Tamworth, Autumn 920
Five miles seemed a short distance from the ridge which they had climbed. In the plain below, where two rivers moved, the town, Aethelflaed's capital, looked bright in the summer's morning.
They rode on, stopping at a settlement just off Waetling Street and Osthryth used Aldred's silver for bread and ale at a small inn, the first down from the ridge.
The Norse seemed nervous of taking it, but when she encouraged them, ate as if they had never seen food in their lives. They also walked strangely, and as Osthryth looked she realised they must have been imprisoned longer than she thought.
"How long?" Osthryth asked Eilaf, the elder of the two grandfathers.
"Since spring, Kriegerkvinde," he told her. "No-one in Mercia would buy us "
"Why?"Osthryth asked.
"Because the food is poor, they need it for themselves."
"And that's what the West Saxons told you?" Osthryth asked. The man nodded and she left him to eat. Perhaps that was why they clung to her company, no money, and the idea that food was scarce.
"There is plenty of food in Mercia; plenty of ready cash for slaves," Osthryth pointed out to Aelfkin. "Why do you suppose they told this Norse family this?" Aelfkin looked back over to them. Under Aethelflaed 's goose banner of Saint Werburh, Osthtyth's thoughts went on, at a main crossroads in the centre of the country?
"And us," Aelfkin pointed out. "What do we have in common?"
And then Osthryth said to Aelfkin, "Do you truly trust me, Aelfkin? Do the men?"
"How can you ask that, Lady Osthryth?" he replied, but saw the seriousness in her face. "Even these Norse trust you, for they call you Kriegerkvinde. Is it some kind of magic to them?"
"We have to get inside Tamworth Castle, inside the fortress," Osthryth told him, wondering too the repute she had received for that name. "There are Norse heading in that direction."
And she told Aelfkin the plan. And to be honest, he took it better than she expected.
They were to be slaves once more, but this time, Ekil spoke. He was the older of the two men, and his family had been slavers when they lived in Eireann, supplying boats that took slaves. Osthryth thought about Finnolai, and Ethne, who had been taken by slavers such as Egil and sold to men who owned ships. What had all seemed a long time ago was now bright and acute in her face. But she carried on, and agreed that the Norse would take them to Tamworth, as had been Aldred's plan. For what purpose, Osthryth did not know.
When Ekil had explained the plan to Eilaf, that they were to be disguised as Norse, he laughed, and accepted. "Not much to work with," he said to Osthryth, and they laughed, as did the men. "They could do with a bath!"
And so into the Tame they went, fully clothed, and when they came out he and the other grandfather tried to make her warriors as Norse like as possible, putting clay through their hair and tying it back, tying a band around their waists. When they had finished he shook his head.
"Just poor men who have been captive so long, they have forgotten who they are," Ekil, the other grandfather said.
"You are all very good at being Norse," Osthryth lied, when Aelfkin asked for the translation. Caltigar, who knew some Norse, gave Osthryth a doubtful look.
"We play the game, and when we are inside the fortress, you will be amongst friends," she told them. And then the fun really begins. For she had to stop whatever was happening inside Tamworth's walls, stop the unity between Wessex and Mercia and Sygtryggr's Northumbria.
But as they fastened ropes about one another's ankles, at a pretence of enslavement, and Osthryth saw more Norse heading to Offa's city.
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They were a mile away, when the Norse who were pretending to be their captors chanced upon more Norse.
"Where are you going?" Ekil asked the man, in whose company a woman and a child rode.
"To the city," he told Ekil, nodding to Tamworth. "To our cousin, Sygtryggr."
Ah, thought Osthryth. He was going to the city. But why? What had Aethelstan called them all there for?
"And the child?" Ekil asked. The boy shied away from him, but Osthryth caught a glimpse of disfigurement to his face, a bone, perhaps, out of place, or damage when he was born? He had the look of Niall Glundubh for a moment, and Osthryth's heart softened when she thought of the boy, grown to a man, called to a truce, a meeting such as in Tamworth, and then slaughtered.
"He is going to Mercia, for a special event," the man said. "He has been asked for, especially." He leaned over to the boy, who shied away at the man's gaze. The woman slapped the boy's face and he slowly looked at the man. Whatever the special event was, clearly the boy did not like the sound of it.
And when the boy said something too quick for Osthryth to catch, the man dragged him from the horse and began to beat him. Then, he took a rope and bound him to a tree, making to ride away.
"What are you doing with that child?" Osthryth cried, as the man and the woman took their horses around. By the tree, the child was whimpring.
"Nasty piece of cursed shit," the man said to the boy.
"You're just going to leave him?" Osthryth demanded to know.
