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

33. Eoferwic

Eofwerwic, Autumn 914

Did she remember the kiss, Osthryth wondered, as her company of Mercians and Alba's mormaers trekked a steady path hugging the Northumbria-Mercia border, leading slowly, inexorably, north east. They had caught up with Ragnall's army just past Mamcaestre, being bigger, they were also slower, and it was relatively easy to ride parallel and keep them in sight.

Was there even a kiss? Or something more? Mus seemed quite certain that there had been, and Osthryth recalled the short encounter she had had with Haf, the Cumbraland Briton whose father was one of the cooks at Caer Ligualid. Something had transpired between them, Osthryth knew, but the ale she had drunk had kept her from knowing quite what.

It had been a day and a half since Osthryth's company had left Ceastre. Now, they came to the town built on seven hills and a call came from Oshere and Aelfkin, calling Osthryth to the back. They were being followed. Or, perhaps, if not followed, then the large army behind them had happened to choose the same path as Osthryth.

"We wait," Osthryth told her men, and split them into roughly equal groups, with Aelfkin, Oshere, Owain and Feilim in one, and Falkbald, Aeglfrith, Oengus and Merewalh in another. They were to watch, at about half mile distance, who it was who was coming, and then rejoin them. Osthryth would ride with Aelffrith and Aeswi. They would catch up, she knew, for that army, too, were not as fast as Osthryth's company.

A flock of geese chattered overhead as the two people she trusted most in the world stood beside her, as they looked down at the ribbon of Danes and Norse, who were inching their way through the landscape like a long, thin worm, sticking to the valleys and the low ground. Ahead of them the Ouse shimmered like the hair from an old woman's head that had caught the light of the winter sun. They were heading to Eoferwic, there was no doubt about that.

"It's not a case of if," Aelffrith said to them. "They are intent on invading Eoferwic, and controlling, if not all of Northumbria, a good deal of it. Eoferwic was not Deria's capital for nothing." He half-smiled at Osthryth. "But of course, you know that." Aeswi gave a brief smile, too. His distant ancestors were also related to Aethelfrith the Twister, through his son Eanfrith's Pictish ancestors. Somewhere she and Aeswi were related.

Though that didn't say much: she and Uhtred were related, and they hated one another. Osthryth brought her horse to look to the north, and then east. It was then that a cautious Falkbald rode up to them.

"Aeglfrith thinks he has seen more Norse," he told her, toying with his scabbard.

"Where?"

"Following these Norse," he told her. And then a shout came up from Aelfkin.

"Captain!" Osthryth whipped her rein on her horse's neck, and they were off, to the northern side of the hill.

He was right. There were Norse. Or what looked like them. They too clung to the contours of the land, as if a living stream.

"We watch and we wait," Osthryth said. But Aelfkin shook his head, giving a glance to Owain.

"Prince?" Osthryth asked of the heir to the Strathclyde throne.

"They are behind us, Captain Osthryth," he told her, an agitation in his usually steady voice. "A group of men came off the road and are following us." Aelffrith took a few horse-steps past Osthryth.

"By God, you're right!" he exclaimed. "Damn! How did they ever know that we were here?" A shrrm of blades made music in the air and her men closed around her. Osthryth, with Buaidh in hand, held her own weapon close. The enemy were riding, they had the momentum where Osthryth and her warriors had none.

And she gave no instruction. Which was amazing, because Osthryth had not trained the mormaers nor the Mercians together - they had no unifying battle strategy, or none she had developed with them. And yet they began to defend their position as if they had trained with one another for years.

Oengus and Feilim had turned first, and, with their Gaelish battle yell, low and terrifying, were first to attack. This gave time for Owain and the Mercians to turn and gather up speed.

"Stay," Merewalh told Osthyth, and gave Aelffrith a look, encouraging him to back him. Aelffrith looked to Osthryth, who gave him a withering look.

"I know you will not stay," he conceded. "But at least, protect the prince. We have enough instability here, in Northumbria, and I dare say Constantine will not need internal instability in Alba." It took a mere second before Osthryth saw the tails of both of the horses in her direction, they too picking up speed.

Protect the prince, Osthryth thought, her mind darting backwards and forwards. Her men were doing what they did in battle, and needed no direction from her now. And someone had better protect the prince.

The prince, however, was having none of it. Owain looked across to Osthryth, with a look of sorry defiance, and before she could stop him, had followed with the others, drawing the blade which Osthryth knew he could wield, and was heading in Aeswi's direction, parrying a blade from a Norseman, which was on a trajectory towards Aeglfrith.

Osthryth pulled in the reins of her horse and dug her heels into its flanks. But got nowhere. At the back of her neck, cold steel played, which caused a shiver to go down her spine. She tried to turn, when a hand pulled her from her seat like a rag doll in the hands of a vigorous child.

No time for Buaidh, Osthryth thought, as the man wrestled with her. She kicked his right wrist hard, slipping on the peaty ground as another two pairs of boots came into view. Behind her, a battle was raging; she could only hope fortune was on their side, and they would live, all of them.

Osthryth lunged at the man's legs and knocked him over, but he did not go down cleanly and she was pulled with him, a knee into her ribs. She gasped, as her lungs were impacted, but she managed to land a fist into the man's face. Before she could continue to fight, however, two pairs of hands pulled her roughly to her feet. The man on the floor backed away, and sat up.

"You are alive, commander, came a voice Osthryth thought she recognised, but what astonished her most, as she was held tighter as she struggled, was that the voice was in Saxon not in Norse. She turned to look at th face of the man who had spoken. It was Osferth. He helped the man on the floor to his feet, who also removed his helmet.

"Aldhelm!" Osthryth exclaimed, fighting against the two men holding her. "Aldhelm! How did you - " But she broke off when Aldhelm, Lady Aethelflaed's advisor and general struggled to his feet. "How are you here?"

And she guessed that the army following them were Mercians, not Norse, and they somehow had managed to cover a lot of ground very quickly. How, Osthryth would like to know. She struggled again, and this time, swung round her fist into the face of one of her captors.

"Easy, now," came a voice she knew, a voice in Gaelish. He had caught her hand, and was slowly bringing it to her side. The other man took off her helmet. Osthryth took a few steps away, free of their grasp, and turned to the unhelmed man.

"Sihtric?" she asked, and he nodded. Beside him, the man who had spoken Gaelish to her, said nothing more. He too had removed his helmet - Finan.

"Osthryth!" declared Aldhelm, which solved Osthryth's problem of being close to Finan. She looked back to him, taking a few steps away from her temporary captors. "I knew you had left; we had you for Norse scouts."

"We too," Osthryth told him. But then her attention turned to the battle still going, the skirmish between her company and, well the Mercians. Osthryth began to tear down the slope to end it, tell them they were fighting their allies. But the action was waning, and two men were staggering up the slope, a man each under blade: Oengus had someone at bladepoint; as she looked the other was Owain, struggling under the grip of her brother.

"They say they are your men," Uhtred told Osthryth, baldly.

"We took you to be Norse; how did you get across country so quickly?" Her tone was cold, accusing, but before Uhtred could answer, her reply came from her shoulder.

"We heeded your advice, Osthryth of Mercia," Aldhelm told her, his words soothing, seeming to cast a stillness on all the men. "And so, when you said they would be going to Eoferwic, I took the time to station men at Eadsbyrig, who, when Ragnall turned to Ceastre, went off to Mamcaestre."

"We are the Mamcaestre garrison," Osferth told her, sheathing his sword and giving her a grin. But Osthryth's eyes were in the Strathclyde prince, as Aeglfrith, Aeswi, Aelffrith climbed the hill, Oshere and Falkberg behind, and Merewalh at the back. Aelfkin, Osthryth noticed, took the rein of her horse and held it with his. Did he anticipate a confrontation? If money were put on Uhtred and Osthryth coming to blows then there was a good chance of winning. Uhtred stood firm, though he must have realised these were Osthryth's company. If anything, he seemed to hold the blade closer.

"Let him go, brother!" Osthryth demanded, as Owain quivered under the blade. It was clear he was trying not to, but fear of being run through got to the best of people. "We are for Mercia; as are you!" She nodded to Oengus, who slowly let go the Mercian he had been threatning, who moved confidently towards Aldhelm.

Uhtred, who flinched at the word brother, and despite Osthryth's belief he was going to run the boy through, stepped away from Owain, who took staggering steps to be closer to Osthryth, and her warriors . Behind him, Feilim began to charge, blade aloft, heading towards Uhtred. He stopped when the man whom Oengus had released stood in front of him.

"Enough!" shouted Osthryth, running between them, Buaidh in her hand. The man turned, and she saw that it was Aethelstan. Uhtred had brought Aethelstan to fight at Eoferwic?

But she could see that look of vengeance on her brother's face, and she held firm, standing between Feilim and Uhtred, knowing that if just one backed down, the other would likely kill her. She remained alive. Feilim, with whatever thought had been in his mind, dropped back, and lowered his sword. Uhtred turned and looked at Aldhelm.

"We are here on her strategy," he told the Mercian general. "What now?"

"We stay on our own," Osthryth told them, with a voice bolder than she felt. "If you are heading to Eoferwic, Ragnall's spies will know you are on their tail. It is likely that they do not know we follow them." She looked between Uhtred and Aldhelm.

"We stay on our own," she reiterated, and translated into Gaelish. "We can ride faster than your army can march. We can divert the Norse, provide assistance should they turn to fight." She watched Aldhelm catch Uhtred's eye. Clearly, both approved of the plan.

