Dunnottar, Three Milk Month, 918

"I want to be with Aedre, I want to be in the scriptorium!" It was a complaint that was becoming familiar.

"That's what the afternoons are for," Osthryth told him, as she told him every morning that he didn't want to get up.

Now, however, as they passed Yeavering, warmth from the sun soothing her aching shoulders from sleeping out of doors the previous night, Osthryth remembered her heart beating, at the thought that it would soon be over.

"We're not going to practise today," she told young Finan. For she had been up at dawn and had prepared provisions. Wihtgar would feed them, when they got to Bebbanburg. It was nearly St. John's Eve. That was the day she told Finan she would be at the cove, the place secluded from the rocks high above, a place where long ago St. Cuthbert had begun a church, made from the natural rock around him, with a place in which to wash and bathe.

Fresh water ran into the rock that had weathered into a bowl-shape, and Osthryth had often imagined, when she had run free that, in sight of Inner Farne, St. Cuthbert was there, before her, saying words that even the simplest people could understand, about God, about Jesus. About the saints and the Gospel.

It had been a letter that had arrived for Ceinid that had prompted her to leave. Ragnall and his forces were in the vicinity of Corbridge, a Roman settlement close to the Wall, and Constantine and his army were remaining to defend it, with the Mercians and West Saxons.

Something to bring them together, Osthryth thought, for she knew that, with the cover of impeding battle, her brother would view this as an excellent opportunity to attack Bebbanburg and overthrow Wihtgar.

It was a chance; there was a chance, she thought, as they entered a shallow valley, the ancient hill fort beside them and Bebbanburg in front, that Wihtgar would not leave, would see the attack as one which he must not be involved in, lest he lost the castle. And another chance that Finan, having got her letter from Aeswi, would know she would go there to wait for him.

Ceinid, of course, tried to stop her. He was waiting at the end of the quay, on the road that led east.

"I cannot let you," he had told her, holding out an arm, sadly. But Osthryth was defiant.

"You can," she had told him. "Aedre saw her father - young Finan needs to see his - we will soon be married, and I don't care about Bebbanburg."

"You do," Ceinid told her, and he caught her lips with his own, pressing to her mouth in a kiss that made her shudder. Young Finan watched his mother, and waited patiently on his pony.

"Ceinid, I - " The feeling was good, which was surprising. Ceinid, however, stepped away from her, feeling that his misdemeanour must have overstepped some boundary.

"I know, not until we are married, he told her. I want that too."

But that wasn't what she was going to say. She had thought about the man, sometimes, when she was young, before Constantine had enticed her into his quarters and became her first. He had taken off her battle armour, been the first to glance across her breasts as he dressed her.

Ceinid thought her a child then, but Osthryth had known well he was a man. How well she had arranged her breeches one night, when she had crept up the void above the throne room, and seen Ceinid guarding KIng Aed, as he spoke to his lords. It was just before she had been told to be Constantine's companion, after the battle in which Domhnall had killed Ivar the Boneless. He had been praised by the king, and he had been lauded by the knights.

A feeling arose, which Osthryth had taken care of when she bore down on the seam, first running it between her legs and then forcing it up hard between her cunt lips, so it rode backwards and forwards in the groove there. Not many pulls were needed until the satifying feelings ran through her. Ceinid had caused that, and she might have done it more, had Constantine not taken her one night, tricking her into his room, and then pushing his cock inside her. Before they had gone to Doire and Ninefingers had made her feel terrible about herself. Before Domhnall had tricked her into marriage with Guthred. It was much later that Osthryth realised the feeling she had elicited in her own body was analogous to what men felt when they pushed inside a woman.

"I cannot come with you, I cannot," Ceinid told her, then kissed her on the forehead. "If Constantine asked, you slipped away. By God, be back before he is," he added, glancing to young Finan.

"And then we can marry. I really don't care about - " But Ceinid shook his head.

"Don't tell me that you don't care about Bebbanburg." And then he smiled, and kissed her forehead again. "Just return safely, cailean, you and your son."

She could be content with that, Osthryth thought, as she watched a horse carry its rider up a small incline. From here, she could see the outline of the east coast, a small grey blot that was Bebbanburg, and to the left, the curve of land that was the island of Lindisfarne.

"Where are we going, mhathair?" young Finan asked, as they went slowly down the incline.

"There is Bebbanburg," Osthryth told him, pointing. "Your uncle, Wihtgar, lives there. Don't you remember him? He was at Dunnottar at Eastertide."

