been in the sun. And age had got to the person who now entered, too. No longer dark haired, Aethelflaed, her neck and head perfectly still in the manner of her father, Alfred of Wessex, could not hide the age on her face and in her hair.
Whether she had intended to, Osthryth didn't know, although her body was thin and she was clothed from he wrists to her neck, and down to her ankles in a heavy brocade material. Aethelflaed looked straight ahead, and the door closed, her captains, her army, around her, and by her side: Aethelstan.
Osthryth did not know for sure and Constantine had not said, but she knew now was the moment she must establish the limits in which she was working. Did Aethelflaed know that Guthred was dead, for example, and Cumbraland less secure because of it? Dyfnwal claimed half of Cumbraland as the ancient land of Rheged; though allied with Constantine, her brother Wihtgar opposed the king of Strathclyde. And his heir was there, three men down from Osthryth, learning his craft; meeting people he would meet once again when he was king.
"Have you been given food?" Aethelflaed was blunt, and to the point, looking with her slate-coloured eyes at Osthryth. And Osthryth was aware that beside her, a fair-haired child, one who had seen her, witnessed her, murder Eardwulf, Eadith's brother for killing a Mercian guard, Hereward, for no reason, was staring at her. It could only be Aelfflaed, to whose parentage Osthryth could bear witness, for she had been Aethelflaed's guard at the time. Perhaps that was why the Lady of the Mercians had been lenient with her sentence towards Osthryth when she had put herself forward for Eardwulf's murder. Had he not been killed, he may now be husband to Aelfflaed, and his crime of murdering Aethelred gone unpunished.
Osthryth stepped forward of Aelfkin, but did not bow. Indeed, she did nothing but reply, one woman to another. Lady of the Mercians she may be, and ruler of these lands. But it was she who had called for the aid of Alba, of the land cold and wild and half-savage, to protect her northern borders, to add to her alliance-list.
"No, Lady," Osthryth replied. She watched as Aethelflaed raked Alba's nobles with her eyes and a small start made Osthryth realise that she had imagined that Constantine would send far more.
"Your king has honoured us with four lords," Aethelflaed said to Osthryth. "They must be fed. Aldhelm - " Aethelflaed turned to her man, who was standing, still and silent beside his lady. "Aldhelm, take the good men of Alba to the hall - they must feast before roles are assigned to them."
Although Osthryth knew Aeswi understood Anglish and Saxon, she turned, nevertheless, and spoke in Gaelish to Feilim and Oengus. Owain would understand well enough too, for Osthryth did not want to betray any Cymric, western or northern, in case any of Hywel's men were present. They would know soon enough that the heir to the Strathclydian throne was in the service of the Lady of Mercia. But better to have them on the back foot.
"The Lady has offered you food, and drink," Osthryth told them in Gaelish. "And whores," she added, winking at Aeswi, whose face had turned granite-like at Osthryth's words. The three men cheered her words, and Aeswi gave her a scolding look, for in Gaelish the words could be interpreted to mean that Aethelflaed herself had offered the hospitality of herself, personally. A snort of laughter, quickly stifled, came from the back of the hall.
"They are grateful of your hospitality, my lady," Osthryth added, as Aldhelm crossed to Aeswi, swallowing the shiver of cold that came with hearing the laugh - how many people in Aethelflaed's court understood Gaelish, she wondered, how many warriors? Which meant her brother and his men must be there. Which meant that, if it were true that Ragnall was on the land-grab, then Sygtryggr, his brother, may not be far behind - with Stiorra.
"You must be hungry too," Aethelflaed told Osthryth when she did not depart with her men, her Mercians too had followed Aldhelm, including Merewalh, much to Osthryth's amusement. She turned to the lady, and inclined her head. If Aethelflaed thought she was going to get rid of her that easily, Osthryth thought, it wouldn't work. She was here to fulfil an oath. Two oaths.
"I hear you had your child, and that he is well," Aethelflaed said, not moving nor even blinking. A change of tactic, thought Osthryth. To put her off. Good try, your ladyship.
"I owe Mercia two years; my king owes its lady swords because of the agreement between our two lands," Osthryth replied, stating the bald facts. "I came because King Constantine asked me. End of story. Is Aldhelm still head of your armies?"
"Aldhem," Aethelflaed told her. "And other lords, who have come to my aid." Osthryth wondered, later, when she was staring off to the west, picking out the coast of the Wirulam that was dotted with tiny fireglows of Norse camps, why she had not chosen to attack Osthryth by mentioning, "The Lord Uhtred", or "Your brother". Osthryth would, and did.
"Your brother is in East Anglia, reclaiming the east of Mercia to its throne," Osthryth told her, keeping her eyes on Aethelflaed, not wanting to catch Aethelstan's eye. If Aethelflaed was ignorant of Osthryth knowledge of West Saxon land liberation, she did not say. Nor did she give into Osthryth's barb - the land was Mercian, and had she been a king of Mercia, the land would be hers. It was hers, in reality, and Osthryth's distinction petty. But Osthryth had little else in her defensive line against the woman who would bring her down if she could.
"Aldhelm will command you and your men," Aethelflaed tried again.
"I will command my men once I have spoken with Lord Aldhelm," Osthryth corrected. "And I shall be shown the ramparts." She saw with pleasure Aethelflaed flinch. Steapa had once said that a true commander stood beside his men, did the lowliest work to show them that he was not afraid to get his hands dirty.
"The walls?" If Aethelflaed was trying to conceal her amazement she had failed. "You wish to patrol the walls?"