"The Gods have punished him." This time, the words came from the woman's mouth. Osthryth, slipping the ropes from her own ankles and wrists, reached for the blade that was once Aldred's and held it out to the man.
"And the one true God sent us to save his life," Osthryth told him.
"You cannot, it is fate!" the woman screamed.
Osthryth glanced over to the woman, "If it is fate, it is also fate that I am here." She looked at the boy. "What is your name?" she asked in Norse.
"Bjall," said the boy. And beside her, there was a scrape of steel in reply to her own. The man had pulled out his own sword.
Was she really going to manage to do this? Her head was not right, and she had a sword that was not hers. But she continued to look at the boy and asked, "Bjall, has this man treated you cruelly?" The boy looked at the man and then nodded swiftly. The woman slid from her horse and step towards the boy, but Osthryth gave her a look. She also noticed symbols, sigils, that told Osthryth she was a seer, a sorceress of some sort.
"So you are mother and father to a boy whose face is disfigured and you were going to abandon him?" Osthryth told them both. Norse, Danes, Saxons, Britons. Gaels too, all dealt with young like that, or at least before they were Christian. And of those who were Christian, charity not the cruel abandonment of imperfect people was the way. It was her culture's way, too. Whatever this "special event" was, it would not have a happy outcome for Bjall.
"You should have done it when he was newborn," Osthryth told the mother. The woman muttered something that Osthryth could not hear.
"Oh, you mean you couldn't?" Osthryth suggested, and she turned to the man. "And you let her? Now this boy, who has been brought up with love by you is going to be left behind to starve? Where are your Gods now that tell you this is alright?"
And Osthryth gave the man no time, no time to be prepared as she lifted the West Saxon warrior's sword. One stroke, too, and he was on the ground. A third, and he had dropped his sword. Osthryth too, however, felt she could not hold the steel. Her head swam before her eyes, and she looked to Aeglfrith, raising her left hand to her head, staggering a little.
Her captain did the rest, skewering the man, dead. The woman howled, and howled even more when Bjall was untied, unharmed. Osthryth though, was not alright, and Aeglfrith took her arm.
"He's dead now, captain," he told Osthryth. "What of the boy?"
"He can come with us," she said, "The mother too, as she obviously loves him." She turned to the Norse who had been slaves with them.
"Will you accept this child? And the mother?" At this there was low talking between the two grandfathers and the young women, all of them were casting furtive glances to the woman and her child.
"Yes," Eilaf, told her. "Until Tamworth, and if we are truly free, then you will make us no longer."
"Good," Osthryth replied, taking a skin of water that Aelfkin had offered to her, and drinking from it. "Good."
And they rode to Tamworth, leaving Sköl Sjallargrimsson lying in the road.
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The keep door creaked open when Eilaf and Ekil pounded on it. Two guards arrived, nodding languidly over the faces of the two Norsemen, and then glanced at their prisoners.
"We come, from Aldred." Osthryth had got Ekil to practise saying this, for any guard opening the gate would be suspicious if the slaver spoke in Norse. And, as she looked, she saw that the guards were Merewalh's men.
So that was it: the slaves were for the independence that Merewalh was striving for: they were needed to carry out the dirty work, so to speak, and the lords supporting independence were not above paying men like Aldred to help find them. It was where they would have got Aethelflaed's banners and knew where to set up. These Norse that were coming, sending Sygtryggr here to talk strategy at a large Witan, while the other Norse will invade.
Distasteful, Osthryth thought, as she though to of Merewalh, her friend. How could he be mixed up in all of this? Was independence such a goal to him, and poor, dead Aelffrith, that they would go to any length to acquire it? For it was Merewalh's man, Heremund who was standing just inside the gate, noting the slaves being ushered in. Osthryth hid her head and looked at the floor.
And beside her, Osthryth felt a little body, and she looked down to her leg. The boy, who was to have been abandoned, or faced some other sort of danger at Tamworth, was walking beside her. Osthryth glanced back, and saw the angry look on the mother's face. Clearly she was furious that the boy had given her the slip.
"This way," the guard said, pointing to a wide passage lit by torches that led under the fortress at Tamworth, and to Ekil, making to shut the gate, said, "You can go now."
"Go?" asked Eilaf, standing in the threshold, so that the guard could not close it.
"Go!" the warrior told him. But Eilaf knew the game and played it well. He put out a hand waiting for payment.
"Here," said the guard, playing a bag of silver into the man's hand. Eilaf waited, and his persistence paid off, the guard looking reluctant to hand over the second bag.
The Norse turned. The last Osthryth saw of them was the outraged look on the woman's face that the boy had thwarted her.