"I do remember," young Finan told his mother. Osthryth turned her head and smiled at her son, before glancing back to the lone figure on horseback.

"So I decided it was high time you learned about your family."

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"Your brother has sent his men, at Constantine's call," Herewald, Wihtgar's head of guard told her. He had seen two figures riding towards Bebbanburg and had gone out to assess the threat. When he saw that it was Osthryth, he had put his sword away and greeted ehr warmly. But there was caution in his voice.

"To where?" Osthryth asked him. "And, he surely must have left guards at Bebbanburg?"

"He has," Herewald told her. "We have sent many; Alba's garrison at Heavenfield has gone, as has Dyfnwal's from Caer Ligualid." He glanced at young Finan, before adding, "There are Mercians, and West Saxons; Sygtryggr's Norse - all united in one cause to protect their interests from Ragnall Ivarsson. At Corbridge."

"Ragnall," Osthryth repeated, grimly. So, it had been true. The Norse she had killed not a month before may well have been speaking the truth about their origins. Clearly Ragnall, after all these years, had managed to survive, and survive well to be able to bring an army to a field of battle with the intention of winning.

"What of my other brother?" Osthryth asked him. "Have you...seen any signs he might be in the locality of Bebbanburg?" And she watched as the old man gave Osthryth a huge grin.

"We have not!" he declared, smiling still broader. "Did you not know? Your brother is off to Frisia."

"For a raid?" Osthryth asked, the words forming in her mouth as other knowledge stabbed at her brain.

"To live, so our Lord Wihtgar's spies have told him. It is why he has spared soldiers to aid Constantine." And when he touched her arm, Herewald gave Osthryth a small frown. "They have sold their belongings, there have been enquiries made about land. They have left Dunholm."

"No," Osthryth told him, and glanced past Herewald, the image of Bebbanburg on the horizon meeting her eye. "Do not take what I say as anything other than advice, sir, but Uhtred never will give up his claim to Bebbanburg."

"Well, well," laughed Herewald, clapping on Osthryth's shoulder. "I am sorry you think it, but it has been said by many men. And we do have warriors." And Osthryth smiled back to him, and nodded, despite her fear.

"You are probably right, Herewald," she told him. "Wihtgar will have thought of that. My thanks, Herewald," Osthryth added.

It was more than the letter had said. She could not go to St. Cuthbert's Cove now with young Finan; he would be beside Uhtred, who would be beside Lady Aethelflaed, no doubt, his plan half forming to dupe his enemies that he was bound for Frisia.

She turned to the path they had already taken, glancing over her shoulder to see Herewald raise a hand, waving her off.

He couldn't know, Osthryth thought, as she looked at Bebbanburg again. And Osthryth knew that, in a battle involving Aethelflaed, Uhtred would be beside her. Unless Bebbanburg was involved: well, that was a choice. What Osthryth did not know was that the next time she saw Herewald he would be - well, he would not be in a very healthy position.

Riding back half a mile, Osthryth would find a road that would take her to the end of the Wall. It would take no time for her to ride to Corbridge, which she estimated could not be more than a day's ride.

She could get some food and a bed for the night near the Wall - silver paid for a lot of things, as did gold, and Osthryth had ensured to take with her enough for emergencies - and this was definitely an emergency.

She glanced to her left, to the north, to where Berric was situated, a trading port with beach markets that traded with Picts, Angles, Saxons, Britons: anyone who had money to spend on anything traders brought in. That would be her home soon, Osthryth thought, Berric, where Ceinid had his land. She cared for him, and loved him in a sense. It was a good choice.

"Won't you come to Bebbanburg, Lady Osthryth?" Herewald asked her. He was a good man, kind of heart, Osthryth knew. They could be safe there.

"No," Osthryth told him. "Give my best wishes to my brother, Herewald," she told him. "And to all at my old home. I must support him by supporting whatever battle might unfold."

And with that, Osthryth drew her horse round, young Finan in her wake, ignoring the cry of, "My Lady!" as she took the road west.

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A less friendly welcome was offered to Osthryth when she arrived in the vicinity of the camp on the northern bank of the Tinan. Banners of King Edward of Wessex flew from every tent and, unlike at Bebbanburg, whose walls were its greatest strength, this encampment was instead protected by a good deal of men, many of whom were riding towards Osthryth, swords raised.