"Lady of the Mercians," Osthryth told Aethelflaed. "What do you suppose King Constantine meant by sending a mere five warriors to aid with the incoming tide of Norse? We are not many in number, we are much in battle experience. Oengus, for example, has spent many years keeping Harald Finehair out of Pictland; Aeswi is a diplomat in Caer Ligualid and Feilim the same in the Western Isles."
"I have strategists," Aethelflaed told her, dismissively.
"Then I will leave you to your Northmen," Osthryth told her, turning to the door. "I will explain to my king that our services were not needed by the Lady of the Mercians." She took a few steps towards it, then turned and added, "Please send my men to the gates once they have - partaken of your generosity." Again, a stifled laugh.
"Lady Osthryth!" Aethelflaed called to her, suddenly, and with enough haste to tell Osthryth that she was desperate for them to stay for some particular reason. "I see no reason you should patrol the walls. Please," and here Aethelflaed's words softened, "Accept food and milk for yourself, to sustain you on your night's vigil."
It had worked. Of course it had worked. Whatever Aethelflaed had thought would come of their tripartite alliance, of Mercia, Strathclyde and Pictland, their presence was not it. But she could not be seen to rebuke Constantine's fulfilment of that alliance when she had called for it. She had to make do with what she had, and what she had was a belligerent Osthryth, three generals and a prince - a hostage by any other name, in the form of Owain, given in the spirit of alliance and that could be, theoretically, put to death if the alliance was broken.
"Lady," Osthryth nodded, and turned, striding out of the hall, half expecting to be called back with more instructions or rebukes.
"Osthryth, you are as terrible as ever," came a voice as she neared the end of the passageway which led out into Caestre's courtyard. There was only one person who spoke to her like that - Aldhelm, who was standing at the entrance and watching her survey the burh walls that were being refortified.
"This way to the walls that overlook the west?" Osthryth asked, nodding towards wooden platforms that served as a ladder up to the old rampart.
"Osthryth," Aldhelm chided. "It's good to see you, but you don't have to do this. You must have had a long ride - you will need to rest."
"I will need to patrol your walls, and assess the sutuation, Aldhelm," she told him. "Besides, I would not be able to sleep knowing that I am not fulfilling my duty to my king." Aldhelm inhaled, and then gave her another rebukeful look.
"You can do nothing without rest," he told her.
"I must put myself into a position where I can learn what I can to defend the city, is that not what you need?"
"It is." Aldhelm admitted.
"I will go alone."
And without a backwards glance, and with time and space to think and clear her head, to prepare for a role that she had not anticipated, Osthryth, future lady of Berric, fixed her eyes west, on the Norse.
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Osthryth moved with the guard, as they rotated their places around the ramparts. It was an old guard trick which was particularly effective on a burh. Keeping watch was an effortful business, which is why two guards were placed at each station, for company, so that the same area was watched twice, and so the guards watched one another. They would be guards of different companies, often men who didn't know one another. Rather than any prior agreement to loyalty, their focus was the loyalty to their lord.
And Osthryth would have liked company, as the sun sank over Ireland and the temperature dropped. As a column of guard were brought through the western gates and replaced by another, in an almost hypnotic manner.
But she needed the space, to think, to plan. The Norse were sailing up the Maerse and into the western land that belonged either to Cumbraland or to Northumbria. Either way, whoever claimed that land was having it invaded by the Northmen who had been expelled from the east coast of Eireann.
By whom? It could only be Flann Sinna. Clearly he had become strong enough to unite some of the Irish families to one cause and push the Norse from the land they had taken. Dubh Lynn was favourite, where the Norse had found a good stretch of river to land their longboats and winter year after year. The southern Ui Neill had clearly found their strength from somewhere to get their land back. So the Norse had to come somewhere, and here was the somewhere, a place with few fortifications, where three kingdoms' borders lay within ten miles of one another. Where a large body of water could shelter many hundreds of boats, and the Norse and their families could stay, dormant, in that coast, until they were ready to move.
But to where? There could be only one move. While Wihtgar looked north to Constantine to defend Bebbanburg, there was no king, no lord, defending Eoferwic that Osthryth knew.
Was that why Uhtred was there? Was he defending the land in the north? He was the lord of Dunholm, inheriting it from Ragnar, his adopted brother. But did he command enough men to defend south of that fortress? Eoferwic was a prize, and it was weak. That was surely where Ragnall would be heading. And Brida.
For Brida had gone to Eireann, and the more Osthryth thought about it, the more it made sense that a brain like hers would come up with a plan to take Eoferwic. As Osthryth ran the idea through her mind again, the more it made sense.
And she took the thought with her as she moved with the guard, first north west and then north, then to the east, facing the sun as it promised morning on the horizon.
It was then that Osthryth heard the song, a song with some notes in some order, the same one that Finan was singing the night she had followed her brother back to his home in Winchester, all those years before. Had she not known it, Osthryth would not have thought it was the same song. And its badly-sung notes were sailing up from the streets below.
"Guard!" She called, to the man leaning with over the balustrade, staring down, bored, into the street below. He straightened up and stared into the darkness. Osthryth strode over to him calling, "What's your name? Who's your commander?"
"H...Herebald," the man replied, stirred out of a stupour, confessing his company as he woke up.
"Herebald?" Osthryth repeated. "Is that you or your commander?"