"Have a care, Osthryth," Aldhelm told her. "Sygtryggr is in Eoferwic." Osthryth said nothing for a minute. Sygtryggr? Ragnall's brother? Who Stiorra eloped with to marry?

"They are there to welcome the family, then?" she asked. Osthryth did not mean it as a barb, but she could understand, a second later, how it could be taken as such.

"You know nothing!" Uhtred stormed, hotly. "Sygtryggr is Ragnall's enemy! You know what will happen of Ragnall gains entry to Eoferwic!" And Osthryth did. Ragnall would take no prisoners. His brother, if he could not defend himself, nor the city, would be killed, Stiorra too. She had children, didn't she? Father Oswald had told her that. And Stiorra would not have left her children behind, as she and her brother had been left behind.

"Even more important that we fly to the city as quickly as possible," Osthryth told them. "Will you let go of my man now?" Uhtred had taken hold of Owain's shoulder again and was raising up his sword.

"I agree, Captain Osthryth," this was Aethelstan's voice, uncannily like his grandfather's, a ghost of words, words which beguiled the listener into natural compliance. She could not help to look to the young man, so full of ease and purpose.

"Thank you, Lord," Osthryth said, with deliberate deference to Aethelstan. "I am proud that I will fight alongside the futre Rex Angolorum." She saw Aethelstan nod his head, almost imperceptably. And Uhtred did let Owain go, pushing him away from himself, and instead, took some steps towards her.

"To marry, you must be free of Mercia," Uhtred said, his words painful to hear, painful that they should be said before her warriors, and his. "And to be free of Mercia, you must serve Mercia. So I trust you," he concluded. Osthryth tried not to meet Finan's eye, but failed. He said nothing, and Osthryth inhaled deeply, and got to her horse. But Osthryth did not get on. Instead, she tuned back to her brother.

"I honour my vows, when I make them," she said to him, in Danish. Aeswi understood some of the language, and she spoke quickly enough that only Uhtred understood. Sihtric too, and the brief turn of his head betrayed his intelligence into their conversation. "I make vows when I know I can fulful them."

He turned, then, and Osthryth saw that he had provoked anger in her. She cooled the flame by saying, "I am truly sorry for your elder son. Sorry, and vengeful."

"Should you reach Eoferwic before I, do not think of killing her. She is mine," Uhtred said, meaning Brida, of course. "And I have never betrayed a vow."

"Never?" Osthryth scoffed. "Cornwalum? When you betrayed Alfred? Dunholm? Bebbanburg?"

"What you say is pig shit," Uhtred told her. "You have allied with the Scots, and with Wihtgar!"

"He is my bother too," Osthryth pointed out. They were still speaking in Danish. "And I am here for my king."

"Edward?" Uhtred taunted. All heads turned to them now: that was a word all of them understood.

"Constantine," Osthryth told him, nodding to the mormaers. "And his alliance with the Lady is absolute. He would not betray that bond. I was sent here to honour their allegiance, made at the wall." Uhtred looked about her men, her mormaers, her Mercians. He knew Constantine's claim: Constantine had told Uhtred of it himself, which would make Bebbanburg a vassal of Pictland, of Alba.

Then her eyes rested on Owain, who was still shivering from the score to his neck where Uhtred had pressed his blade. "I am Mercian while I have Mercian men beside me." And she resisted, just in time, adding, And what are you? "So for your son, I am sorry. I will do all I can for Stiorra. And you still have your second son."

For a moment, Osthryth felt the world tilt on its axis, as if it had turned into a giant tafl table and the game had shifted by an animal knocking its pieces about. Uhtred simply stared at her.

"My second son?" And for a moment, Osthryth thought he was going to fly at her. Instead, he took a step back. All of the Anglish and Saxon speakers there, however, had heard him say this, for it was not in Danish.

"He was alive when Hild took him from Gisela," Osthryth told him, and, just for safety's sake, pushed herself up onto the back of her horse, for ease of a quick getaway. She nodded in the direction of the line, before catching Aethelstan's eye.

"We do as we intended," Osthryth reiterated, this time addressing her men. "We ride to Eoferwic and do all we can to prevent Ragnall and his warriors entering the city." Unopposed, they rode away, leaving Aldhelm, Aethelstan Uhtred and his men behind.

Don't think of him, Osthryth told herself, don't remember that he just held your body, as she had to force herself to lead the way and not look back to the man she loved. She scrunched up her eyes as the horse she was on went down the ridge at the other side and tried to picture Ceinid, similar in features to Constantine - he was a cousin after all - and saw images in her mind of his long, black hair and merry grey eyes. Of his tender touch to her skin when they lay next to one another, sometimes just holding hands. Of her promise that any unhappiness she might feel would not be his making.

Nor would any of his be caused by her, Osthryth resolved, the burning feeling that she had, to turn back to Finan, to run to him, scorching only her shoulders and back. But she turned back anyway to see that Aldhelm was riding behind them. Osthryth slowed her pace to allow the man to catch up with her.

"I have elected to come with you," he told her. "The other commanders will manage the army. Aldred has the command, now. And we will meet them in Eoferwic." Osthryth smiled over to him. The consummate diplomat. Elected, Osthryth doubted. Not out of willing choice. Necessity of purpose, she thought, to ensure her small band of men were not attempting to kingmake; were not attempting to use the opportunity to shore up an alliance with Wihtgar at Bebbanburg. It would otherwise, that would be an extraordinarily brilliant idea.

"What do you feel about the premise that says there needs to be a Norseman on the Eoferwic throne," Osthryth asked.

"For now. Should Uhtred would go to retrieve Sygtryggr and Stiorra and take them to Eoferwic, in the mean time Ragnall will have moved on to Caer Ligualid. And we have no fugurehead of that city to act as king in Eoferwic. Guthred has died, you know. With no heir."

"There is one heir," Osthryth told him. "And of course, you know of whom I speak."

"Owain?" Osthryth nodded.

"Or myself. Through Gwythelth, my mother. Uhtred should know, while his mother was Mercian, mine was of Rheged, of the Hen Ogledd, kin to Dyfnwal and Owain." At this, Aldhelm did fall silent for a moment, and she felt the weight of this on his mind. Clearly, then, Aethelflaed did not know this. Aldhelm would have to be the one to tell her.

"It is of Caer Ligualid that we need reinforcements," Osthryth went on, spying an opportunity. "Abbot Findal, King Dyfnwal would both be pleased to provide them." And he added this in Gaelish so Aeswi, who was lingering just behind them, could hear.

"Who of my Mercians do you trust most, Aldhelm?" Osthryth asked, suddenly. "Who has the most loyalty to Mercia?" Aldhelm's pace dropped a little as he glanced around him.

"Merewalh," he told her. "Or Aelffrith. Well, all of them, I imagine, but as they are commanders, I - "

"Aeswi!" Osthryth called, and addressed him in Anglish, in order for both Aldhelm and her men to understand. "Take a message to King Dyfnwal. Tell him to meet Abbot Findal at Caer Ligualid and muster as great a force as they can imagine!" Her horse, who had come to a standstill, turned on its feet so she could address all her me. "Tell them, the Norse are claiming Eoferwic and will claim Caer Ligualid and Strathclyde too. They must ensure they do not!"

"Captain Osthryth," Aeswi called back, knowing at once her plan. "It would be an honour to do so." And it won't just be Aldhelm listening to this, Osthryth thought, so she had to make it good.

"And to ensure that both Owain's father and your brother know you come in good faith, I need you to take Merewalh with you." She couldn't even look at her friend just then, for Osthryth could imagine the expression on his face. Slowly, however, Merewalh rode his horse across to Aeswi and turned the bay mare around. And when Osthryth looked at them both, she saw the huge grin on Merewalh's face. She rode to both men, and smiled broadly, too. Both knew what it was she was doing - there were two purposes, of course, the obvious being the army, and neither man was unwilling to play his part.

"You add legitimacy and honour, my friend," she said to Merewalh, and placed a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "The men you will meet are honoured in their own lands, and they, too, must be warned of the threat to their kingdoms."

"Aye!" called both Aeswi and Merewalh, turning without delay to the road north.

The look on Aldhelm's face was priceless. He had been overseeing her men for less than ten minutes and he had already managed to lose one of his commanders. Osthryth smiled the sweetest smile she could manage to Aethelflaed's general. Then, she glanced to the road running parallel to the river.

"To Eoferwic, Lord Aldhelm?"

Eoferwic, Autumn 914

"Does it look to you like the army has grown?" Osthryth's question, the next morning, having rested at a village called Huddres, was to both Aelffrith and Aldhelm.

Both men peered down from the higher ground that Osthryth's company were following. Aldhelm looked south-west. In amongst the banners of the Northmen, near the back of the column of men fluttered many standards that Osthryth recognised: the Red Hand. This was an Ulaid banner, one which Domnall Ui Neill had flown when the Norse attacked the monastery at Doire.

"It would appear so," he said, grimly. "I wonder whether they have not collected men on the way."

"Do you know anything Eireann? Donnchada and Ragnall were meant to have an alliance," Osthryth added.

"Perhaps I can help there," Aelffrith told her. And whether Aldhelm knew or not, he was going to hear anyway. "The King of the north - "

"Donnchada of the Ui Neill," Osthryth clarified. Aelffrith nodded.