They had arrived a day later than Osthryth intended, for she had forgotten that her eight-year-old son was much slower than she was and needed to stop more, and Osthryth had told herself to be patient: she would never intend to go to war with a child, and only when she saw the West Saxon camp did Osthryth realise that, well, she had an eight-year-old child with her. He could not go on the battlefield and now, she knew, it was likely that she could not, either.

Osthryth did not withdraw Buaidh; instead she slowed her pace, young Finan behind her, nudging the nose of his pony against the flank of her horse. But he sat proudly, and was not shying away as the West Saxons drew nearer.

"Why do you approach us?" one voice called out, as the dozen or so mounted men made a line, a barrier, in front of them. "Who are you?"

"You don't look Norse," said another. "Are you Norse?" Osthryth tried to think of a withering response in Saxon to the stupid question.

"Do they look Norse?" another asked. The voice of the first soldier looked over Osthryth, her hair braided, her face defiant.

"He looks Danish to me," said the second.

"Danish?" asked Osthryth in Saxon. "I am Anglish, you fool!" A scrape of iron accompanied her insult, but she simply shook her head. "Who's in charge here?" She looked at the first man. "You? Do you serve King Edward? Or are you a paid donkey in Aethelhelm's pocket?" The first two men looked at one another, and then back to Osthryth.

"This is King Edweard's camp," another said. Osthryth looked at him, and into a face of someone she knew.

"Merewalh?" she asked, in astonishment. "Why are you in West Saxon uniform, and not Mercian?" The man shook his head, and did not smile.

"I do not know you," he told her, coldly. "My brother is Merewalh of Mercia. I am Aelfburh. I have always been West Saxon." He glanced to the other speakers. "So that my men do not kill you, identify yourself!"

"Osthryth," she told him, just as coldly. "Osthryth of Alba. Although I do not know that Merewalh has ever told me he has a brother." And then Aelfburh withdrew his blade. He pointed it towards Osthryth and then swung it in an arc and pointed behind him.

"The Mercians are over there," he told her. "Behind us, a mile west, are the men of Alba, Strathclyde, and so on. And, as to whether Merewalh told you he had a brother, we have not spoken to one another for over forty years."

"But - " Osthryth said. And then stopped. Clearly, this was going to take some negotiation. "I once served the King of Wessex - the current king," she clarified. "I was in service under King Alfred, and then Lord Aethelred of Mercia, and - "

"Over there," Aelfburh told her. "There are your Mercians." Osthryth made to ride on with young Finan, but the barrier of men closed tighter. "You will need to go round," Aelfburh continued.

"Round?" Osthryth asked, confused. Corbridge's pack-horse bridge was just to the side of one of the guards. "There's the bridge, and - "

"Round," Aelfburh told her, with a smirk that Osthryth remembered had been just like Merewahl's, when he had been in forced service to Lord Aethelhelm over a debt in Mercia, and had taken his annoyance out on everyone. "Back where you came from, across the Tinan at the sea, then along the southern bank." The guards tittered at her expression.

"Or, I could fight you," Osthryth told Aelfburh. And, after a pause, the whole line of men exploded into laughter.

"You...fight me?" Aelfburh laughed. "Woman, you couldn't - " But Osthryth turned to young Finan and tied her bridle to his rein, and told him not to move.

"Mhathair!" he shouted, but Osthryth had already slid down from her horse's saddle. Aelfburh, similarly, had dismounted, and was holding his sword at arm's length. Buaidh, meanwhile, rested happily in Osthryth's hand.

Aelfburh laughed as he danced from foot to foot, clearly proud of himself at having such an easy challenge before him. But Osthryth did not wait: that gave the enemy time to think, and Osthryth had already thought, already thought several moves further ahead than Aelfburh it would seem, for he began badly with a mis-step and was now on the defensive.

"You piece of Alba shit!" Aelfburh cried as Buaidh sliced across the back of his hand in the onslaught. "You - "

"Stop!" A cry came from behind the West Saxons, who parted to let the man through, who continued to shout, "Stop! Stop I say!" Aelfburgh heard, and he staggered to a stop. Osthryth, meanwhile, ignored the call, and pushed through, elbowing the man in the ribs, before catching his feet with one of her own, tumbling him to the summer-hard ground. There was a thud, and a gasp as Aelfburh was winded. Osthryth stood over him, blade at his throat.

"Osthryth, stop, I say!"

And she turned. To see Edward.