"My c - " he began, then peered at Osthryth. "Wait! What are you - "
"Never mind who I am, or what I am doing," Osthryth told him. "Guarding better than you," she added. "And if you do not wish me to find Herebald and tell him that you were asleep, and ignored the Gaels below, go ahead and fight me," she added, looking at the semi-withdrawn blade. "Put it away, boy, and guard my section of the wall and I'll see to the Gaels."
As he passed, Osthryth pushed the man in the small of the back, and he stumbled towards the wooden wall section that she had been standing in. "You," Osthryth added, to the man who was paired with him. "Tell Hereward that Osthryth of Mercia has reorganised your guard." Then dipped her head towards him, "Keep him awake, for God's sake, or there might be more intruders."
And with one look up to the wall, watching both men cover the section from the western gate to level with the hall, Osthryth hurried down to street level, where more words were being sung, badly, and echoed shortly afterwards and out of time by another voice.
"Where are you?!" Osthryth cried, in Gaelish, and then in northern Cymric, trying to locate them. Two streets away, she estimated, the singing came again, and she tore past more guards until she found the four of them, staggering along the road.
Three of them were staggering. One, however, was trying to keep them together, darting from one side and then the other, like a sheepdog trying to keep a flock together. As Osthryth ran to them, he turned, and she saw Aeswi's urgent face. She wiped her forehead and used her thumb to wipe over her eyes.
"Aeswi?" she called, her heart sinking as her most trusted of Constantine's men gave her a defeated look.
"Get them to bed, all of them," Osthryth told them, and glared at Feilim when, on seeing her, cheered and tried to draw her in for a hug.
"Feilim!" Osthryth said crossly, not in Gaelish but in their native Pictish. "You must get to your beds - can you help Aeswi with Oengus?" Who was more drunk than anyone, and had stumbled towards some poles being used to support part of the ramparts of the burh that was not yet finished. Feilim put out an arm, but Oengus careered forwards and fell over.
"And this way to the stables," Osthryth instructed, pointing towards where she, Merewalh and Aelffrith had conversed, briefly, tersely but ultimately warmly earlier that evening. "The Prince needs his rest if he is to go on duty later this evening. Feilim, looking up from the fallen Oengus, rested his eyes on Owain.
"And have you slept, Osthryth? You offered yourself for guard duty?" Aeswi's words were soft, and to the point.
"I have not," Osthryth told him. "I needed to get my bearings, I need to watch again in the day. I - " She broke off as she watched Oengus get to his feet.
"She said, "We all need to get to bed"," Feilim told Oengus, when he mumbled Osthryth's name. He broke into a huge grin, which was accompanied by a belch as he tried to laugh heartily at something.
"What?" Osthryth shouted at Feilim. "What?" she tried again, turning to Aeswi, who glanced away.
"Owain definitely needs to go to bed," Feilim stuttered, helping Oengus onto his own shoulder. "Worn out."
"Worn out?" Osthryth rounded on the teenager, and folded her arms. But Owain did not get a chance to say anything because Oengus had put out a long finger, and wagged it at Osthryth.
"You said to indulfge inthe whores, girl," Oengus put in, plaintively, as Feilim got him upright, and he looked at his fellow lod.
"You did," Feilim added, nodding his eyes closing and then opening. "You did, Osthryth soon-to-be-wife of Ceinid Ui Alpin." Osthryth felt herself blush for a moment as her betrothed's name came to her ears: since she had arrived at Caestre she had barely thought of him.
"I did," Osthryth agreed, and added, "You took Owain to a whore?" It had meant to be light hearted, a joke, for surely even they, in their drunken state would not be so stupid. An awkward silence passed.
"Osthryth," Oengus said to her, his words slow and careful, "When we were here last, you recommended her."
"I?" Osthryth asked, a pool of dread beginning to form in her stomach. "I recommended a whore?"
"You recommended a little mouse, and oh, I do believe Owain loved that little mouse," went on Oengus. Osthryth dared to look at Aeswi's face and the truth was written all over his features.
"An luch," Oengus confirmed. "The mouse." Owain gave a soft smile of contentment.
A prostitute? Mus? Father Leofstan's wife? And Owain? He was barely a man! What could they be thinking of?
But of course, he was nearly a man, more nearly than Constantine had been when he had taken Osthryth for the first time, that awkward in and out that he had done before Osthryth knew what was what. Some boys were married at twelve, she added to her own thoughts. Owain, mid teens, might well be behind other boys at his age. Was Mus that night the first time he had been with a woman?
"We got into a fight," added Feilim, showing her Oengus's hand where it had been hit by the side of a blade. A bruise was forming.
"Go, go and sleep it off," she told them, walking swiftly as they trudged beside her. "Where are the Mercians?"
"All around," said Feilim, in Pictish, as they passed a group of people making their way towards the west gate. "Why do Mercians look over their shoulder?" But Osthryth ignored him, and gestured to the stables.
"Aeswi, we did not come here to get steaming drunk!" she told him. "Where are the Mercians? Our Mercians? Aelfkin? Merewalh? Oshere? Falkberg? Aeglfrith?"
"They went back to quarters," Aeswi replied, looking sheepish. "I am sorry, Osthryth, I lost them when they met up with some other lords. I spent the night looking for them."
"Get them up the loft if possible; let as few people who can, see," she told him, striding on, and continuing in Pictish and Gaelish. One small mercy is that nearly no-one spoke either of those languages. Small mercy, she told herself. "Damn well will be the end of Constantine's delegation if Aethelflaed knows the lords, and Prince Owain have been on the piss," she told Aeswi, as he flung open the stable door. A few horses snuffled, sugesting the crash of the door had woken them.