"What's this?" the guard asked, picking Bjall away from Osthryth's leg.
"A bonus," Eilaf told the guard. "His mother says he is a good boy." And Osthryth nodded to Eilaf, who could well have insisted the boy be returned, and he nodded back. The door closed.
As they walked, Osthryth picked out brief snorts of suppressed laughter from her men. They knew the Mercian guards of course, but continued to play their part.
"Put them over here with the others," the first guard told them. On one side of the open soldier's barracks was a prison cell. Othet prisoners, Norse by the look of them and people who looked very poor, rags only just covering them, the smell was bad, sat in groups, vacant expressions on their faces.
"No," the second guard said. "The commander will want to speak to them first.
And Osthryth found herself face to face with Merewalh, her dear friend, and she suppressed the urge to grin.
"So? Who speaks for you?" Merewalh demanded, when none of them moved or gave any protest.
"I do," Osthryth told him. "We are outlaws, and were captured and became slaves. We chose to be," she added, garnishign the story. "We are fled from our lord."
"What did you do?" Merewalh asked.
"What did we not do?" Osthryth replied, glancing over to her men. "Well, there was the drinking, and the whoring, all our lord's daughters." Merewalh's face froze, and amusement surged in Osthryth's stomach. "Yes, we are him out of house and home, whored all his farm animals too, except the sheep - we aren't Cymric, she added. And then she looked at Aelfkin, because if she hadn't she would have burst out laughing.
"Oh and his wife, wouldn't you say?" Aelfkin's mouth flicked at the corners.
"She had very big..." her deputy trailed off,and put his hands to his chest as if cupping breasts, "Tracts of land. You could really get lost on her furrow."
It was enough, enough to raise Merewalh's suspicions, but he looked back to Osthryth and asked her if there was anything else she had to say in their defence.
"Only that, these men loyal Mercians, led astray by an impulsive captain," Osthyth concluded, then added, "Who thought your bed a little lumpy,"
It was a wonder her warriors were not in fits of hysterics by now, but perhaps the tension with the Norse on the road, the child being abandoned with the twisted face and the anger of the mother had got to them.
And it was Merewalh who laughed then, when he realised it was Osthryth standing before him, rope-bound not manacled, and that Falkbald, Aeglfrith, Oshere and Aelfkin were there too, and Osthryth's warrior from her lands.
"Osthryth," he repeated, and drew her to him. "Tell me, tell me everything."
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While the warriors participated in good food and laughed with their fellow Mercian guards, Osthryth told him about the slavers, about the Norse they had, and them, Osthryth's outlaws.
"We need them to offer to Sygtryggr," Merewalh told her, a little shiftily, and Osthryth felt her stomach sink that her friend had indeed been involved in such a way.
"But there is an agreement happening between Mercia and Northumbria, with Aethelstan," Osthryth prompted.
"And Aldhelm believes he may be open to another agreement, one more suited to his needs."
And he told her of the plan, the audacious plan which, Osthryth admitted, could work well. For Aethelflaed herself had gifted some Norse the Wiralum, the land beyond Ceastre and Brunanburh. The plan was, to allow Mercia her independence, under Aethelstan, but separate to Wessex, in exchange for more land. When Merewalh told her which land, Osthryth laughed.
"Ceastre? Brunanburh?" she exclaimed. "But they would have access to the Maerse, and all of Northumbria's waterways!" Merewalh nodded. "And two of Aethelflaed's burhs," she told him.
"But this wedding has to be stopped," Merewalh told her. "We need enough of an incentive for the man not to marry the Wessex candidate."
"Wedding?" And he told her that there was to be a wedding, to bond Wessex and Mercia to Northumbria.
"Who?" Osthryth demanded. Merewalh said nothing. "Who?" She asked again. "I can think of no other princess in Wessex.
"Then think harder," Merewalh told her, a little testily. "Who might be of Wessex, with strong Mercian interest, old friend?"
Who indeed, Osthryth thought, and she replied. "If Aethelstan himself were a woman, I would say him. He would be ideal - " She looked at Merewalh's face. Aethelstan was a twin. He had a sister.
"She is called ?", Merewalh told her. "Edward is for the match, Aethelstan is clearly for the match." Eadgyth, Osthryth thought.
"How? How are you going to stop it?"
"We hadn't got a plan," Merewalh told her. "But then you came. And I think I know what you can do."
"But the Norse are coming," Osthyth told him, insistently.
"Norse ARE coming," Merewalh told her, "Because the wedding is between one West Saxon princess and one Norse King."