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The last time Osthryth had seen Edward, son of Alfred, when she travelled to Winchester to ask him to send an army to support Aethelred at Teotenhalgh. That had been nearly eight years ago and, had he not been wearing Alfred's crown of emeralds, Osthryth might never have recognised him.

Edward was younger than she was, by a few years but, since the death of his father, at the relentless head of a West Saxon army repeatedly repelling Danes in East Anglia and then liberating the land, installing burhs and civic leaders, time had caught up with him - he was greyer and more lined even than Uhtred, who was ten years his senior. As leader of the most powerful Saxon kingdom, Edward had pushed up the eastern edge of East Anglia and into Northumbria as Aethelflaed had done in the west, the Anglo-Saxon border inching ever further towards Eoferwic, Cumbraland and the Wall.

Edward looked tired, and he looked ill. But there was still in his eye the twinkle that made people accede to this man and follow him as king. And he had taken Eoferwic, Uhtred's insurance which had left Sygtryggr as its king, and gone beyond even Dunholm, joining with Mercia across the river to conquer all to the Wall.

Nearly.

For Constantine stood between them, and Wihtgar at Bebbanburg. And now Ragnall threatened all their interests.

"Osthryth," he breathed, as she trod towards him. "You do not need to fight my head guard."

"As he ordered me to make a large detour to get to the Mercians, I felt I had no choice, your grace," Osthryth replied, and bowed at the waist to her former lover.

"Come now," Edward told her, and pushed past his guards. "It seems we have a lot to discuss." And his eye landed on young Finan for a moment, before holding out a hand. "Aelfburh, take the lady's horse, and the...young gentleman's too." Edward looked back, and smiled at Osthryth.

"Come with me, I feel we have a lot to discuss.

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It reminded Osthryth of Domhnall on his throne, in the encampment at Dun Add, before his coronation. Then, he had worn the cloak of blue that Constantine favoured, and received men and their oaths. Now, Edward, his bones creaking as his father's had creaked, wore nothing to signify kingship except for a determined expression that just wanted to get the job done.

Just like Alfred, Osthryth thought again.

"I am glad to see you are all together," Osthryth told Edward. "The West Saxons, the Mercians, both side by side to Constantine's army." And the determination held, for Edward paced towards her and gave her the smile that had beguiled her so many times before.

"I am glad unity pleases you," he told her. "But, why are you here?"

"I need to get across the river, to Mercia, to continue my debt of time in the service of that beloved kingdom." And to see her comrades again, to see Aeglfrith and Merewalh, Oshere and Falkbald and Aelfkin. To stand shoulder to shoulder with her friends once more.

"Oh, Osthryth," Edward gasped, and turned away, and they were Aethling and servant once more, he was a child and she just a little older. "My sister is dead!" he told Osthryth and bent his head, running his hand through his hair. "Aethelflaed." And she had to resist running to his arms, to embrace the king.

"W - what did she die of?" Osthryth asked, unable to stop herself from stepping towards Edward and touching his shoulder. "What troubled her?"

"A canker. It grew. She could do nothing."

And, at Edward's bald words, Osthryth felt tears behind her eyes, and she could do nothing to stop them falling from her eyes in wracking sobs, sorrow overcoming her at the loss of the woman, shock that she herself felt this way.

Edward, moving stiffly, crossed to her, and put his arms around her, and Osthryth stepped to her once lover, and she let herself rest her head to his chest, before letting out another frame-quaking sob as he wrapped his arms around her, comfortingly, protectively.

"I never knew you cared," Edward murmured to her ear, and she felt him give a single chuckle, remembering, as Osthryth was remembering, all those times that Aethelflaed had tried to trick them, tried to separate them, had bullied her little brother, had stolen from him. They had bonded through Aethelflaed, through her childish assertions of dominance.

"In spite of our differences," she told him, and Edward tilted her chin up and looked at her, and Osthryth thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he looked over her shoulder to young Finan, who was staring at them both. Before Osthryth could do anything, however, footsteps came outside the tent and Edward backed away, formality dividing them once more.

"Aethelstan!" Osthryth declared, and smiled despite herself. He was an easy young man to like, though his seriousness was even more in line with Alfred's personality.

"Lady Osthryth," he nodded.