"Go," said Aeswi, to Owain, bundling him throught he door. "Come on!" he beckoned to Feilim, who was still shouldering Oengus.
"He didn't like it," said Feilim, in Gaelish, turning his head towards Osthryth as he went in.
"Who?" shouted back Osthryth, as she watched them stumble over tussocks of hay towards the loft ladder. "Who didn't like it?"
"The man who Oengus fought!" Feilim called back, happily. Osthryth groaned inwardly. Oh, this gets worse and worse.
And, with all the patience she could muster, Osthryth called back, "Who did Oengus fight?" she asked, as they disappeared up into the hayloft, as Osthryth had requested. She trod the hay behind two sleepy horses and called up, "Feilim? Oengus?" But it was no use. At least they were up there. Osthryth was turning to go when a voice called back down to her.
"Mercians," called back Owain. "Mercians look over their shoulder to...to see the battlefield!"
Osthryth stopped and stared at the loft hatch, before racing up the rungs herself, pulling herself up, weary-limbed, as the morning sun lit upon their drunken faces.
"Tell me you didn't say that here?" she asked. "Please, just...tell me you didn't suggest that Mercians were war-cowards?"
"...and then he hit Oengus, and Oengus hit him back, and then another drew a sword, and Oengus drew his." Owain was grinning himself now. Or was that the post-coitial happy-rush to the head? Never trust Owain with a secret, Osthryth told herself, bitterly, for he will share it after a few sups.
"They came across Uhtred and his men," came a voice from below. Osthryth peered back down and saw it was Aldhelm, looking up, clearly concerned, and Osthryth looked into the face of a man whose voice of direct reason always came to Osthryth when she was in a crisis, like ice from a waterfall. "My men stopped the fight."
"Good," Osthryth told him. "Aeswi, get them to bed; Aldhelm, can you help? And where is the rest of my company?" she added, climbing down the loft ladder. She was about to ignore, or sneer at Aldhelm's hand, extended out to help her. Osthryth took it and gave him a brief smile.
"Asleep," Aldhelm told her. "Or, probably just rising."
"Well, that's half of them had some sense," Osthryth groaned, and then looked at Aldhlem "Or had good leadership and discipline." Which is what she was concerned about with her men from Alba - she was in charge of them, Osthryth, and this was a perfect excuse for Aethelflaed to send them back to Constantine in ignominy.
"Take me to them," she told Aldhelm, before calling back up to Aeswi to tell him she would be wantng them ready after midday.
"I will," said Aldhelm, "As long as you promise you will go to bed yourself."
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What Aldhelm was saying to her, as Aeswi had himself, was that she needed her rest so she could go on, and they were right. But too many thoughts were racing round Osthryth's head for her to stop until she got some answers to questions, namely the Norse, how long they had been flooding in, and the identity of any.
"We believe you are right, Osthryth," Aldhelm told her as she made her way with him to the guardroom, "Met with the Mercians, guard duty. Had spoken to Aldhelm about her supposition.
It is possible; more than possible. But nothing is happening, and the longer it takes to happen, the less prepared we will be.
Agreed, Osthrytth told him.
tell me of Eireann - Ireland, what do we know of the leadershp there? Do we know why they have been so successful?"
"Not entirely," Aldhelm told her. "But something has united the tribes and enabled them to co-operate. We get a lot of our intelligence through Hywel's men, though they have mentioned no change in the identity of the High King."
So Flann Sinna still held power there, Osthryth thought, and her mind settled on Domnall for a moment, Domnall and little Niall, who could, perhaps, be co-operating with Flann for the benefit of all the Irish. For there seemed little end to the Norse coming up the Maerse, or settling in their boats on the north bank of the Wirulam.
"Bring Aelfkin and men," Osthryth asked. "I need to see them, if I am indeed to be their captain, along with my own men."
"That is the Lady's intention," Aldhelm told Osthryth. "She does not intend bitterness; she is desperately trying to protect her realm on a spot which is both difficult to put up defences, as well as try to come up with a repusion strategy.
"Is she?" asked Osthryth. "It does not look as if she is doing very much at all. What is the thinking behind doing nothing, Aldhelm." And regretted her harshness when the man glanced down briefly.
"It is the advice of Lord Uhtred," Aldhelm told her. "Watch and wait, see what they will do."
"Do they need to reach Eoferwic before we act?" Osthryth asked of him, and enjoyed for a moment the shock in his eyes. Ah, Eoferwic, yes, so that was the plan, the prize. The Norse and Danes all revered Eoferwic; they told their children stories of the promised land, their spiritual capital, one of places they had captured decades before, and had failed to hold onto.
"Come on," Aldhelm told her. "The men are practising with the other warriors in the courtyard. You may come to them."
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Osthryth did more than come to them. Standing at the front of the courtyard, she called her men to her, and Osthryth led them back to the little area behind the stable yard, so she could address them privately. As they walked, Aldhelm leaving them to go, Aelffrith and Merewalh to either sides of them, the latter leaned across to Osthryth and grinned.
"Your men, your Alba lords," he asked. "Sleeping off the night?"
"Sleeping off the night," Osthryth echoed.
"Indulged in too much wine and food?" Aelffrith asked. Osthryth recognised the tone and turned to her friend.
"Tell me, just tell me, and I can then get on with my job," she told him.
"He fought with one of Uhtred's men," Aelffrith told her. "One who he exchanged what sounded like Gaelish with as he fought, blade on blade."