"Donnchada of the Ui Neill had a pact with Ragnall and with Sygtryggr to live in certain areas along the east coast of Eireann. Often, they would receive attacks from the Irish, which Donnchada would attempt to stop, but when more Norse and Danes arrived, they pushed further west."

"And so the alliance broke down," Aldhelm finished, keen to get to the point. "And the Ui Neill long wanted - freedom from the Norse. Donnchada and Ragnall's alliance fell." That was interesting, how much Aldhelm knew, and she stayed silent, waiting for the man to tell her some more information that he shouldn't really know, and would make Aethelflaed angry if she knew Osthryth knew. And the Red Hand? She hoped it was merely representative of the Irish, and that Domnall was not down there with Ragnall. Surely not, Osthyth thought. He would never have condoned what Brida had done.

Domnall, Osthryth thought, her friend. And little Niall Grubbyknees. Were they at Donnchada's displeasure? Were they amongst the Irish with Ragnall? Surely not - they would surely go to Constantine first.

"He agreed to the installation of Sygtryggr and Stiorra, as Uhtred told you," Aldhelm added, carefully, pulling Osthryth out of her thoughts. "And it was widely known that Ragnall was set on conquering surrounding Northumbrian territories. Aethelflaed agreed to let him pass into Northumbria up the Maerse."

So that was it: a pre-arranged alliance with the Ivarrson brothers. Uhtred's scheme, no doubt, bringing an army for his disposal not a hundred miles away from Bebbanburg.

"Only, I am guessing," Osthryth replied, slowly, as she watched the men ride on, entertaining themselves with whatever game they were playing by counting the Norse, "The Lady did not bank on Ragnall attacking Ceastre. Or Eadsbyrig." In fact, the longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. If Constantine knew all of the facts - which he surely did, he would be pleased that Dyfnwal and Caer Ligualid's armies were to head south. Aeswi, no doubt, would get a message to him in any case.

And, apart from the attacks in her territory, to get Ragnall as an ally would be a huge achievement for Aethelflaed. But it would, too, be a turning point for Alba, for an ally south of the wall would make it the work of a moment to take and hold Bernicia. Bebbanburg was small fry compared to the ancient land of the Idings, from the Forth to the Humber, which they had taken from Pictland, and at Bebbanburg, Wihtgar would probably continue not caring who ruled what beyond his walls.

"So, who are the Irish?" asked Osthryth, suddenly. "If Donnchada has been successful in the Norse expulsion. His enemies?" Please don't say Niall, or Domnall, she begged silently. What of poor Gormlaith? Ancient memories, safely stored, were scattering themselves around Osthryth's memory.

"The Uí Néill have yielded hostages; the Ulaid had fallen and have wasted no time in organising themselves as mercaneries for Ragnall," Aldhelm told her. She glanced down at the winding army. So they were Ulaid. Donnchada, under the Ui Neills, had finally claimed all of the territory of Eireann, including to the north east of the island, then. They owned half of the country now. King Aed, Mael Muire's first husband, would have been overjoyed.

"He is not the first unifying king in these islands," Osthryth told Aldhelm, as the land dipped slowly downwards. "Alfred," she clarified.

"Alfred," Aldhelm agreed. "But others have claimed it; Offa of Mercia, for one."

But she was not the only person to be thinking about Ireland just then. Just then, Finan was also looking at Ragnall's line, and was thinking about his brother.

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It was her mistake, in the end.

It had happened on the afternoon of the next day when they had stormed a weaker part of the line just outside Eoferwic. A stupid mistake, but it had delayed the line, that much was clear. The bishops were roused; Sygtryggr was alert and the city gates were barred.

Her men had fought valiantly, and had retreated, as Osthryth wanted, around a corner and up onto a hill. Osthryth would have got their too, except that her horse had thrown a shoe, and was staggering.

Aelfkin and Aelffrith were riding back as three Norse were chasing her, and Osthryth decided to abandon her horse and run to them, run as fast as she possibly could, towards the shouts of encouragement in three languages.

It was not enough. From the side of her face Osthryth could see an axe coming towards her, and she threw herself into the mud. Horses whinnied. And that was the last thing she could remember.

It was dark, where she was, dark and cold. A small window at the top of where she was was not betraying sunlight, so Osthryth assumed it must be night-time. She was alive, at any rate, and did not appear to be hurt.

She got to her feet. A brief look round told her she was alone. So, alive, unhurt, alone. At Eoferwic? Who could say. It was the only sizeable settlement near where they had harried the line.

But they must have had some success?

Hadn't they?

All was quiet. That meant, either the city held, under Sygtryggr and Stiorra, or Ragnall had unequivocally succeeded in ousting his brother, their household, their staff and any Christians within Eoferwic.

She would have to watch, and wait. And listen. The language would be the key here.

It didn't take long for Osthryth to find out. Weak, autumn sunlight infiltrated the close-packed bars of the cell, and with it, snippets of sentences, phrases drifting down to her like falling leaves: Norse. Norse with some Gaelish. The expelled Ulaid were in the city's main square and were keeping guard at various points.

A rattle to the door made Osthryth jump out of her thoughts and she turned to see an iron-clad oak door open.

"Here," the man said to her, in Norse. "May you avoid eating the poison within it." Osthryth took some steps to the door, and bent her head to the tin plate which the man had placed on the floor. Some rank-smelling meat invaded her nostrils, but she scooped up the plate anyway, for she knew she would have to eat as much as she could.

"What did you say?" Osthryth asked, in Anglish, hoping to give the impression she knew no Norse.

"Our lady Brida sends you food," the man said, and looked slowly towards the meat. Osthryth made to pick at it, aware he was still looking at her. Then, she looked at him.

"May you give my thanks to Lady Brida," Osthryth told him, in Anglish. "And I congratulate her victory." And, speaking of victory, she still had Buaidh - how was it that she still had her sword? As she bent her head to begin to eat, she heard the door creak, and then hurried steps crossing the damp, dank straw.

"No!" the man shouted, as he dashed the plate away. "No! Bad! Bad meat!" Osthryth jumped, no longer playing a role, at the violence of the gesture. The man stood back and looked at the floor: already starving rodents were boldly scurrying towards it.

"Bad meat?" Osthryth repeated. Then, she hung her head, acting again, "Is Brida going to starve me?" But the man had already taken a few steps back.

"She - " he made to say, but stopped. For there was a blade at his back.

"Starve you?" came a voice she knew. "I would never starve a kriegerkvinde." Brida, dark hair in braids, pronouning the words in Danish very clearly, stepped out from behind the man, sword point still towards him, working it round to his chest. "Guthrik, you are a poor guard," she told him, looking up to the man and narrowing her eyes. "You told the prisoner about the poison."

"No!" Guthrik exclaimed. "I did not, Lady Brida!" he exclaimed. But this seemed to infuriate her more.

"You stopped the prisoner from eating the poison," she told the hapless Guthrik. "You gave into mercy. She was not Kriegerkvinde to you then, so you have no excuses." And with as much thought as a chef might give a joint of meat, Brida pushed her sword into the man's chest. Osthryth watched in horror, horror at the apparent casualness of it all. Guthrik did not bleed a good deal, but he slumped where he stood. He looked at Osthryth as he fell, and his open eyes were still on her as he stopped moving.

"Brida!" Osthryth exclaimed. She was in no mood to pretend: this was a woman who had cut off the private parts of a priest to get back at his father; she had just executed a guard and seemed indifferent to this act. Brida looked at Osthryth, her face expressionless, but she did lower her sword.

"I was once in the same position that you are now in," Brida said to Osthryth.

"Not the same," Osthryth told her, hoping with a shared memory, the suggestion of compassion that Brida was showing her, where the Cymric showed her none, that she might provoke some sort of shared empathy.

"Not the same," Brida repeated. "My men did not mean to miss. But, you are alive, and may be valuable to me." She glanced up to the grating. "We took the city three days ago. Or rather, Sygtryggr fled. Stiorra - " Brida broke off. "Men are searching for her, and her brats. And - " she broke off again, and looked at Osthryth's stomach. "You had your child, did you not?"

"I did," Osthryth told her. Good, she thought to herself, more connection. "A son. He is not with me. And yourself, Brida?" The woman, who had not taken her eyes of Osthryth, flickered the corner of her mouth.

"I have twin daughter," she told Osthryth. And then she took a few steps towards her, over the straw, and the corpses of two unfortunate mice who had chosen to sample the food. "You are to come with me, Osthryth," she told her, still in Danish. "For I have a prophecy to tell."

"A prophecy?" And Osthryth was immediately transported back to Dunholm, nearly thirty years before, where Skade, a supposed seer, had been imprisoned. Skade, who had targeted Uhtred, had ensnared his life by whispering prophecies to him, had been no match for Brida, who has scoffed at her words. But now, even looking at the woman who had freed her, and who Osthryth had freed, she might even see some of the foretelling-madness in Brida's face.

Her stomach rumbled - had she really been in the cell for three days? Best play along with Brida, if it meant she would get back out.

"Come with me, Osthryth of Alba," Brida called to her, her voice sing-songy and light, as if calling her name was part of what she was doing. "Come with me, to the throne room! Witness my power."

Osthryth did, although when she looked back at that time in her mind, she would remember that it felt like her legs were moving on their own, without Osthryth commanding that they should. And she followed her, past the dead guard and throught the oak door, along a torch-lit passageway where warriors deferred to Brida by inclining their heads to the floor, and all the time Osthryth could think only of the self-induced madness that Skade had invoked, and that had cost Sigurd Bloodhair and other powerful Danish and Norse warlords their lives.