"But more Norse are coming, I do not want it to be said I could have prevented the wedding of Raedwald and Offa's daughter!" Merewalh smiled, for Osthryth was now talking Mercian. The great Mercian king whose home was Tamworth had become overlord of the East Angles by killing a wedding party at Raedwald's estate. It was never known whether the daughter survived.
"The Norse are nothing to do with us," Merewalh told her. "We just wish to prevent the wedding of the Lady Eadgyth to Sygtryggr of Eoferwic."
"Then tell me," Osthryth said. "What is your plan?"
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The plan was more outrageous than the one Osthryth had presented to her men, and to be honest, she could hardly believe what Merewalh was telling her.
"Replace the bride with you," Merewalh repeated, taking her up a flight of stairs, and onto the ground floor of the castle. Osthryth simply stared at him.
"What?" she said at last. That was ludicrous. She was a fifty year old woman and Eadgyth was a girl. And then she thought of Bjall, who had been entertaining her Mercian warriors with a story, about Thor and his hammer. Osthryth knew that story: the god had dressed up as a bride to steal back Mjöllnir from the giants.
"While you can go up the aisle instead, and when you are shown to be, well, not Eadgyth, she can be on her way safely to Frankia."
"Merewalh," she said, and reached for the man's arm. "I will do this, for you," Osthryth told him. "But, will you release the slaves?"
Merewalh gave her no answer for a moment. Then, he nodded. And for the second time that day she suspected that there was something more to this than the straightforward Merewalh was telling her.
And then she him, in the shadows, just for a moment, the man who must truly behind it all. Aelfburh, Merewalh's brother, who had pulled in a reluctant Merewalh. There was no real independence movement only the rebellion of one man who sought to gain control of as much land as he could.
"Show me," Osthryth told him. "Show me the dress."
There were lots of layers, silk and brocade and embroidery, with a large veil, as was the custom.
It was ludicrous. But it had to work. Osthryth had to do something to stop the rebellion. So for her friend, and her poor dear departed Aelffrith, she was going to be the best fake bride there could ever be.
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"I do like a wedding," Finan said to Uhtred, as the nobles of Mercia, Wessex, and the Norse of Eoferwic continued to assemble. "And the Lord of Bebbanburg has made an appearance," he added, smiling to his lord.
"And the King of Eoferwic," Uhtred added, nodding to his son-in-law.
"I wonder what he is feeling like now?" Finan mused.
"Nervous, like all bridegrooms," Uhtred replied. He was scanning the people, looking for anything amiss. And he thought he may have found it when a bunch of about a dozen slaves were inched to one side of the church to the other. Finan was staring at them, looking them over one by one.
"And here comes the bride," Sihtric said, near Uhtred's ear. They watched as Sygtryggr's bride, surrounded by a guard of Mercians, walked slowly up the centre of the church.
"She doesn't look very happy," said Osferth, looking at the dipped head of the woman coming slowly towards the altar.
"How can you tell?" Sihtric asked him. "You can't even see her face.
They all looked at the slow procession of Sygtryggr's bride, surrounded by four West Saxon guards. How Merewalh had located the uniform, he didn't say, but Osthryth reckoned on Aelfburg. The whole of the setup seemed very well funded, and she would have loved to have known where that money was coming from. At least her men were with her, whatever was about to happen.
"What are you thinking, Lord?" Finan asked Uhtred.
"That, after everything, a grandson of Ivarr the Boneless is marrying a granddaughter of Alfred," he told his friend. "You?"
"That I recognise there is rope around the bride's ankles," Finan told him. "And that she has a weapon of some sort on her leg."
A nudge to Berg got the young Norse boy to his feet, and Uhtred backed away through the crowd as the bride, cloaked and hooded, got to the altar and turned to face Eadgyth's intended.
And in front of the crowd, from the crowd of slaves, a man was bringing a boy. It was Bjall, and it was Aelfburg had him at the shoulder, his hands bound.
"He has been brought on the occasion of your wedding, as a gift, from your kin, Skol Skallargrimsson," Aelfburg told Sygryggr. The man looked at the boy, and then over to Aethelstan, then back to the boy.
"My thanks," he told Aelfburg, and then bent his head to Bjall, saying very quietly, "You are safe now, boy." Then he turned to the bishop, who looked between Sygtryggr and Osthryth, and approached them, a gospel on the eagle lectern beside him. He looked nervous, as most priests did when they saw Norse at such close quarters.
But then a cry came from the back of the church. Osthryth looked, noting Aethelstan at the front near the Mercian nobles, and watched as a woman came hurling towards them. It was the Norse woman, possible mother of Bjall. The boy shrunk back close to Osthryth, but the woman was too quick, and grabbed the boy by the shoulder, thrusting him towards Sygtryggr. Bjall scuttled to Sygtryggr's side, and cowered there.