It could only be Finan. Who else could speak Gaelish? Who else could Oengus have found who spoke his native language and had temper enough? Not that they were fighting over Osthryth - she was not that self-indulgent to think that. But there would be animosity towards anyone from the Dal Riatan nobility as there always had been whenever anyone had mentioned Eireann and its people. Osthryth shook her head, and then went to stand in front of her Mercian men.
After calling over Aelfkin, who had previously commanded them all, Aelffrith and Merewalh watching to one side. She noticed their eyes drift to the stable again.
"I need you to be my eyes; I need you to watch the land," Osthryth told them, after allowing an informal welcome by each one, claps on the back and words of welcome, comments about her return to civilisation. "Something is being planned by the Northmen, and I want to know what it is. You, and Constantine's men," she continued, the plan coming to her mind, half-formed, in pieces, but rapidly dissolving into a picture she could see. "We have fought together before; I have commanded you all before. Whatever the Lady Aethelflaed has planned, it will be too slow, too difficult to act with swiftness."
"I am your captain; Aelfkin your deputy," she told them. Aldhelm had already briefed them, so it wasn't news, and they were aware of the presence of Aeswi, Oengus and Feilim, and Prince Owain - more than aware - it was likely they showed them the way to the alehouses and the whorehouses, waiting for the inevitable.
"And, when I know what the enemy plans, and how they are going to worm their way into our land." Osthryth glanced at each one in turn. She saw Falkberg, stoic and steady, who followed orders to the letter, and fought with heart and might; she saw Aeglfrith, wily and agile, who could be behind an enemy before he knew it. Oshere was reliable, and could think for himself - his lip curled in glee as Osthryth's eye caught his - Oshere, and the rest, all knew Osthryth was a captain they could trust, and would lead them to glory.
"Glory!" Osthryth declared, as Merewalh and Aelffrith stood either side of her and Aelfkin. "We will get at the Norse and drive them away! We will be there first, before the other companies, back here at Caestre before they've even left!" Her men roared, raising swords, as was the custom. And then she set about organising the watch, Oshere and Falkberg on the first watch; in the afternoon a swap with Aeglfrith and Aelfkin.
"Come with me," she told Merewalh and Aelffrith, nodding to the stable. "I need a few hours to sleep, and when I get back, I will have Constantine's warriors. I need you to be with me on the rampart, I need you to watch."
"What for?" Merewalh asked. "What are you hoping to see, Osthryth?" And Osthryth glanced to the west, and gave a satisfied smile.
"Their mistake," she told him and Aelffrith. "One of our company will see it. And we will attack."
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Osthryth was here. Finan's mind, distraced as he sat beside Uhtred, as his lord listened to Aldhelm and Aethelflaed, felt unsettled. She was here, and she would know her brother would be here, and by extension, him.
"...a message from Ragnall himself that he would very much accept a welcome at Caestre..."
"...of course he would!" Finan turned and saw Uhtred stand up, "And I say, let's give him one!" Uhtred paced about the hall, nodding to Aldhem. "Invite him here, and his generals, and once inside, an hour later, and the Norse without the walls would be leaderless." Aethelflaed turned her head, slowly.
"No," she said. "I will not do this." And Finan's ears heard the Lady continuing to negotiate a plan of action between her two trusted generals. He would fit into it, Finan thought, as he always did.
She wanted him to go to her, Osthryth, who had left their child in a place that she knew was safe. He had courage on the battlefield, no doubt, but he had no courage to leave Uhtred. Even the promise he had given to her when last he had seen the woman he loved was a hollow one. Bebbanburg. He had promised he would go to her when Uhtred had secured Bebbanburg. But when that would be and how long that would take was indeterminible.
But he wanted her badly. And it was true what that bastard Pictlander had said to him, that he was nothing but a whoremonger. Finan had, he admitted to himself, gone to the brothel, gone even to the chamber of a woman who he had liked the look of. But when it got to it, he hadn't been able to go through with it. She had just stared at him, with dark eyes, not even demanding payment for the time he had wasted when she could have been with someone else.
Emma, she had said her name was. A Frankish name, Finan had replied, looking over her naked form and idly wondering whether Eadith, also half-Frankish, would have looked like her, undressed. But still, Finan could not coax his cock to stiffness, and even if he had, he didn't want it. Damn Uhtred and his ideas. So he had left, pressing a silver piece into the girl's hand.
And then he had careered down the steps and into a very drunken Oengus, who had recognised him, and had drawn a sword in him, telling him he was a bastard and that Osthryth was well out of it.
Of course, Finan had known what it had looked like, and there was no telling a bunch of arrogant warriors from Alba he had just been looking. Then, he had made a mistake. He had admitted his feelings, his weakness. To the least drunk of them all, to the man called Aeswi, he asked after Osthryth.
But before the man could step up and talk to Finan, Oengus butted in, telling him that she had put him behind her.
"She and I are betrothed," Finan said, a man calling on the last remnants of truth, or truth that he knew it. But Oengus had laughed, despite being pulled back by the other two men, and told him. Ceinid, the man's name was. Ceinin Ui Alpin, head of Constantine's household guard.
"You and she are over," Oengus taunted. "So I would take your flimsy little sword and piss off back to fairyland. Maybe the Great Queen of the Sidhe has someone for you, or she could wed yer herself!"