"Oh, my Lord of Mercia, not "Lady", if you please," Osthryth said to him. "I am come to fight with Constantine, with Mercia. Tell me, what has happened so far." And Aethelstan did so, telling her about three columns of Norse that had come to the southern bank of the Tinan, determined to cross, and the repulsion of those Norse leaving them scattered.

"Which should please King Constantine," Aethelflaed concluded, nodding to his father as Edward listened too. "At least the terror is away from his western border: there is a lot of Northumbria to act as a buffer to Pictland, at least. What?" he asked, watching as Osthryth grinned weakly and shook her head. "No?"

"I am sure you know, Lord, that Constantine has claimed as Alba all land south of the Forth, all land to the wall."

"Constantine wants Bebbanburg?!" Aethelstan asked, amazement in his voice. He either did not know, Osthryth concluded, or was a very skilled actor.

"No, he assumes Bebbanburg is his," Osthryth clarified. "But he is not interested in owning it."

"Just owning the man who calls himseld Lord there," Aethelstan told her, wryly.

"Athelstan, he needs you," Osthryth insisted.

"Constantine needs me?"Aethelstan repeated, the sun choosing that moment to push through the clouds above them, briefly, in its typical Northumbrian manner, lighting up the hair on his head to a rich, golden colour.

"Uhtred. He needs you; the battle is not yet won." When had she known that, despite everything, she wanted Uhtred to be the lord of Bebbanburg? She did not know. But, saying it to the man who could make it happen felt right to her.

"What will you give to hold your oath true? To Mercia? My Mercia?" Aethelstan asked her. And she showed him. Buaidh, out of her scabbard, rested in Osthryth's hand once more, and she felt like she was young again, with the determination and energy of youth. Aethelstan smiled.

"Finan beag," she said to her son, and beckoned him to her. "You will remain with Edward, King of Wessex. You will tell him stories, the stories you know. And when you have finished I will be back."

"Mhathair," he nodded, his upbringing in Alba revealed in his voice, then he turned to the King of Wessex. "Yes, your Grace.". Young Finan could speak so many languages effortlessly and enchanted everybody with his storytelling. The Norse and Danes called such people "skalds". Yet the Scots called them "sceleaoct": people who enchant by storytelling. Young Finan had that gift. Osthryth hoped that the spell her son would weave would last until her brother was triumphant.

But, which brother? As Osthryth bent low over her horse's neck, accelerating over the lower plain of the northern hills, she wondered how she had come to choose Uhtred Ragnarsson, rather than Uhtred Aelfricsson, her brother by her mother forced to marry her her father's brother. There had been another Uhtred after him, by another marriage, yet that Uhtred had died in a fight instigated in Wessex, so she understood, by uncle Uhtred, after he had been taken the last time he had tried to take Bebbanburg.

It was not that she loved her elder brother Uhtred better, more, it was that it was the right thing to do, by law, by document. Alfred of Wessex liked law and document, and as such, she had favoured his approach, as much as Uhtred had disfavoured it. She had also witnessed the document that married her former lover Edward to Ecgwynn, his young priest's daughter, who had birthed Aethelstan and Eadgyth. Law was there to protect the weak when the sword-arms weren't there.

"You ride well, Osthryth," Aethelstan told her, as they approached the bridge. Across from them the tents stood away from the water's edge, horses tethered close to a spinney of trees further on.

"Thank you, Lord Aethelstan," Osthryth replied, following him onto the pack horse bridge, the West Saxon guard parting to let them path. Osthryth grinned at them, especially at Aelfburh, which said, "I'm taking a short cut." Aethelstan, on the other hand, bowed his head in acknowledgement to the gesture, nobly humble, just like his grandfather.

"How old is your son?" Aethelstan asked, as they trotted across the meadow towards the Mercian encampment. "He seems like a contented child."

"He can be," Osthryth admitted. "He's nearly eight." Aethelstan smiled.

"I was that age when Aethelflaed gave me a sword." Osthryth smiled.

"Oh, he's not quite there yet; it's a lot of effort getting him moving in a morning to the training ground. Now, if there was a sword training could be done by conjuring up verses of poetry, every enemy would be wiped out."

"He looks a lot like his father," Aethelstan told her. His father, Osthryth thought. He means Constantine, of course. "Uhtred's swordsman?" he added.

"Yes," Osthryth replied, then fell silent. A good guess? Why? Unless it was a leading quesion.

"Why Osthryth?" Aethelstan asked her, glancing over towards his own guard, coming towards them, and he pulled up and turned his horse towards her.

"My lord?"