"No!" a woman cried, "He is to be your sacrifice! My husband, dead at the hand of slaves," she added, and glared at the slaves behind Aelfburg. "We brought him to you, our King, for fortune for your union, chosen by the gods!"
"No!" Another cry came out, and this time it was Aethelstan. He was on his feet and addressing those assembled, his arm outstretched towards the woman and getting between her and the boy.
"No," Aethelstan repeated. "This is a Christian wedding. There will be no sacrifices, I will not have such barbarity."
But the woman was quick. She made to run to the boy, and got part of the way when Oshere, standing to the left of Osthryth, pushed her off course. She stumbled towards Aelfburh, and Osthryth could see she had a knife in one hand. She was going to kill the boy, right there and then.
Osthryth turned, and leapt, bringing down the woman, who was already slashing the air with the blade, and she managed to knock it from her hand. The woman writhed like an angry cat, but Osthryth was faster and she slammed the woman's hand against the altar, finally yielding the knife.
"Take her away!" Osthryth demanded of her guard, and Aelfkin strode to Osthryth, seizing the woman and thrusting her towards the guards, who held her, one arm each. But the disquiet amongst the wedding guests did not subside. In fact, it increased, for someone near the West Saxon area, cried, "This is not Eadgyth!"
A laugh began, which echoed around the church, and Osthryth backed away, unhooded as she was, as her warriors stood close beside her. The shout had come from Aethelweard. A pretence at unity, then, from Aethelstan's half-brother.
"It seems it is not!" declared Sygtryggr with interest, chuckling for a second when Osthryth got to her feet and looked at Eoferwic's king. "What is this, Lord Aethelstan?" he asked. "A part of your Christian wedding tradition?"
But Aethelstan said nothing, for the woman who had tried to kill Bjall spoke again, and this time she was looking at Osthryth through narrow eyes, a small smile at her lips.
"Here is the slave that killed my husband, my king," she told Sygtryggr. "Sköll, your kin, was cut down when he attempted to leave this boy out for sacrifice to the Gods for you."
"Slave?" Sygtryggr repeated.
"They are all slaves!" she told him, and pointed out all of Osthryth's men. Blades were suddenly at their throats. Beside her, Aelfburg grinned.
From east side of the church, Uhtred and his men moved to see the commotion, Aeswi still under the threat of blade from Osferth. Uhtred turned to Aeswi, and asked, "Was this your plan? Constantine's plan?" There was anger in his voice now, and with it, danger.
"It was Mercia's plan," Aeswi admitted, "They call themselves the true Mercians."
"The true Mercians," Uhtred repeated.
"Those who wish independence."
"But it also helped Alba did it not?" Uhtred pointed out. Aeswi said nothing. Because he was looking towards the altar. The bride, who certainly was not E, was being approached by the King of Eoferwic. Who had his blade pointed at her chest.
"Oh no Osthryth, no!" exclaimed Finan, as he watched, horrified. It got worse as he watched as his wife dropped the wedding cloak and stood before Sygtryggr, raising no weapon in response.
"You killed my kin, Osthryth Lackland," Sygtryggr said, loudly, so that all of the church could hear. Osthryth looked back, the familiar tingling at the side of her head returning.
She kept her eyes on the man and refused to look away, replying, "Yes. I killed the man who was trying to kill this boy for no other reason than he has a deformity." Sygtryggr looked her up and down, before glancing to Bjall.
"How unfortunate that you became a slave," he told her, and reinforced his grip on his sword. "I am sure you know that any slave who attacks a free man is sentenced to die."
"Osthryth!" She heard Finan's voice call across the church, but she did not turn round.
"She was made to do it," Finan asserted to Uhtred urgently, as Sygtryggr put his sword to her throat. "Please, Uhtred, listen to me, believe me!" Then, the King of Eoferwic lowered his eyes and whispered to her. It came in Norse, the words unmistakeable. But Osthryth got in there first.
"He was going to leave this child tied to a tree to starve," Osthryth told him, in Anglish, so everyone in the church could here. That is not the way, in Mercia, am I not correct, Lord Aethelstan?" Osthryth made to turn to the ruer of Mercia.
"You are correct, Osthryth of Berric," he told her. But Sygrtyggr was unmoved.
"He was my kin - you do not interfere with our beliefs!"
"But the belief in Mercia is Christianity," Osthryth plunged on. "You are marrying the sister of Lord Aethelstan, a most Christian woman from a most Christian family, in a Christian service. You claim to be Christian yourself; you have been baptised," she added.