The Morrigan, Finan thought sadly. The last refuge of those poor people who are thrown over. And, as he let the arrogant bastard Alba lords pass, he had looked up to the tavern, considering whether he should go and find Emma, to get his silver's-worth. Uhtred's idea, he thought, as his lord continued to argue with Aldhelm over the Norse. Uhtred's idea to get a whore for the night. And he wanted no-one but Osthryth, who had looked as he had remembered her, standing before Lady Aethelflaed, holding her own, even insulting her without the Lady knowing it.
Finan looked across to Uhtred. His best friend, his lord, knew how much he loved her, and it rankled with Uhtred, because she was his sister.
Osthryth.
No longer his. Some bastard Pict was to marry her now. It was too late, he had missed his chance. He was to blame. He and Constantine. For he had the feeling that the King of Alba had manufactured this. Constantine knew who he was, and why he had been in slavery. Who his father and brother were.
Did she know? It didn't matter. None of it mattered now.
So Finan focused on the strategy, focused on the detail, thinking about how he could get the most out of the offensive that was to come. Fighting in battle, with monstrous ferocity, with all his heart and soul and strength and might, giving everything he had, imagining that every enemy was Sverri, or the man who had dragged him to the slaver. Fighting his enslavement in every battle. This one would be no different.
Unfortunately for Finan the Agile, this was one time that he would be wrong.
88888888
They had been perfect, Osthryth thought, as the moon rose in the coal-black sky. Every one of her men, the Mercians, the Picts, the Gael and the Strathclyde prince. All turned out for training, all had fought and practised, the Alba men screaming their arrival to the amusement of the Mercians; the Mercians imitating Feilim and Oengus and Aeswi when it was their turn to initiate the one-on-one combat practise.
Nothing untoward had been seen by the Mercians that afternoon, Aelffrith told Osthryth. The Norse had continued a steady line forward, along the banks of the Maerse, every so often a longboat drifted langorously against the riverflow.
"There will be something," Osthryth thought, and she had made them tell her again, one by one, in atomised detail of what they had seen and heard. But it was true. What they had witnessed then, Owain and Oshere pairing to the north and watching the slow inching of the Norse north-westwards, or Falkberg and Aeswi to the west watching a cluster of men packed densely and turning slowly like a starling murmuration, was nothing untoward, nothing on which to build a hypothesis.
Night, Osthryth sensed, would be the place for it, so she organised for the men to relieve one another, in their mixed pairs, every few hours, and gain rest in between. They needed to be ready.
"What is north west?" Osthryth asked Aldhelm, as he found her in the stable, filling up the saddle bags of the Alba horses. "And we're not going anywhere, yet."
"Then, don't," said Aldhelm, "Stay here, don't go into danger." Osthryth turned slowly, searching in the moonlight for the jest on the Mercian's face. But there was none; he was serious.
"Then, why am I here, if it is not to fight? Besides, I have been given autonomy of the men; I gave a plan."
"You were given autonimy because they refused to serve anyone else; because they held their heads high when other men jibed them about being led by a woman. Oh yes," Aldhelm told her. "Mercian warriors have long memories."
Osthryth said nothing, but continued to tie up the saddles. Aldhelm, ignored, slammed his hand across the flap.
"Don't go!" he told Osthryth, "Or at least tell me what you have planned."
"What do you have planned, that you won't tell me?" Osthryth asked, "Or the Lady? What is your strategy? Because mine is to go out and face them. When the time is right."
"And when will the time be right?"
"When I deem it to be. And we will be first on the battlefield, and last off it, and the Mercians, Aelfkin's Mercians will be lauded as heroes, heroes who could tame lords of Alba, a prince, no less, to work their way. They will have upheld the Alliance, even though, not Constantine, not Aethelflaed, has confided a reason that I am here." She shook her head, then pushed his hand away. But Adldhelm took it.
"No, Osthryth!" he told her, not letting go when she struggled. "It's madness - "
But before Aldhelm could say any more, Osthryth pressed her toes to the stable floor, and pushed herself up, catching Aldhelm's lips with her own.
She had done it once before, when She had offered herself once before to the man, when he was on the way to carry out Aethelred's plot to kill the current Lady of the Mercians. Idly, Osthryth had wondered, had he given in to her and taken her in Aethelflaed's Saltwic stable, what it would have been like.
Would he have been fast, or slow? Taken his time? Approached the act with nervousness or arrogance? Would Aldhelm have touched her body with tenderness, or would it have been with the selfishness some men had of taking the pleasure all for themselves, leaving the woman whore-guilty and empty.
Osthryth supposed she would never know, although she remembered how she had, a few nights after propositioning Aldhelm, all those years ago, that she had found a secluded place at the top of Aylesbury's palace keep, her hands bringing her young body to hot, breathless orgasm, quickly and energetically, riding her own fingers as she searched her cunt and clit for pleasure while imagining it was Aldhelm holding onto her breasts, pressing lips and tongue to her nipples, making her come.
Why she had wished to hump Aldhelm, Osthryth did not know. Perhaps she had sensed his growing feelings towards Aethelflaed, and his distaste at following Aethelred's orders. He would have had to deal with knowing about Uhtred's time with the Lady, too. How could he stand it, Osthryth wondered. He was loyal to Mercia, that was certain. But to love the woman that much knowing that she was lying with another man? Aldhelm had become her fantasy every time Aethelflaed irked her, that the man who adored the Lady of the Mercians had succumbed, physically, to Osthryth, who hated her.
The kiss, there, within Caestre, as the Norse idled by, would not the be the last time she and Aldhelm would kiss. But it ended there, then, but not until a good minute had gone by. When he pulled away, Osthryth stole another kiss; she was teasing him now. Aldhelm, however, did not look amused, and stood away from Osthryth folding his arms.