"Bebbanburg? You went there, before you came here. Yet you advocate your elder brother. Why?"

And Osthryth told him.

"Because out of everyone, you are most like Uhtred. He needs you beside him to make sense of taking Bebbanburg, as he was beside Aethelflaed. He'll be your lord in Northumbria."

"Ha!" Aethelstan laughed. "You don't accept Constantine's claim to the land to the wall either, then? Or - is there another reason you wish him to attempt to take the fortress?" Aethelstan's voice had taken on a hard edge. "Is this a trap? Are you supporting Constantine's claim? Or your other brother?" Osthryth thought about that. There was the truth, and there were the reasons that she had been willing to share between Aethelstan and his father.

"Because it's the right thing. And to stop Constantine taking it," Osthryth admitted. She glanced across to the men who were approaching.

"Why would you want Constantine not to have it?" It was not the Mercians, it was the mormaers: Oengus's tall, broad stature stood at first; Feilim and Uunst beside him their golden hair blowing in the wind.

"Because it belongs to Uhtred," Osthryth said, her voice quickening. "Law documents are important. Ignore them and there would worse chaos than Norse and Danes. It's the right thing to do." She approached Aethelstan, dipping her head to him.

"When we come to the ridge you must let me ride on, to Constantine. You must pretend I have esxaped you or offended you: shout your blackest curses at me, wave your sword. I will laugh at my suppised triumph."

"Why?"

"At Bebbanburg, rhe sea wall cobtains a hole, just under the arch. When Uhtred finally makes his move, you'll have to climb to the back. This brings you up into the chapel. Uhtred will need you." Aethelstan looked at her, blankly.

"Are yiu sure? Bebbanburg, it's - " The mormaers were getting nearer: Oengus had called her name.

"Yes," Osthryth replied, urgently. "I would not have left my son in the care of your father if I did not."

"He will not harm him." Osthryth turned her horse, and Aethelstan grabbed her rein. Perhaps a better actor than even she suspected.

"Maybe not. But, he knows my heart and he will know of my love of my son. As he loves you. He had difficult choices to make under Aethelhelm."

"Why do you want Uhtred as Lord of Bebbanburg?" Aethelstan asked, his voice low as he clung to Osthryth's rein.

Memories of that day, that Uhtred had ridden to Bebbanburg with Seobridhg's head, how she had wanted to call out but was pulled away by the priest, Aedan, Aelfric's household guard. How her hope and faith in life had been ignited.

"You were sworn to my father," Aethelstan went on. His manner was altogether more threatening, however, and there was a "shrmmm" of sword blades out of the scabbards of the mormaers.

"Yes. He does not need my protection any more." Aethelstan smiled.

"What about your love, Osthryth? Does he need your love?"

"He has my love, Aethelstan Aethling," she sighed as the mormaers neared. "When you were born, he was ecstatic. He knew marrying Ecgwynn would be against his parents' wishes, against Alfred's plans. He did it anyway. He was the sunniest of children, the happiest of men. He could have seduced the Blessed Mother if he put his mind to it." Aethelstan's face went truly dark for a moment, but Osthryth did not see. Even now she could feel Edward's hands trace the ligaments in her ams, her back, her stomach...

"Lord in heaven, he has my love!" Osthryth repeated, urgently, acting that she was trying to escape Aethelstan's bond. "Because if I put my brother back in his ancestral home he will do everything he can to bring about your grandfather's vision of a united Saxon island. And you, you will bring the petty kingdoms in Wales to your side; Strathclyde too. "

"And Constantine?" Osthryth said nothing, merely waited for Oengus getting to them first.

"I am to marry. A match has bern proposed to me." She glanced to Feilim, who was glaring at Aethelstan. "I will be no opposition to you when you return to Northumbria to unite the whole of this land when I farm my land at Berric. Uhtred may still have divided loyalties, however."

But it was not just the mormaers who were coming. Behind them, and gaining fast, were another group of riders.

"Osthryth seems to be in some difficulty with Lord Aethelstan," said Sihtric, when neither Finan or Uhtred would say anything about why they were chasing Constantine's men.

But a shout went up behind them, and a hammering on the trees.

"Warriors!" called the voice. It was Aldhelm. "Warriors!"

Horses turned - Uhtred bade his men turn, but the mormaers were not stopping until they had Osthryth. But there was a commotion. Norse were in the field, beyond the group of trees. Men urged horses in the south-westerly direction.