"I will kill you," Sygtryggr told her. Osthryth laughed. "And yes, I did hear tell how you fought a man in a state of undress. The pagan way, so I believe. Are you a Christian, woman?" he asked. "You made a good beserker."
"She fought naked?" Uhtred repeated, loud enough that he might embarrass Finan, but his friend's reply was his usual stoic position, but this time, his friend was as insightful as he was unruffled.
"She must have had her reasons," his friend told him. "Being an iron-chained slave under two West Saxon guards. Desperate people do desperate things." But then a gasp brought their attention back to Sygtryggr.
"I have a much better idea," he told Osthryth, "You can be the sacrifice instead." But Osthryth felt herself smiling, as a fuzziness came to her eyes.
"That's my wife," replied Finan, proudly. "She fights like the Archangel Michael himself."
"My sister will never sprout wings," replied Uhtred. "He has sinned too much, with too many men." But Finan was not listening now. Uhtred said nothing and within a heartbeat, Finan had left his lord's side, pushing aside swords as if they were blades of grass. He was stopped, however, by three of Sygtryggr's men.
"I am sorry King Sygtryggr," she replied loudly, as she saw Finan not ten feet away, "I cannot marry you." They looked at one another, and Finan smiled, before making a fresh attempt to push forward, "I have a husband of my own."
Sygtryggr raised his sword. But Osthryth was not finished yet. She reached to her ankle and found Ceinid's sgian. No Norseman was going to kill her unopposed..
But Sygtryggr was opposed. Someone stepped in front of him as he drew his blade, knocking it away, and then then put a hand out to Osthryth as her knees gave way, glancing to Caltigar, who caught her fall. In the aisle, Osthryth noticed the Norse family, Eilaf's family, had pushed their way up towards her.
Perhaps he has seen her company approaching, swords on their way out of scabbards, Osthryth thought, his men, Mercia's men. And then, she realised, he had Aelfburg under knifepoint, Merewalh at the back of the slaves.
"She is no slave!" she heard Eilaf say. "She rescued us from slavers who were working against you, lord Aethelstan." And Aethelstan bent his head to Eilaf, while the man told him the whole story. After a few moments, Aethelstan straightened and looked out to his people, the witans of different parts of the country and to the Norse.
"People of Mercia," Aethelstan called to them all, standing in from the front of the altar. "This loyal servant of your land is well. She has travelled a far d to my land to serve the country she loves and has put the friendship and loyalty of King Sygtryggr of Eoferwic to the test, which he has passed, remembeting his Christian vows and has spared the child which his kinfolk bade him to slaughter. Aethelstan turned to Sygtryggr and bowed his head. Then he turned to Merewalh.
"General Merewalh," he said to his commander, promoting him as he spoke. "Please take Osthryth of Bernicia to rest, having received what I understand to be a blow to the head in her dedication to my land."
Was this it? Osthryth thought, as she looked at Merewalh. From the look on his face it did not seem like, he seemed like a man thwarted. Perhaps Aethelstan knew that all along.
"I would like no man to say that I do not respect other cultures," he went on. "After the wedding to my sister, there will indeed be a sacrifice." He turned to look at Aelfburg, and signalled that he should be held. "This man claims to be acting in the interests of Mercia. He is nothing but a self-serving rebel who has caused misery and discord in my land. So I ask all Mercians, whether they have known this man or never seen him before today, to reaffirm the oath they gave to me on my accession to Mercia, kneel to me and honour your word."
And they did so. Osthryth and Caltigar stood back and watched her Mercians kneel, as did the rest of the guard, and the lords. It was a splendid sight, and she thought, and how clever of Aethelstan to get them all to do it, to wipe blame from all of them by starting again. If he was cunning enough, which he was, Aethelstan would already know the traitrous lords and they would be despatched at some time in the near future.
"I do recall you marrying me up in that Godforsaken land Alba," she heard a voice say close to Osthryth's ear. Finan's face was close to hers, and he took her hand and led her from the aisle to the side of the church, as the true bride of the day was being prepared by the church doorway.
"Not Godforsaken," she told him, "God was there, as was the Morrigan."
"The Morrigan was there, was she?" Finan asked her. "You felt her presence?"
"I did," Osthryth agreed, and Finan drew her to him.
"Then we are blessed," he told her, and laughed.
"What?" Osthryth asked.
"It is no wonder you are having trouble putting down your sword."
"I did put it down, and my seax," Osthryth told him. Gone by now, probably she thought. But Finan was smiling, and pulled her close to him.
"And I picked them up."