"No, no!" Aldhelm told her sternly, when Osthryth took a step towards him, now out of impishness than anything else. "No more of that; you are betrothed, are you not? Did you get the sleep I told you to?"
"I did," Osthryth replied, "And to your first question, twice betrothed," she added, admitting more than she had intended. "But one man will never come and the other is promised to me after my service in Mercia."
"The King of Alba?" Aldhelm asked, in astonishment.
"What?" Osthryth replied, shocked. "No, no, not Constantine..." She stepped forward again, but Aldhelm put up a guarding hand between her and himself.
"Osthryth, I..." Aldhelm began. "You must not kiss me like that again; it is not proper; it is not right...If I had been any other man..." Osthryth bowed her head, knowing the end of that sentence was probably, "If I had been any other man, kissing me like that would have ended with you on your back, and me up to my hilt in you."
"You're right, I am sorry, Aldhelm." She glanced to the horse, who had barely moved in his sleep as she had saddled him.
"It's past, Aldhelm told her."
"But, we are going," she told him. "Will you help me?"
She told Aldhelm she was looking at the Norse, and explained that what it seemed like they were doing was taking the land Aethelflaed had gifted to Ragnall.
"What's that settlement?"
"Eadsbyrig," he told her, annd looked over the ramparts. It did indeed seem that the Norse were heading that way. "But they are not stopping there."
They are not, Osthryth thought, but they are moving slowly enough that they could stop. And if something were to distract your attention long enough to focus Mercia's attention west...
"He is a good man," Osthryth told him. "Ceinid." And then felt a shiver of guilt enter her body as she thought of the promise she had made. "Once I have given my time to Aethelflaed, my two years, we will marry, and I will farm."
And Osthryth half listened to the head of Aethelflaed's guard as he detailed the battle strategy, Finan's name between them, unsaid.
88888888
Below, just before dawn, and the Lady of the Mercians rode out through the western gate, on her white horse she had unimaginitvely named, "Ghost". Osthryth was, unfortunately, also at the same gate with her company. For she had finally seen something.
"Your eyesight is better than mine," Aldhelm had dismissed, when Osthryth pointed out into the darkness just before the sun came up. Osthryth doubted that, and it had taken Owain and Aelfkin, her youngest warriors, to take an interest in a spot on the southern bank of the Maerse, by the fortress of Brunanburh.
"Dearg...coch..." Osthryth prompted, and they searched for the red she thought she saw, until it became something that was there, for real. Fire. Fire in a tiny speck, in a place where the Danes and Norse had put their longboats. The tiniest of pinpricks, like a new-grown rose thorn embedding itself into flesh.
"Tan," Aeswi murmured.
"Red sparks, there," Merewahl confirmed. And her company was agreeing with her, bringing Aldhelm back to life, as he too searched for the red sparks.
"We go, now," Osthryth told her men, and they congrgated in the fore-courtyard, horses ready by their own able hands, done surreptitiously as they had changed watch shifts. For Osthryth knew, deep in her heart, that those red sparks would soon be coursing through the material over at Brunanburh, sacrificial boats, perhaps, placed strategically enough near the fortress that would make Aethelflaed worrry about the defence, and draw her attention.
If she were Ragnall, or if she were Eirik and Siegfried Thurgilson, she would then, with the slow moving people allowed to pass through the land they wished to occupy, gifted by a benevolent sovereign, make sure those people were her warriors made to look like normal families, who could then turn at a stroke into a fighting body of men. If she were Norse or Dane, she would then take those men to a poorly-defended fortress and take it, beginning, she would hope, the conquest of western Mercia.
So Osthryth was taking her men to the poorly-defended fortress. Aldhelm had told her, as they stood watch together, that Caestre was being made into a burh, refortified as it was, with the muscle from Eadisbyrig. It was foolish to make it weaker. That could have been a role for Osthryth and the Alba lords: had Aethelflaed had sense, Osthryth could have been lodged there, with Aelfkin's men too, and held it for her.
But it made little difference now. That was where they were going. It was unfortunate that Osthryth now chose to take her ten men - for Aelffrith and Merewalh were determined to come as well - east, and not west, where the rest of the Mercians were going, and had chosen that moment to go through the western gates at the same time as Aethelflaed.
"Fire, Lord Aldhelm," Aethelflaed told her general. "Yes, just as I thought may happen. It was provident that you spied it." She was good, very good, Osthryth thought, for when Osthryth snorted, Aethelflaed did not even turn her head.
"You are riding, Lady Aethelflaed? Into the direction of a fire?" Osthryth asked, their horses still nose-facing to the east. "What will become of Mercia should you not return?"
"What makes you think I would not return?" she asked, stiffly. Beside her, Athelstan lingered, watching with grey, hawklike eyes how this interaction was unfolding. Yes, he was Edward's son, Aethelflaed's nephew. Yes, he had been mentored by Uhtred. Something set the young man apart from them, however, that he had his own mind, and that he would use it, when he needed to. It also made Osthryth sense that she was in the presence of his grandfather, that she wanted her actions to be seen as honest. How a teenager could make a person feel like that was beyond Osthryth. But it made her more determined to head east, more deternined to be proved right, that the Norse were indeed planing a raid on the fortress, intent on tki gbit and gaining a foothold in Mercia. If no-one would listen, she must show them all; the outcome would speak for itself.
So it was Eadsbyrig, that was where Aethelflaed and Aldhelm should be looking. But they were focused west, where the Maerse opened out into sheltered sea, where many longboats were still positioned.