And another thing, as they ascended the stone steps of what Osthryth was increasingly suspecting was the dungeon of Eoferwic's stone hall: the hush, the quiet. Not even the footsteps of warriors, nor the pervasion of voices got to Osthryth's ears. It didn't take long for her to realise why.

They were in the hall. And the silence belied just the sheer number of people that it held: people were packed into the space with little or no room to move. At the front were ranged Norse and Gaels alike, their shields before them, their swords bescabbarded. Some, who were guarding the closed front doors of the hall held spears taller than they were.

And, in front of the warriors, near the centre of the hall, were two chairs - thrones perhaps. Had they once been Stiorra and Sygtryggr's? Where were they now, Uhtred's daughter, and Ragnall's brother?

"Come in, come in!" called a voice from just behind the thrones. And it took a moment for Osthryth to realise that it was talking to her. Taking a few faltering steps, the lack of food for some days taking its toll, she tried to hold herself as upright as possible, chin high, shoulders back. What had Brida brought her here for?

Osthryth glanced back, and then realised that Brida was not beside her. Indeed, the woman commander had now made her way to the centre of the hall, defined by even more warriors, and stood beside the thrones, looking at them. Warily? Osthryth was not sure. Or calculatingly. It was clear one was meant for her and the other, Ragnall and, sure enough, the Norse leader stood beside the other throne. He caught Brida's eye, and the woman's lips turned up at the corners again. Was this their coronation?

And then Ragnall began to talk to Osthryth again, stepping forward of the throne and holding out a hand. "Welcome, welcome!" he declared in Norse. "Osthryth of Alba! Of Mercia! Of wherever she is at the moment!"

A hearty laugh filled the hall, and Osthryth stopped walking. She had been allowed to keep Buaidh for a reason.

"Come join us; have no fear!" Ragnall continued.

"I have no fear," Osthryth told him, and it was almost true. There seemed something unnatural about the gathering, something strange. But she carried on walking nonetheless.

And turned. In front of the warriors, at the front of the group, knelt six men. It was clear they had been captured, and patently clear, from the knives at their throat, that their time was soon. She looked back to Ragnall, who was still holding out a hand of welcome.

Where was Brida? Osthryth's mind was diverted for a moment. She had been opposite Ragnall.

"Come, Osthryth," he told her, a mocking tone in his voice as he examined Osthryth for her reaction. "Stand by me. Come to see what you have brought your warriors to."

And to her horror, Osthryth saw that these were no ordinary prisoners, but her Mercians, kneeling, silently, close to the end of their lives. Aeglfrith and Oshere, brothers and comrades in arms knelt closes to her, and to the left of Oshere, Falkbald, focusing on a spot on the floor. Aelfkin was beside Falkbald, and at the end of the row was her dearest friend. Aelffrith was staring straight ahead, refusing to meet Osthryth's eye.

The soldier in Osthryth began to think. Think, and plan. Did Aelffrith have a plan? Did Aelfkin? He had been their leader before Osthryth had arrived; perhaps he had briefed his men on what to do? Something, Osthryth reasoned, with growing alarm, anything, Aelffrith!

Wait, there were six swords, six warriors brought to the front. It slowly dawned on Osthryth that, in the absence of the mormaers and Owain, there could only be one person to fill the space under the sixth sword.

Osthryth felt her hand move to Buaidh. Fighting her way out, though her odds were impossible, was the only thing she could do. Why it was her warriors were under blade was irrelevant now - what they did now was. No swords, Osthryth thought. Ragnall - or Brida - really means their death.

But wait - she had a sword. Was the implication that she would fight for their freedom?

However, before Osthryth could pursue that idea, a wailing sound came from the back of the hall, a wailing, mewing sound, like kittens searching for their mother. All heads turned to the thrones, and just beyond it. Osthryth saw Brida then, holding the hands of two children.

It was the children who were crying, crying out their pitiful moans, and Brida stooped to their level, pushing one child close to her, so she could speak in Brida's ear, and then the other. She then looked at Osthryth, and the look was not pleasant.

"My seers, dear ones, have Seen beyond this world, and they tell me...! They tell me...!" Brida paused, and looked around the room. And it occurred to Osthryth that this could not be real - could not be true. How could two children tell Brida anything?

But the Norse were straining to listen, and Osthryth looked again at the children - both girls, it seemed to Osthryth, around five years old. And both girls, when Osthryth examined their faces, were blind.

No, not blind, Osthryth told herself sharply, blinded. Their eyes put out, for whatever reason...for the reason of - Osthryth made her eyes move slowly back to Brida, who was holding the childrens' hand - the reason of...receiving words from the Gods.

Osthryth set her jaw firm - if Brida could castrate a man, a priest, for no other reason than being a priest and being Uhtred son, would she have drawn the line at blinding two children? Dread and horror, like icy water, filled her stomach as she recalled Brida's words: she had twin daughters. Could these two pitiful children, so cruelly treated, be her own?

"They say, Ragnall," Brida told the Norseman, "That victory will come with Osthryth of Bebbanburg - yes, of course that is who you are," Brida added. "And to prove it, she must fight. And prepare to die."

"Then I will fight," Osthryth told Brida, a plan instantly forming in her mind. "I will fight for my men - " she thrust an arm towards the Mercians - where the Alba lords were, Osthryth was at a loss. "I will fight," she continued, thumping her chest, and then raising her fist, "That my loyal men of Mercia will go free. And I have victory at hand! I - have - victory!"

It had been one night around a fire, many years ago, when Osthryth explained the name behind her sword. Won in a fighting contest at Tara, when the High King was to be crowned, and Mael Muire, Constantine's aunt, got married, Buaidh - Victory - had never been from her, and had been her replacement for the one stolen by Ninefingers. Her men knew most of the story, and had especially enjoyed rolling their eyes at the weak joke.

They weren't rolling their eyes now, Osthryth knew - each and every one of them knew that she was talking of Buaidh. But what she was not expecting was who her opponent would be.

It was Uhtred.

Osthryth had never seen her brother so subdued, so broken before. Blood trickled from the crown of his head, and his arm seemed to be misshapen. At his ankles, slave chains, and he shuffled about next to Ragnall.

Impossible! Screamed her brain, as she looked over to her brother. How had he been chained? More to the point, how could he have been captured? Had Aethelstan, or Aethelflaed, even, just given him up? That was more unlikely than Uhtred being captured.

Uhtred's blade was called "Serpent Breath", and he was holding her tightly in his hand, never taking his eyes, unblinking as they were, from Osthryth.

"Oh yes, we neglected to tell you that the fight to death - or glory - " Ragnall told her, glancing to Osthryth's warriors, "Was with the man you hate most in the world."

Osthryth looked to her brother again, and then across to Ragnall. "Unchain him!" Osthryth demanded. "Why has he been chained?" she demanded to know.

But Ragnall ignored her, and looked across to Brida, before back to Osthryth. He seemed very pleased with himself, like a cat, Osthryth thought, who had captured a particularly enormous rat.

"My now, I wonder who would the advantage," he mused, for effect.

"I would," Osthryth boasted. "I have been waiting a long time for this, brother," and, at the word, turned her head back to Uhtred. Chained ankles, he was still able to move them, and he stood, warrior ready before her.

How had Uhtred let himself be captured? But of course he hadn't, Osthryth told herself, there was some ruse here. Did the Norse know? Did Ragnall know? Brida? She seemed too wrapped up in the ritual of being Danish, with its the trappings, its process, to really be noticing what was happening in the hall before her.

There must be something, Osthryth reasoned. But Uhtred was giving her nothing.

So Osthryth did not hesitate. Whatever this was, it had to seem real, so she began by lunging forward towards Uhtred, who was not prepared for the speed she was going for. Instead of attacking him, however, she thrust Buaidh into a rope that was holding up the banners of Ragnall's line. A Norse standard fell down over her brother, who fought himself out of it, elbows and wrists, to the laughter and encouragement of all who were watching.

When it lay on the ground, Uhtred roared at her, a guttural ache of a sound, and shuffled forward, the chain between his ankles long enough to stride with, which he did effectively, plunging Serpent Breath towards her, which she thrust away from her, holding the handle of her sword with two hands.

"Osthryth!" She heard her name on the periphery of her ear, but it was too dim, too dull to pay attention to. Uhtred came back with a blow of his own which struck the hilt of Buaidh, bending one of the hand protection pieces. Osthryth moved her hand in time, hitting Uhtred at the back of his leg with the pommel. It wasn't enough to make him fall, but he twisted awkwardly, and the stab of his sword which was aiming for her torso.

Around them, a groan went up, Norsemen appreciating a fight, and a missed blow was a disappointement. Osthryth turned and, while Uhtred struggled to his feet, Osthryth willed him to let go a hint, a shard of light to land into her brain and make it all make sense. What is it, brother? she asked the world. What is going on?

She sneaked a glance at the crowd. Her Mercian warriors were still kneeling, faces away. But where were Oengus and Feilim? Owain? Her eyes darted around, looking for anyone, any clue that she could use. And Uhtred's men...Sihtric, Osferth...Finan...

...what was going on?

So she kept her advantage, despite suddenly wearying. Lack of food was now making her muscles tired, but she shook her head and made herself focus. What do you need, Uhtred? What?