Osthryth kissed him, holding his face with her hands as he held her back, and they kissed until a whistle of appreciation came from somewhere and brought them back to Tamworth's church and the marriage of Sygtryggr and Eadgyth.
Finan put a hand to her head. "You came down with quite a thump," he told her, "Does it hurt?"
"Yes," Osthryth admitted.
"And it's causing you to lose vision?" Osthryth nodded. It was not easy admitting weakness, even to Finan. Especially to Finan.
"So will yer now go home and rest, for my sake?" She nodded, and he kissed her head.
"Finan," someone said, and they broke apart. "When you have quite finished with your wife, there is something I need to say to her." It was Aethelstan. She stepped from Finan, who watched her walk with the lord of Mercia around the perimeter of the church.
"You have, by playing along with this plan, shown more loyalty to me than anyone I have ever known. You truly love this land then?"
"I truly do," she admitted.
"Then I make you this promise," he told her, glancing to the centre of the church, where the real bride was beginning her walk. "When I become king of Wessex, and Northumbria is mine, when I scourge the land north to the top of this island, when I burn it into submission, your land, Berric, will be spared.
Osthryth paused for a moment, and then turned to Aethelstan.
"I thank you, lord," she replied. "So, to be clear, the burning of the land is dependent on you obtaining the crown of Wessex?"
And Aethelstan laughed, giving her a smile that she had only ever seen once, on Alfred's face, when he had been cornered, over Beamfleot. Which is where she had met Edward, a young man, not much older than his son standing before her, frothing with youthful excitement over a girl called Ecgwynn, who he liked. Aethelstan's mother, and E's of course.
"Osthryth," he said, "You have done all I could ask for Mercia, consider the vow of service that you gave to Aethelfaed fulfilled." Then, he lowered his head to her ear, and added, "After the service, leave, and do not ever return to Mercia. Your company will escort you home."
Then he turned, for his sister had reached Sygtryggr, and put a hand behind her back. "Go, be with your husband. Weddings are meant to be happy occasions."
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Finan caught up with her in the stables. All of the men were ready to go, and if Osthryth had doubted Aethelstan's meaning of the words, "After the service", she knew them now. Aldhelm had been send to supervise their leaving, and a more straight-laced man Osthryth did not know. She doubted now that he had been involved in Aelfburg's rebellion, and would probably be the one to hang him, and round up any other rebels.
"Osthryth," he called, as she made to climb onto her horse. Aldhelm, who had been standing at close quarters, moved back as Finan approached. She handed Aldhelm the reins and nodded her thanks, as her husband spoke to her further away from the intended departees.
"I'll be going home, Finan Mor, I'll have the land in order for you," she told him.
"You're always leaving," he told her.
"This was an instruction from Aethelstan, as I know you heard," Osthryth told him. "A mortally clear one." She reached up and kissed his lips. "Besides, you always follow."
"One day I may not," Finan told her.
"I do not believe that," she replied, and he pulled her close. God, how Osthryth wanted him, wanted to take him to find a room, away from everything, and just be with him.
"What will you tell Constantine?"
"What he will hear anyway, in due course," Osthryth told her husband, looking up from his chest. "There isn't a great deal he can do about it."
"He can plant Christians in Northumbria, to increase his territory," Finan told him. When Osthryth said nothing he kissed her head. "You fought Sygtryggr," he added.
"I didn't see anyone else helping," Osthryth replied. "I've fought Norse before." And when Finan stepped back and looked at her, a disbelieving expression on his face, she clarified, "Ivarr the Boneless's army, when I was twelve. I stood beside King Aed himself as Prince Domhnall lamded the blow; I kept Norse from deferring him; I fought Norse at Doire, I - "
"The battle at Doire?!" Finan asked, a trace of wonder in his voice. "And you made the King of Eoferwic sit up and take notice."
"Yes," Osthryth said, her hair absorbing the rays of the cold, evening's sun. Summer was on the wane, and then wondered what it would have been like if she had actually fought him, with Buaidh, if her head was not causing her so much bother.
Not killed him, she told herself. For Ivarr's grandson needed to marry Eadgyth, Aethelstan's sister - Osthryth could see how it made sense now.
"My God, I love you," Finan told her, bringing his lips to hers and giving her a knee-melting kiss. "I'll come when I can. That's if Wessex and Northumbria are not at war."
"Edward looked ill," she said, thinking of the glimpse she had seen of the king at the ceremony. Her old lover. How long ago that all felt now. Finan said nothing. He never did where Edward was concerned. He had hated that Osthryth had had to recover from two abortions when he was aethling. He hated that she had had anything to do with him at all.