"Shield wall!" screamed Aldhelm. Uhtred had met him, and joined in the shout.

"Osthryth," Aethelstan told her, gravely. "You are not to fight. I will join my men; these men here - " he gestured to the mormaers, who had been put off by the call to the battlefield but equally, did not understand the exchange between them.

"I am well!" Osthryth called to them, and Aethelstan let go of the rein. He continued to look stern, however, and had withdrawn his blade. "All is well!" she added, and made to ride on. Except, more men on horseback were coming: these were West Saxons, and their horse's hooves thrust themselves into the soft meadowland.

"Come with us, Osthryth," Aeswi told her then, when she left Aethelstan's side, he added, "The king discovered you had left."

"To join you," she told them. "I wished one last battle, before I become a farmer."

"That is not to be," Aethelstan told her, as the West Saxons rode to the shield wall, then looked to Aeswi, "Who can be spared, to ensure she does not engage the Norse? A good too many people do not wish you to come to harm."

But Osthryth backed away. None of them, she thought. No-one would remain behind to mind her.

"I give my lord my word I will not," Osthryth said, as Merewalh appoached, carrying the Mercian banner of the stag. "As do I give my king," she nodded to Oengus. "I will remain here, until the end." And she re-sheathed Buaidh, redundant that day on the field of battle between the united armies and Ragnall's Norse. It was enough. The mormaers turned, Merewalh beside Aeswi, firm friends as they rode out towards the fray, Feilim and Oengus behind them.

"You have given enough of your time to Mercia," Aethelstan told her. "When we are finished here, ride home and marry, and begin your life." And he turned, urging his horse on to the battle without a backwards look.

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Harder, harder even than being a captive, or a servant was being a warrior who was forced to watch a battle. Harder still was to watch a battle being lost by the side on which you fought. The Norse claimed ground by forcing the Mercians back towards the trees, ending the lives of many while the Alba armies attacked either side, minimising the cost to Mercia. The West Saxons held the line behind, swooping forward whenever the front line began to thin.

It was over much, much later than Osthryth would have liked, and blood-soaked men were being carried by comrades back to tents, or even to the hard ground on the Mercian's side of the trees.

Ground had been made by the Norse, but the attack was called off: Ragnall had been seen leaving he field.

"Osthryth!" called a voice she knew as she watched men coming closer to her. It was Aelfkin. The tall, broad captain of the men over whom she was once guard hailed Osthryth, his face covered in blood but wearing an expression that told her he was pleased to see her.

"You were missed, Osthryth!" he called, happily.

"I was obeying the Lord of Mercia," she told him, and grinned at her former men, and at Merewalh, and she told them both that it was rumoured that Uhtred was going to be leaving for Frisia.

"You really don't believe he would go to Frisia, then?" Merewalh asked her, nursing an arm injury. His horse neighed softly and tucked into some clover-rich grass.

"I really don't," Osthryth told him. Finan's face came ro mind. He would be with Uhtred, there was no doubt and she forced away the memories of him.

"If you want Cobstantine to truly have the lands to the south of Dunnottar, you could have declared yourself the Lady of Bebbanburg," pointed out Merewalh.

"Lady of the bears? No, when I eventually farm, that will be enough for me." She glanced back to the field, where more West Saxons were coming from, and Osthryth added, "I met your brother."

"Aelfburh?" Merewalh murmured. "He died today." Osthryth looked to the Wessex men again.

"I am sorry," she told him."

"I'm not. He stole my wife; he made me a debtor..." he shook his head. "He died a long time ago for me." And Osthryth knew what he meant. Not only was it that she had given up hope of meeting the Uhtred of her dreams, kind, welcoming. And yet, there was still hope.

"Look," said Aeswi, pointing behind Osthryth. She turned, and saw two figures approaching on horseback. One, in actual fact, was on ponyback.

"Look at that," Finan said to Uhtred, as they stood in the southwards quarter of the field and watched the king of the West Saxons approach Osthryth with her son. "I always knew she was in love with Edward, just chose to ignore it." It had been a tough battle, mainly because of how easily the Norse under Ragnall had fallen the first three times.

They watched as Edward held onto young Finan's rein, seeminly reluctant to let the child go to Osthryth. Uhtred raised a hand as he watched Finan making to go to them. Then they watched Osthryth approach, with young Finan beside her. And in front of all of the men, those of Alba to the north of them, the Strathclydians, Mercians and even Sygtryggr's men, Osthryth stood before Finan.