Uhtred stood before her again, a ferocious look on her face, and this time the advantage was his, as he drove her back towards the rear of the hall, giving her no time to catch her feet nor reply in kind. The blade got close to Osthryth's face with the next blow, but she slipped under Uhtred's arm, shoving his elbow, which clearly pained him, and he jolted forward.

Clearly? No, this was acting. He had smeared blood on himself to make himself look injured. The chains were not locked around his ankles, although from a distance they appeared to be.

Behind Uhtred, and Osthryth turned the point of Buaidh to Uhtred's back, tapping it lightly, and then scoring down his leather jerkin, though it looked more brutal than it was. He should get the hint now, that she knew there was a ruse. But the pain in her leg told Osthryth different: Uhtred had kicked back forcefully with the chain, which had whipped into her shin.

That was painful, and Osthryth staggered back, crying out with pain and anger. Why won't you help me guess the plan? Osthryth raged in her mind. Let me help you!

"Finish him!" came a cry from Ragnall's direction, and a quick glance told Osthryth that Brida, with a contented grin on her face, was enjoying every moment of the fight. She had her daughters, if that's who the poor little mites were, beside her. And beside them, two more children were now standing.

Osthryth spat out the dust in her mouth and brushed of the bits of splintered wood that had flown up from the damaged hall floor. She narrowed her eyes to Uhtred.

"Ready to give up, brother?" she shouted, for now was a good time for the trash talk. "You are already half-beaten, Daneslayer." And she made sure to emphasise Uhtred's epithet, to wind up the Norse even more.

"Never!" Uhtred called back, his voice sounding hoarse though not letting that get in the way of his hostility. And he bore down on Osthryth again, dropping Serpent Breath into an axe blow. But Osthryth intercepted it with a thrust of her own, which caught Uhtred in the wrist. He dropped Buaidh, and lurched forward from the momentum of the intended blow.

"You're a very good warrior, brother. Now surrender." And her effected manners caused a ripple of laughter amongst the Norse. Tell me! Osthryth begged. Show me!

"I'm unable to oblige you, Osthryth," Uhtred replied, in a similarly deliberate tone.

"Can't you see that you won't win this? Surrender and you won't die!" The plan, damn-it!

"Who said anything about dying?" And Uhtred upped the effort in his engagement in the fight, sending blow after blow, wounding Osthryth in her neck and shoulder and side.

"Osthryth!" Someone was calling her name. But she was staggering back now, recalibrating her options and adapting to what she had left. The pain was immense, sharper and deeper than many she had sustained before. Rallying, Osthryth tried to manoeuvre herself, but could not, because she had backed herself up towards the guards on the western doors and so she was forced to stay in one place as Uhtred drove from side to side, attacking her.

And then it came. His voice was low, and Osthryth thought that she had missed it. But it came, and his words made her heart lift, her spirit rise. "Parry left," he told her, and here was it, the part Osthryth needed to play. Somewhere there had been a conspiracy, and it would now be over.

Osthryth parried left. And realise what a mistake that had been. Uhtred had been ready with a back-handed blow, which forced Buaidh back to the right and made Osthryth lose her balance. She fell, hitting her head on the hall floor. A gasp and an, "Oooh!" filled the air as she opened her eyes. Buaidh was still in her hand. But it wasn't enough as Uhtred trod heavily on her already damaged arm.

Two hands were on serpent breath now, and it was coming own towards her. The killing blow. It was no comspray after all. Her brother was about to cleave his blade into her body. Osthryth closed her eyes.

But the blow did not come. What did come was a thump, a body falling next to her. The pressure came off Osthryth's arm, and she withdrew it, opening her eyes. Beside her, Aelffrith lay dead, Serpent Breath embedded so far into his chest that her point was grazing the back of his jerkin. Her loyal friend had put himself in front of her brother's killing stroke, and laid down his life for her.

A hush descended in the hall. All eyes guided themselves over to Ragnall, who was clearly enjoying the proceedings. Brida, meanwhile, seemed to be talking to the two children who had come to stand beside her, quiet and timid-looking.

"Victory, and we have Uhtred! The Daneslayer!" Ragnall declared. "Finish her, and my warriors can drench their blades in Mercian blood!" Osthryth pushed herself backwards trying to get to her feet, but it was too late: Uhtred had withdrawn his sword from the body of Aelffrith with a wet sound, and was holding it up over his head again, his expression one of stoic determination.

She did not expect what came next. A shout went up from Brida, who still had the other children beside her. She glanced from Uhtred and Osthryth, then knelt beside the boy and the girl.

"They say that they cannot see beyond this world!" Brida shrieked the words, as if a Bean Sidhe had come across over the Irish sea to speak for her. "So I must help them!"

There! It was then that Osthryth saw the first whisper of a counter-attack. In the crowd, soemone moved, someone made the warriors stand out of the way. A woman.

She stepped forward, as Brida continued her explanation, and stood at the very edge, next to Aeglfrith.

"I will make them see beyond this world!" Brida was saying. And a blade was in her hand.

Osthryth saw the woman was Stiorra, and so the children, she reasoned, must be hers and Sygtryggr's.

But what transpired next was just fragments in her mind. An image of young Finan flashed before her eyes, and she wondered about him for just a moment, before glancing to Aelffrith's body, now bereft of breath. Life too, Osthryth mourned. A hand crept over her mouth and a strong hand around her body.

"You are coming with me!" Ragnall's voice was at her ear, and Osthyrth had no time to scream, even if she wanted to. The last thing she remembered was Stiorra stepping towards her father and Uhtred handing her Serpent Breath. And the screams from Brida as Stiorra hacked her to pieces. They yes, they were firmly lodged in Osthryth's memory as Ragnall Ivarsson dragged her from Eoferwic's great hall.

88888888

The night air was cool and crisp. Warriors poured into the floodplains around Eoferwic out of the hall at the centre of the city. There had been a breach of defences, and somehow, Mercians, Norse and Gaels had managed to storm through the gates and attack the skeleton defences around the perimeter wall.

And, as Ragnall's forces fought from a standing start, from the hypnosis of an entertaining battle, against a band of warriors who had spent the last two days marching south east. They had traversed the lower landscape between the Pennine hills, crossing west to east Northumbria, past Stanemore and Ripon, and now was having the advantage over a group of Norse at the northern gate.

"Did he say how it was done?" Aeswi, had asked, just an hour before the battle. Merewalh, who had been the one to speak to Aldhelm, shook his head.

"All I know is that Uhtred managed to access the city through the sewers. He pretented he was a captive and got a guard to bring him to Ragnall." He looked at the wooden palisade wall. "His men are inside the city now, and should open the gates. And - " And he broke off when he saw three men striding across the field to them.

"Oengus! Feilim!" exclaimed Aeswi, clapping both men on the back. "Prince Owain!" He held out a hand to the prince, who took it, but saw his face. He turned back to Oengus.

"We were separated," Oengus told them. "The Mercians were captured by Ragnall's men." He stopped, abruply. And, though Aeswi thought he could guess, he had to ask, anyway.

"Osthryth, did they take our captain?"

"They did," Oengus told him. He glanced over Aeswi's shoulder and saw the men with him, two hundred, from both Cumbraland and from Strathclyde, combined. Waiting for them at Eamont Bridge, as of both his brother Findal, and Dyfnwal, had been expecting them.

"We wait," Aeswi told them all and, in the absence of a commander, turned to Merewalh and said in Anglish, "You are the highest ranking warrior of our captain's men. We defer to you for instructions, for we are here to fight for Mercia." And once he had translated back to Oengus and Feilim, both mormaers nodded in agreement.

"But you'll have to tell me what it is you are planning - they don't speak a word of it."

"Some of us do," one man spoke up. He stood away from the group, and was perhaps their leader. "Might Prince Owain translate for those Cymric speakers of us?" Aeswi smiled, and looked at Merewalh.

"He can," Merewalh told him, and asked Aeswi to inform Owain of a duty for them. "We need to discuss the last time you saw the captain," Merewalh told them. "And you have some other men?" The men in question, clothed in red, stood a little apart from Oengus and Feilim.

"Gwyneddians," Aeswi told Merewalh, "Loyal to Prince Owain, and so we find them in our number."

"Good," Merewalh replied. "They and the Cumbraland men and those of Strathclyde - they should fight well together. And we need to find Aldhelm." He glanced across at the field, stalwart men doing a job, holsing fast against the enemy. "Where's Aelffrith?"

"Taken," Oengus told him. Merewalh inhaled. The only Mercian amongst two hundred savages? He'd better plan well, if he wanted to see his countrymen again.

Now, as the Norse and Gaels flooded out of Eoferwic's city the plan was in place: Merewalh had spoken to Aldhelm, who had told him that Uhtred was to open the gates. Their objective - which became the Strathclyde and Cumbraraland objective, was to attack the minute they got out, pen them as close to the palisade and keep them from gaining ground. Uhtred, if the plan went well, would be pressing the men forward with a force inside, expelling them from Eoferwic.

And it was working. In amongst the chaos, Ragnall strode out of the city gates, holding tight a struggling Osthryth in his arms. He looked about at the chaos, watching his Northmen fighting the attackers, and trying to fix his eyes on the Ulaid warriors. Osthryth was needed, he knew. For, she was never intended to die. His purpose in obtaining her was to convince her that Constantine had already made an agreement with Anlaf Guthfrithson and that she should bring down men to help defend Eoferwic. In kind, he was to send troops north, to honour it.