"You take your men east, Osthryth of Alba," Aethelflaed told her, "Under your own orders, then?" This time her tone was lighter, there was a laugh in her words, and not a humorous one.
That was fighting talk. Aethelflaed was, in effect, accusing her of following no master, no king or, as it was, no lady. She must know she had no orders to begin with, and that her choice was to follow on, and mingle in the melee, bringing no glory to her men. Or remain behind and shame them all.
"I know of no orders bar one, Lady," Osthryth told Aethelflaed, "For I have been given none. I understand my role is to honour the Alliance between my king and you, and therefore fight for Mercia. So I am fighting for Mercia."
Aldhelm spoke then and called that the flames were getting greater. Had he not, Osthryth would have been seen turning her back on the Lady of the Mercians.
"We come, Lord Aldhelm," Aethelflaed called to her general, and she turned Gast from Osthryth, who turned east, her men close-pressed because of the rest of the Mercians army heading in the other direction.
"Who commands at Eadsbyrig, Lord Aldhelm?" Osthryth called, having moved on her horse twenty feet.
"Lord Aldred," Aldhelm called back, and Osthryth felt her stomach sink. Could it be that weasel-rat of a guard who had caused her grief in Wessex had gained favour under Aethelflaed? Another trial from the Lord in Heaven? Had she brought guards with her? He was the one who had delayed her from getting through for the help Ula could give her for Gisela. Osthryth always wondered whether, if she had got there sooner, Uhtred's wife could have lived.
"A bastard to go to his bitch," Osthryth said, in a low voice, but not caring to lower it enough. It should not have gone unchallenged, but at that moment, Aldhelm urged Aethelflaed to send her troops to the river.
"We will go," Aethelflaed told him, glancing scornfully at Osthryth. "And you can go wherever you see fit."
"Lady," Osthryth replied, which could as equally be interpreted as respectful as the insult that Osthryth meant to pay. Then she caught Finan's eye. She could not avoid it. They looked at one another, and her heart filled with pain. Part of her wanted to throw herself from her horse, cast away Buaidh and climb up in front of him. She pulled her horse slower, and Finan put out his hand to take her rein.
Osthryth's words, then, were wholly in Gaelish. If the Alba lords understood, it could not be helped. But Osthryth know Uhtred could not speak his friend's language, but just to be sure she spoke quickly.
"Tha mac agad," she told Finan Mor, looking into his steady face. "Finan beag." He was healthy and strong; he could sing and was training with the young princes at Dunnottar, and was in young Aedre's care.
Finan was about to raise a hand to her face, to ask her of herself, but he suddenly stopped, remembering what the lord Oengus had told him. Indeed, the man was at her side, and he dropped his hand and leaned away. Aelfkin continued to lead the men, and Osthryth looked on, turning back shortly afterwards to see the back of Finan's black head.
"That is not the look of someone who is lost to the caileag," Aeswi told Aelffrith, who nodded, in agreement. But neither had the chance to say anything more, for the rider in front of Finan pulled up sharply and held himself back from Aethelflaed's guard.
"Turning your back on the battlefield, Osthryth of Alba," she heard her brther taunt. And all her will, to avoid Uhtred, and it to rise to any of his words crumbled to nothing. Hooves of horses, of her men, clattered on the ground as they came to a halt, and they watched their captain bring her horse around.
"No, Osthryth!" she heard Aeswi's cautionary voice, and saw Aelffrith catch the reins of her horse and gold her right hand over Buaidh's hilt. But Osthryth stood in her stirrups and turned to Uhtred.
"The battle is in this direction, you worm-ridden ceiliog tuchdeen mùc, dw i! Pogue ma th'oin! Dra ma th'ar!" A gasp of delighted laughter erupted from men as she insulted Uhtred in three languages, little pockets from near the south burst forth first, and Osthryth noted they could only be from Hywel's men, understanding the southern Cymric. Anarawd, or whoever was in charge in the north laughed in unison with Owain, Feilim and Aeswi while and a "ha" came from Finan, Oengus, too, appreciated the Gaelish. He joined in by shouting in his best Saxon, "No! Don't let it be, Captain Osthryth! Your arse is too pretty to be kissed by that Ungodly bastard!"
There were murmurings in amongst Aethelflaed's Mercians now, sensing division, which was unsettling them. What Osthryth should have done was turn back, allow calm to restore. But she hadn't finished there. Osthryth turned her head to the river and forced her voice even louder.
"Kriegerkvinde! Kriegerkvinde!"
And of that had not got the attention of the Norse, what she said next would. Thanks to Oengus, she had one last thing to add before they ten thundered eastwards to prevent the feint that the Norse were trying to pull off.
"Hvorfor ser Uhtred seg ofer skulderen? Skulderen?" Osthryth repeated, emphasising the word "shoulder".
She waited, to make sure her voice had carried to at least the nearest Norse.
"Å se slugmarkn!"
"Fire!" Aldhelm called again, and Aethelflaed's party suddenly picked up the pace, and all animosity was gone in lieu of the skirmish that was before them.
Yes, there was fire, Osthryth thought, bitterly, and it was spreading, but could no-one see it was a bluff?
Then in her sight, hooves and turf and air and Eadsbyrig. She was focusing east, and the men under her command were unanimous in their decision to jpoin her. How long would it take until Aldhelm or her brother , or someone realise? The Norse were indeed heading in that direction. Osthryth could only pray that her company would be in time.