"Ignoring things seems to be a common theme today," Uhtred replied, eyeing his sister and his nephew, as he considered how the left flank of Norse had been ignored by the West Saxons, which had caused their forces to be split.

"I know this is not the cove, I know this is not Bebbanburg," Osthryth declared, in front of anyone who could hear. But she said no more when Finan broke from Uhtred's side and rode to her, glancing skeptically at the figure of the Wessex king.

They rode south for a while, putting the battlefield behind them. No-one stopped Osthryth, nor even cried out to her. Young Finan rode silently at his mother's side.

"This is young Finan," she told Finan, who only had eyes for the boy. And Osthryth saw a side to the man she loved that she had never seen before. He stooped, and took young Finan's rein, before leading him about ten feet away from Osthryth, in her sight perfectly. He spoke to Finan beag softly, though Osthryth did not catch all the words and their son looked to his father, listening to what he had to say, and replying every so often. Then, he brought him back before Osthryth.

"He likes readng, and poetry," Finan told her. "Our mother's father was a seanchai."

"A lore-teller," Osthryth said. Finan smiled. "There is not a lot that you don't know." And then Finan brought his horse close to hers, and bent his head, putting a hand to the back of Osthryth's gently. She gave in, all the feelings in her body overcoming her will to resist.

"Are you sorry you killed your brother?" she asked, afterwards.

"No," Finan told her. "Are you sorry I ride with yours?"

"No," she replied. "I love you Finan of the Ulaid, Finan Mor, my heart is your heart. I am to be married, at Constantine's wish." At this, Finan pulled his horse away from Osthryth as if he had been struck.

"What is the man's name, Osthryth?" Finan asked her. It would have been better, Osthryth thought, if Finan had reacted in some way, shouted, or told her that he would stand in the way. It was his cold acceptance that she found hard to bear.

"Ceinid," Osthryth told him. "Cousin to King Constantine."

And then Finan said no more. With one glance back to his son, Finan of the Ulaid flicked the reins of his horse and urged it away from Osthryth and young Finan, and on to his lord.

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It was twenty miles from Corbridge when Uhtred was overcome with the urge to tell his dearest friend he was sorry that he had harmed her as he had done.

"Who?" Finan asked. They were heading east, towards the coast. Where a boat was coming to collect them to take them to Frisia.

"Osthryth," he told him. Finan smiled, faintly.

"That is the first time you have used her name without adding an insult to it," he told Uhtred. "Besides," Finan added, shaking his head, "Whatever you did it cannot be as bad as what I and my brother did," Finan murmured.

"What did she say? Back there? Just the three of you?" Ahead, the non-existent boat had pulled up to the quay at Jarrow.

"That she would hate you until death and will kill you the minute she had the chance," Finan said, shaking his head, sadly.

"What did she really say?" Uhtred asked, equally softly. But Finan sheathed his sword, glancing north.

"So are we to Bebbanburg or aren't we?"

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Of course there was no chance that Osthryth was going to be able to make it back to Dunnottar before King Constantine, nor least, be able to hide that she was away from the fortress with young Finan.

It was Domnall who met her on Corbridge's southern bank before the tents of the Mercians, before even she had time to see her old company, or even Aethelstan.

"I cannot help you out of this one," Domnall told her, and he was there beside Osthryth when Constantine listened to her excuse, a mile away from the Mercians and the West Saxons. He made her get down from her horse, and stood in front of her, cold anger in his face, not caring that the whole of his army saw, in front of the mormaers. In front of young Finan.

"My patrol took me further south than I intended," Osthryth told him. It was the wrong thing to say. The old Constantine returned, and he pulled her to him, forcefully, before holding her shirt. Then, raising a hand, he hit Osthryth around the face, before throwing her from him. He was just about to raise his hand again when Domnall was beside him, no, in front of him, blocking his line to her.

"What do you want, Constantine?" she managed, through winded chest. "I went to Bebbanburg; I was looking after my interests, Wihtgar, he is here, somewhere, he - " But she broke off, for Constantine's face looked blacker than ever she had remembered seeing it.

"You, you will ride with Domnall back to Dunnottar. You will prepare."

"For...?"

"Your marriage," he told her. "The day I return, you will marry Ceinid," Constantine continued. "The day I return." And with that, he pulled himself back onto his horse and rode past her, leading his army west.