But Brida had had her own ideas, and he, like a fool, had gone along with them, and wasted time. Well, he just had to make up this time. It was a pity that Sygtryggr had fled the city. His wife, no doubt, would be under the protection of her father, and that really was a blow that Uhtred the Daneslayer was inside Eoferwic - had his men not captured him?

No matter. He found the men he was looking for, Gaels from the top north-eastern corner of Eireann, who were bound to him because he had rescued them from watery graves.

"Shield wall!" The call had come up, and around the northern and western edges of the defences an arc of Mercians and allies, shields touching, another line behind, shields above their comrades' faces.

And through a gap in the palisade came a column of men, hurling themselves at speed at the vacating Norse, swords held high, renting the air with blood-curdling cries. Above them, clouds rolled in, threatening rain.

From inside Eoferwic, five warriors had joined three others: Osthryth's Mercians, led by their previous leader Aelfkin sought the warriors of Uhtred of Bebbanburg. They knew them, for they had fought them several days before. Now, free of bonds, free of blades to the neck, Aelfkin told them his opinion was that they should find the men and join with them.

"Our object is one thing only," he told his remaining soldiers. "To fight for our Lady. And if our Lady has sent her commander Uhtred, we are obliged to find our what that is, and act accordingly."

It was the longest speech Aeglfrith thought their young commander had ever made in his life. He nodded his head and then took Aelfkin's arm in his fist.

"I agree!" he called, and then Oshere and Falkbald also took Aelfkin's arm.

"Mercia!" cried Aelfkin. But said no more, for there was a shout going on outside. He tilted his head and listened. They were shouting for Mus.

"That's our cry!" Oshere exclaimed. And, from their place not far from Sihtric and Osferth, they too took up the cry. Behind them, Sygtryggr stood, beside Stiorra and Uhtred, as his father-in-law strode over to them.

Outside, the cry continued. Whether Osthryth heard it or registered it, it was clear she was in trouble. Ragnall, who had now gone back to the fray, had deposited her, wrists bound, sword confiscated, with four large Gaels, who knew that they had it easy, essentially babysitting a bound prisoner. When Ragnall left her, she immediately tried to run, but fell at their feet. All of them burst into mocking laughter.

"Protect her! She is of value!" Ragnall cried in Norse, as he disappeared, and Osthryth, who had seen Buaidh, thrown in her direction, reached for it. A booted foot trod heavily on her hand.

"Mercian bastard!" declared one, and the one standing on her foot pressed harder. Osthryth screamed. And then she was hauled up by her shoulders, the man shook her, hard.

"You're not a man!" the warrior told Osthryth, looking at her, closely.

"Ragnall said not," Osthryth managed, panting at the effort. Her head was woozy and she just wanted to rest. "He told you - " But the man felt about her body, over her stomach, and chest.

"Where are your tits?" He tried to feel for them, and then pulled at Osthryth's jerkin. But another warrior pushed his hand away.

"Don't be a fool, Seomath. Ragnall will kill you!"

"He doesn't have to know," the man called Seomath told his comrade. But another pushed him away too. For he had picked up Buaidh.

"I know this blade," the third man told him. "A long, long time ago, my brother forged this - I will never forget it. The only one he ever made with folded steel, like the Frankish swords." The other three Gaelish warriors stood around it, moonlight reflecting off its long metal. Osthryth, still being held by the first warrior stumbled back.

"Look, we need to look after - her, Colm," emphasised the second, and he took hold of Osthryth by the shoulders. "At least she doesn't understand anything we are saying." He let Osthryth sit on an upturned shield.

"I undertand - well enough," Osthryth panted in Gaelish, and then a shiver came over her, and she felt her knees crumple. The man called Colm caught her, and used the back of his hand to feel her forehead.

"Not fever," he said. "Perhaps some water? Seomath, bring one of the skins."

"My thanks," Osthryth said to him, in Gaelish. Seomath and his brother Seomar, glanced at Colm, who had put the water to her lips and helped her drink. When he moved it away again, she added. "I won that blade in a fighting competition, a long time ago." The fourth man, Caelduin looked at her face, and then back to the blade.

"It says, "Buaidh." He grinned at Osthryth. "Have you had much "Buaidh" with her?" Colm, who claimed his brother had forged her, glanced at the engraving and back to Osthryth.

"Never lost," she told them.

"Until now," Caelduin pointed out. And then, Colm, looking back from the blade, turned his face to Osthryth.

"Are you...no! You can't be that girl..."

"I won that sword in a fight against a man called Brin, who was the servant of Prince Domnall mac Aed." And she waited, waited for the realisation to dawn, if indeed the warrior called Colm had been at Teamreach, at the cnoc where all High Kings were proclaimed.

And Osthryth was transported away from this battlefield, and the cries and the screams of war, to a balmy late summer thirty years before, when she had been part of Domhnall mac Aed Ui Alpin's company, as Constantine's companion and warrior. She had lost Faedersword then, but had chosen to fight to win another. When Mael Muire was married again and Flann, king of the southern Ui Neill, had cast aside Domnall's sister to be a slave so he could climb high enough to be High King...

...when Taghd had demonstrated what being hand wed meant, and the Morrigan had seen to it that they had developed feelings for one another...

...when Eira and Mairi were but girls and Osthryth had taught them to read and write...when Niall Glundubh and his cousin MaelColm were small children...

...where she had learned how to ride Constantine, thrusting down on top of him, to grind her clitoris, so that she could bring on an orgasm...

...where she had seen the cruelty of kings as Domhnall allowed Finnolai to be taken as a slave...when Osthryth, who had disovered she was pregnant had a choice, to spend her silver piece on abortificant or give it to Finnolai to flee with...Osthryth always knew she had made the right choice, even before she had gone to Caer Ligualid for Domhnall, before Finnolai had aided her and Eirik Thurgilson's escape...

...so many things had happened from Osthryth going to Eireann with Domhnall and Constantine, that she could never imagine not having gone there.

"It must have been when Flann Sinna was Proclaimed," Colm mused, leaning back onto some of the derelict stone that had once been an outbuilding. "Caelduin, you were there, were you not? You processed to Ar Madcha with us, and down to Midhe?"

"Yes," Caelduin agreed, and he too looked at Osthryth closely. "We were of Aed Findliath's guard." Osthryth was shocked. Why were they here, then, if they were Ui Neill guards?

"Because we went, when the Princesses were wed to the Ulaid princes, as their guards. We became men of Cineal mac Conchobar's household. Until - " He broke off. "Anyway, we remained. And when Cineal died, Conall allied with the Norse, chose appeasement rather than war."

"And Flann, claiming "rí in Chóicid", so Conall Mac Conceal ui Conchobar became king of the Ulaid, and we followed him because he had been King Cineal's heir, after the young prince had betrayed them."

Young prince? Two princes of the Ulaid? Osthryth did not like where this was going. She blinked upwards, and looked at the twinkling sky above them.

"King Conall was the Ulaid king?" Osthryth sought to clarify.

"Oh yes," Colm told her. "So we did as he wanted, which upset Flann Sinna, who was determined to expel every Northman from Eireann, or at least," he chuckled, "Ui Neill territory, which by then included, he claimed, the Ulaid land."

"But he has died," Osthryth interrupted, sharply. "Does not Prince Domnall rule?"

"You are very well informed," Colm noted, caution in his voice. "But yes, there is a successor, Flann's son Donnchada." He looked sadly to Seomath and Seomar. "You said as much: Prince Donnchada would never have expelled us - "

"Sent us out into the sea, he did, with his guards and pushed us over. It was lucky King Conall was passing by and had sympathy for us." He exhaled. "We allied with Ragnall, who promised us land in Northumbria if we joined him and supported him."

"Domnall," Osthryth whispered, as she thought about the prince. She had a connection with him; he was her friend - he supported her, looked after her wellbeing, especially after Constantine's moods. Looking back, if she had not been hiding the secret that she was of Bebbanburg, not sought Uhtred, Osthryth might have stayed in Eireann.

"I think I do know you," Osthryth told Colm, continuing in Gaelish, and glanced over to Caelduin. "Were you there at Doire, when the Norse attacked? Were you there, when King Aed Findliath died, at Ar Madcha?" And now it was Caelduin, his large body turned towards Osthryth, who smiled down to her.

"I was," he told her. "And I remember you. You taught the royal children. We were processing to Tara..." He broke off for a moment, before his face lit up with realisation. "Yes, yes, you were with the exiled princes of Alba! Prince Domnall saved you from drowning in the Northern sea."

Osthryth could not help but smile. While she had disliked her days in Eireann, time had put distance from the hurt, and she remembered with fondness the camaraderie she felt with Feargus and Finnolai, with Constantine and Domhnall.

"My king, she told them. "King Domhnall, of Pictland, of Dal Riata, of Gael-land." And then she looked across to where, she hoped, the mormaers might be fighting.

"I won that blade, and it was gifted to me by Flann Sinna," she concluded. "I said the words of loyalty to him..."To the line of Àlpin, King of Alba, to Domhnall, Constantine mac Aed and all who come after."

And she wanted to tell them that, if they unbound her, if they let her free, they could all go and join the fight on behalf of Mercia, and if it was land they wanted, Aethelflaed might well see to reward them.

But something stopped her, Osthryth's words sticking in her throat. The four Gaels were standing smarter now, and were looking across the field. A sudden dread filled Osthryth's stomach as Colm stepped forward.

"Lord King!" he called, and bowed his head.

"Why aren't you fighting?" King Conall asked them. "With Ragnall?"

"He brought us a hostage, Lord King," Colm explained. "He told us to keep her here!" And Osthryth looked slowly up to the Ulaid king, her heart sinking.

For she recognised the blade he was carrying in his left hand: it was Faedersword, Osthryth's father's sword that she had taken with her from Bebbanburg, on the night she had fled from the marriage her uncle was to force on her. Which she had lost to an Ulaid prince. But not before she had made him minus one finger...

"What are you staring at you useless piece of Alba shit?" he growled, then looked to Caelduin. "Is this Constantine's diplomat?" And he took off his gloves and stretched his digits. It was Ninefingers.

"It is the warrior who fought against Uhtred," Seomath told him, looking leeringly towards Osthryth.

"Ragnall needs you," Ninefingers told her, dismissively. "He wishes you take an offer to Constantine.

"Constantine?" Osthryth felt her heart rushing. Her eyes dimmed as the sun dimmed. Salt water splashed on her lips; sickness welled in her stomach.

"Anlaf would like to make a treaty," he continued, sheathing Faedersword, and striding around his men, as if easing his joints.

"Anlaf?" Osthryth managed. It was Ninefingers, she told herself again. The only person she had ever been truly afraid of. And she hadn't realised it until just then, until he was standing only a few feet from her.

"What is the matter, stupid man,do you not understand Gaelish?" Ninefingers growled at her, taking up a skin of water and thrusting it towards his face. When his beard was completely drenched and he had thrust the leather water container back towards Seomar, he continued his tirade, "You are Constantine's man, are you not?"

But then, the exiled king of the Ulaid realised something: he realised she was staring between Faedersword and at his hand. Ninefingers realised it too, and slow realisation spread across his face.

"Ah, ahh..." he exclaimed, with satisfaction. "The Gaelish bratling..." He straightened his neck and leaned over to Osthryth, eyes roaming her body, satisfied she was restrained by ties at her wrists. "I knew we would meet again one day, witch." Then, he looked up to the sky. "Will you steal the sun this day, as you did then?" And then he pulled Osthryth towards him, making her stand her body to his. He pulled off the rope at her wrist and pushed one hand down his breeches, smoothing it around his cock with his own. "Remember this?" he purred, then let out an involuntary sigh. "You choked on it, once."

"This changes things," King Conall said to his men, who were watching their king make Osthryth fondle him. "They burn witches in Alba, do they not?"

"And traitrous kings," Osthryth spat back. King Conall laughed. Then, he grabbed the back of her jerkin and marched her across the field, to a place where the fighting had ceased. Men were regrouping; Norse were huddling together by the gates of Eoferwic, large numbers killed, which were now being taken from the battlefield.

Ninefingers, however, stepped over the dead, pushing Osthryth further forward towards a group of men standing together. At once she recognised Aldhelm, who was standing beside her brother, and her brother's men. To the other, was her Mercian men, and a faint glimmer of happiness sprang into her mind that they were not dead, and were with Aldhelm. It passed, however, when she remembered that Aelffrith was dead.

And before Uhtred was another man, similar in height and build and resemblance to Ragnall. Beside him, Stiorra, and beside her, two children.

"I have Constantine's messanger!" King Conall called to them. "Ragnall told me to tell you that if you do not yield, Sygtryggr, she will cause the sun to die, and curse the Norse and Mercians who oppose you! And I will have no choice but to tie her up and burn her for the witch she is."

An uneasy silence fell. Everyone who was with Uhtred was staring at Osthryth and Conall. And so it was that the sky began to cloud over. A rumble of thunder came from the west.

Behind them, Osthryth noticed, the four Gaels that Ragnall had tasked with guarding her had followed their king and were standing behind them. A cry went up, a low yell, and a storm of blades and axes began to fight anew. It could only be Constantine's mormaers. But who was fighting with them?

It wouldn't be long until everyone would begin to fight again, Osthryth reasoned. Battles were like that: skirmishes would break out, and then huge battles would recommence so that everyone was fighting at once.

"Mormaers!" Osthryth shouted over the noise in Gaelish. "Do your worst!"

But there was no movement from any men close to Sygtryggr. Indeed, one man did step forward, taking Sygtryggr by the arm and leading him out into the centre of the group.

"Men!" Uhtred proclaimed. "Norse, Northumbrians. Christians. This is your true king! He claims the land his forebears won, and he will tolerate all faiths in Eoferwic. He had sworn to peace with Mercia and Wessex, and promises that lives can be lived in Northumbria; people can live in peace and prosperity!" Uhtred held Sygtryggr's arm again, leading him round the makeshift arena of men, paused in their fighting to listen to Uhtred.

"All hail King Sytryggr!" Uhtred added, holding his son-in-law's hand high into the air.

"All hail King Sytryggr!" came the reply. And beside Stiorra, Osthryth glimpsed the unmistakeable form of Aethelstan.

"The battle is over!" Sygtryggr began, beginning his first speech as newly-acclaimed king of Northumbria. "And I say to all of you now - "

"It is not over!" From beside Osthryth, Ninefingers screamed a reply. "Ragnall! Where are you! Men of the Norse! Gaels! We fight on!"

And he was just about to pull Osthryth towards him, when a reply came.

"Conall! It is not over!" The voice came out of the cloud-gloomed landscsape. "It is not over, brother!"

It was Finan.

It took a long time for Osthryth to relate Finan to Conall, how much that it felt like a dream to her. If he were the brother of the man who had tortured her, on the beach at Doire...the man who had acceded the Ulaid throne...then he was the one who...who had held her down while Ninefingers had forced himself into her mouth...had tied her to the sea-rock...had stood with his brother and warched the tide come in...

"No!" Osthryth screamed, as Conall pushed her aside. "No!" But Finan did not look at her as she backed into the Gaelish warriors to whom she had been speaking not ten minutes before.

Finan? Married to Gormlaith? She had borne her husband, the Ulaid prince, two sons...he had been the brother sold to slavery after running off with Ninefingers' wife.

"Brathair beag," Conall murmured. "You live, too." His words were matter-of-fact, cold. "What, are the peasants at Warrna going to spring out of the ground as well?"

They fought, as the Gaelish warriors stood beside Osthryth, keeping her from running, keeping her close at hand.

And she continued to watch as Finan's anger, greater ever than Osthryth's could be, bettered his brother, and killed him, in front of his men, in front of Ragnall Ivarsson, his sworn general stabbed in the chest with his own sword.

It was only then that Finan stared at Conall, before lifting Faedersword and trod the blood-soaked earth to Osthryth.

"Yours," he said to her, nodding his head, his eyes on her face as hers were on his before thrusting the blade into the soil in front of Osthryth's feet. Then he turned, and crossed back to where Uhtred was standing, beside the new king of Northumbria without even a second glance to the corpse that was once his own brother.

But all that was superseded because, over the ground, under the sword of the figure that looked to be Aeswi, with the mormaers close beside him was Ragnall.

The brother of the new king of Eoferwic struggled, but not for long. Sygtryggr offered for his brother to join him. Ragnall refused.

And Sygtryggr refused Uhtred's offer to execute Ragnall Ivarsson, choosing instead to be the one to run him through.

But he could not go through with it. Instead, Sygtryggr watched his brother flee Eoferwic.

"Not a good day for brothers," mused Colm, not fully realising the gravity of his statement.

"Osthryth!" came a cry from across the battlefield, and Merewalh raced towards her, her Mercians close behind him.

"You came!" Osthryth told him. "You, and Aeswi..."

"We had men waiting; they did themselves, and Cumbraland, and Strathclyde proud. Owain led them, and - "

"Owain...?" Osthryth asked, in wonder, forgetting her hunger, her thirst, her tiredness, her instinct as a warrior in the foreground, wanting to hear the battle tales. Then, her face fell.

"We will find him, Osthryth," Merewalh told her. "Aelffrith will not go unburied." And then he glanced over her shoulder at the four Gaels who were standing close to Osthryth.

"They had me as hostage, Ragnall, King Conall." And she found it easier, much easier, to say his name with his body slumped on the battlefield not far away. "An alliance with Anlaf," she added, in Gaelish, knowing that while Oengus and Feilim, who had joined Aeswi and Merewalh, would understand, so would the four Gaels behind her.

"What will you do now?" Osthryth asked. "Return to Donnchada? Ask to be his guard again?"

"We could," mused Caelduin, reaching past Seomath and picking up Buaidh. "What will you do with two swords?"

"Fight twice as hard," Osthryth told him, taking her sword that she had won at Tara. However, before she could continue, a shuffling sound was coming from the west. As she looked, Osthryth saw that she was looking at men on horseback, and she followed the group until it became clear that it was Aethelflaed.

The Lady of the Mercians approached Sygtryggr and Uhtred, who were now organising the clean up of the battlefield, for metalwork to be collected, for graves to be dug, and was greeted by her title. She got down from her horse and surveyed the battlefield.

"Good that she turns up when its all over," Osthryth said, in Gaelish, and the Ulaid Gaels laughed. "She will likely give you land," she added, in Anglish, and she asked Merewalh, and strode up to her. Aethelflaed, with characteristic disdain, looked down on the weak and exhausted Osthryth carrying both her swords.

"I hear you fought well," she told Osthryth, who deliberately kept her eyes fixed on the woman, and not her brother, nor his men, nor Aethelstan, who was standing next to his aunt's horse, her boots indenting the blood-soaked earth. "How many months of your debt have you repaid now, Osthryth of Alba?"

"Four," Osthryth told her. If she was expecting thanks she did not get it. Instead, Aethelflared dismounted, and looked about her.

"And now I ride north with a proposal that is of mutual benefit," Osthryth continued. How dare you ignore me, she raged internally. Aethelflaed was still perusing the battlefield, when she turned her head back to Osthryth and continued to look at her with disdain.

"Oh, I know you propose an alliane between Constantine and Edward, that would be must amusing to you."

"No more amusing than that of Uhtred and Aethelred, or Eirik." That touched a nerve. Osthryth always remembered him as a gentle Northman, they had been imprisoned together at Cumbraland, he had died trying to flee Beamfleot with Aethelflaed, Siegfried killing him before himsled. Eibg killed intl the battle with the West Saxons.

"You know nothing of Eirik," Aethelflaed hissed, and raised a hand. Osthryth thought she was going to strike her. Maybe it was the two swords - she felt bold, cocky, and didn't care what her words did. Aelffrith was dead; Ninefingers had taken her again. And there was the Lady, uncaring, arrogant.

"I fought next to him, once, as he invaded Scotland." If she didn't know that, Osthryth thought, grimly, she did now. "I freed him from a prison cell we were both in." She touched her hair, finding the jewel that Eirik had given to her. "He gave me this, and I used it to escape our prison at Caer Ligualid." A crowd was gathering, but Osthryth did not care. It was the first time told anyone of that. "So, I know a deal about Eirik Thurgilson," Osthryth concluded. "And yes, if you wish an Anglaland, Edward should strike a bargain, and Mercia should feign blindness to its annexation."

"How dare you try to - " Aethelflaed's anger was now undisguised, and she stood in her stirrups and raised her riding crop.

"I did, Lady of the Mercians," Osthryth pointed out, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated. "I always thought the Mercians vould have done better. Your father never did allow their royal house to return, did he?"

"You have time left, to serve Mercia," Aethelflaed seemed to have regained her composure, and was now issuing orders. "i comnand you to protect my daughter Aelfflaed."

"Command me?" asked Osthryth scornfully.

"I ask you, fir the love you bear your daughter - Beocca and Thyra's daughter, protect mine! She is the future of Mercia!" And there was the humility of a proud woman, Osthryth thought. "No wonder all the Mercians loved her, followed her, willingky died for her. But Osthryth was not one of them. She shrugged.

"I will do what I can."

"You are leaving?" Aethelflaed exclaimed, truly bewildered by a reality that she didn't believe was possible. And now to Osthryth it seemed she believed something specific about her service to Mercia.

"You never specified that I must serve my two years at once. So, when I serve Mercia again, I will protect Aelfwynn; you have plenty of others who will do this." Not Aelffrith, one of your most loyal. "Or you lady, though you play at soldiery."

And that was it. There was the provocation, enough for Lady Aethelflaed to jump from her steed and stand on the ground, sword out of her scabbard in seconds.

"Fight me!" Aethelflaed demanded. Osthryth said nothing "Fight me!" Aethelflaed demanded again. Around them, whispers and titters of laughter came from all around them, on the battlefield that was the foreground of Eoferwic. But Osthryth turned away.

Osthryth only knew of Aethelflaed's attempt on her life when, as boots squelched in the mud. Osthryth turned back to see Uhtred's hand lowering the Lady's arm.

"I will not be responsible for dismantling your father's work," Osthryth told Aethelflaed. But then a chant began, a chant of her name, only: "Osthryth! Osthryth!"

And Osthryth left, walking north, in the direction of Alba. From many directions over the battlefield came men, her Mercians, the mormaers. Owain, too, and the Strathclyde and Cumbrian men, who had answered Mercia's call.

She had just turned to say something to Merewalh, about horses and provisions, when another man who had been following her. It was Finan. She stopped when she saw him, some distance from her warriors, and Finan advanced slowly.

"Osthryth, I - " Finan began.

"There is nothing to explain," Osthryth told him. "You are not the same man who held me down on the beach at Doire, nor tied me to a rock to let me drown. You are - " And her warriors, who were watching, saw Finan take Osthryth in his arms and kiss her, hard and for a very long time.

"I will come for you, Osthryth," he promised, "When we have Bebbanburg." It was a compromise, for Finan, a big compromise. But that didn't stop there being Ceinid, and her marriage to him, and Aedre and Finan beag.

There was nothing more to say, but there was more to be done. Merewalh, with Aeglfrith, Oshere, Aelfkin and Falkbald, crossed the field with horses and food for her and the mormaers, whether they were their original ones, Osthryth did not know.

"Finan!" called Uhtred, and the warrior turned, glancing at the body of his brother as he strode past it and to his lord. Beside him, Aethelstan and a huge blonde Norseman, Berg Skallrgrimson, whose life he had saved on the beach at Tyddewi.

"We will see you again," Merewalh told her. "You have a year and eight months to serve."

"You will see me any time Mercia needs me," Osthryth promised. "It is safe, for now, but Donnchada may well not see it safe in the future, if Norse are allowed to collect on the shores of Eireann again. If that's where Ragnall ends up going."

"Why is it she is always riding away?" Finan asked Sihtric, who looked at his friend, with nothing to say.

"So what was it you did to her?" Uhtred needled. Finan shook his head.

"Come on, Sihtric," Uhtred told Kjartan's son, "We get Eadith for our Lord. And you, Baby Monk, Help me bury my kin." But Sihtric didn't move. Instead, he pointed to the north. Osthryth was riding back towards Eoferwic, and she was not alone.

And she was surprised to see her nephew in the company of Uhtred's men, who had come all the way from Ceastre at speed. Good, she thought, it would be good for Father Oswald to hear what she had to say.

"Brother," Osthryth said to Uhtred, and got down from her horse. "When I left Bebbanburg, I took this with me. It was our father's," she told him, holding out Faedersword to him. "I spent months, years looking for you, to bring it to you. I searched and searched for you, and had it taken from me. It is yours."

And into Uhtred's unguarded hand, Osthryth placed the prized sword, the one belonging to their father, also Uhtred of Bebbanburg. Uhtred looked at it.

"I want do I want with this?" Uhtred asked, scornfully, before throwing it back towards Osthryth. She felt pain in her chest, but stooped to pick it up anyway, looking over its sinews and contours, thinking of the times she had dreamed of seeing it again.

"I think it is a marvellous sword." Osthryth looked up to see that, beside King Sygtryggr her nephew was smiling at her.

And then she did something she swore she would never do. She put it into the hands of someone who was not Uhtred.

But, of course, he was. He was Uhtred, Uhtred's first born son.

"It must be kept with the male bloodline," Osthryth told him. And her nephew smiled at her.

"Then I will, aunt," he told her, before leaning over and embracing her. Then, Osthryth turned to Sygtryggr.

"I know you will advance north," she told her nephew-in-law. "But do not go to Cumbraraland - that country is mine." Sygtryggr could be forgiven for being taken aback. "Mine as widow of King Guthred, and is his -" she nodded up to Owain, who had come with her.

"I will speak to the king myself," Sygtryggr told her.

"He will come to the wall," Osthryth confirmed, "So, if you head directly north from here, you will get to Heavenfield. Constantine told me to tell you he will meet you there." But Sygtryggr was confused on one point, and wagged finger at Osthryth, curiously.

"If Cumbraland is yours you should know Uhtred has, just now, send his man Sihtric who has taken men in pursuit of Ragnall."

"Understood," Osthryth told him. "We are to go to the wall - now, to Caer Ligualid, to return the men who were lent here. "

"This is is where Ragnall headed," he conceded. And then took Osthryth's hand in his, and shook it for a moment. "It is a pleasure to meet you once more, Osthryth of Alba, that you survived childbirth, that your son is well."

"Your children too," Osthryth replied, and then allowed him to help her back onto her horse.

88888888

Just before they crossed the river Eden, outside Caer Ligualid, a week after leaving Eoferwic, Osthryth called her men to her. They had left Abbot Findal and King Dyfnwal's men at the city. Dyfnwal, who had welcomed them, especially his son, at Cumbraland's capital, was there to offer the city more defenses.

"Aeswi, just get men stand around by me," she asked, and they did, Feilim, Oengus and Owain, and also the four Gaels from Eireann, who had decided to chance their luck with Constantine..

"What have we gained, Osthryth," asked Aeswi, looking behind him, Northumbria spreading out in all directions.

"Bruises," she told him. "We know while Mercia accepts the Tripartite Alliance it does not respect Caer Ligualid. We have secured a king in Northumbria who will think before he attacks Alba, if he does at all. We have gold for Constantine -" - this Osthryth had liberated from Mus, who had not been as careful as she had thought on hiding Osthryth's money. "And Dyfnwal is defending what was once Rheged, although it won't be enough." For when Aethelstan comes north, which he will do, when he gains the Mercian and Wessex thrones.

"Is that what you will tell Constantine?" Aeswi asked, "When you give him the whore's gold and silver? That Dyfnwal needs to defend Caer Ligualid?"

"You have seen, it will take more than four men to ride south and add ourselves to the Mercians. There is a king in Eoferwic now - a king of Northumbria. That king, technically, owns to the Tuide; as you and I know, Consttantine claims to the wall."

And so, after eating, and washing in the Eden, they took the route Erik had with Osthryth, north east to the birth of the river Forth, and over, to its northern bank. Back to Alba.