"It'll be Aethelstan; there can be no-one else, in Wessex, when his father dies. And Northumbria will submit, in time, and my brother will break his heart again over Bebbanburg." Finan raised an eyebrow.
"Aethelstan swore an oath not to invade Northumbria while Uhtred lives," Finan told Osthryth.
"That means Uhtred will have sworn one without words," she told Finan. "He will back Aethelstan to take the whole of the island of Britain." There, thought Osthryth, she had said it. Her worst fear. Because it meant she would have to take sides.
"Did you really fight naked?" Finan asked her. "Apparently. I think some fungus must have got into the water I was brought. Ot that head injury. I - "
But she did not get a chance to finish what she was saying, for her husband's lips were on hers, and she could feel the warmth of her body by his.
"Mo alainn," Finan said, kissing Osthryth. "And when you visit Alba, make sure young Finan gets to hear that I am thinking of him. You made the right choice to have him cared for in Alba. He knows my lamguage; he knows my culture."
It began there. The choice. It would really be no choice, for Osthryth. And the funny thing, she thought, looking back in her mind to that day, was that Finan knew what side she would choose.
"I will meet you at Berric," he added, and kissed Osthryth once more, entangled fingers in her short hair. Then, he took a step back. "One thing you can do for me, wife," he told Osthryth. "Grow your hair."
Grow my hair, Osthryth thought. Yes, I can do that.
"To kill Sköll's men," Finan nodded. "He butchered Stiorra; she gave him a good fight, though." Osthryth knew, of course.
"And the children?" Finan shook his head.
"Taken. Or dead." He shook his head. "Go on with yer now, or I'll be hanged beside you."
"Oh, I doubt my brother would let that happen," Osthryth smiled, and she took Aldhelm's patient hand in hers for a moment as she passed, before getting on her horse and riding out of Tamworth with her Mercian warriors, and her loyal young man of the Berric estate, who was as much of a Mercian as any of them.
North.
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"There are men following," Aeglfrith told Osthryth as they passed the Wall, and the Tinan river. She looked, and indeed there were six.
"My brother's men," Osthryth told him, dismissively. "They guard this part of Northumbria."
It did not bother Osthryth that she was only part-right. What did bother her was that the men were actually Uhtred and his company. While she was excited about the fact her husband as approaching, it was soured knowing that Uhtred was too.
"We were asked by Aethelstan to ensure you left Mercia," Uhtred told her.
"It borders Northumbria," she told him.
"Yes, but not Alba, in whose kingdom you claim Berric to be," he replied, in what he thought was a casual manner.
"So you come because you fear that if you stay away too long I will take back Bebbanburg on behalf of the Old North?" Osthryth retorted. "I like Eadith, perhaps I will make it hers. Or Father Oswald's?" Uhtred shifted in his saddle.
"If yer can't play nice, don't play at all," Finan said as diplomatically as he could. Osthryth caught his eye.
"I will ride with my men, point out the weak points in your fortress, brother," Osthryth told him.
"There are no weaknesses," Uhtred called back, and he held back his men, watching as Osthryth rode off with hers.
And when they got to the border of Bebbanburg and Berric, he lingered at the border.
"You are welcome at my home, Uhtred, God knows yer are," Finan told him, knowing that Uhtred had taken on this role to see Finan back to Berric too.
"But not at hers," Uhtred told him.
"Yer are so, she likes ye," Finan told his friend
"Well I would like to see how she treats her enemies," Uhtred told him, and then laughed, adding, "I have seen. And heard. Bare-arsed naked.". It wasn't news to him; in fact, the rumour had begun to take on a life of its own, she had shape shifted into the form of a bear and ate the slavers, she was naked except for wolf pelts.
As for him, Finan had seen this before, a head injury and blackouts, the person not knowing what they had done in the time they were unconscious. It had happened to his younger brother, Riuraidh, only seven, he had fallen from the tower at their father's home, and had had headaches and fits until one day he had walked straight off the Fairhead cliffs. He would make sure that Caltigar, the young farm worker now warrior, and deeply devoted to Osthryth through her Cumbric kon, did not let her out of his sight.
"It'll be that head injury," Finan replied, beginning a lifetime of defending his wife to her brother. "She will have eaten something, with a fungus mould, it's that time of the year." And he left Uhtred's side once more, and Finan caught up with Osthryth, and they rode together in their lands in the beautiful sunshine.
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Four men were riding down from the mountains as Osthryth rose to do her rounds of the farm.
"I will ride out to see," Caltigar told Osthryth, who was always up before dawn, and took three of the farm boys, who were training to be warriors with him. Osthryth climbed to the top of her hall, an watched as the four young men turned, two on either side, and shepherded the riders in, across the pack horse bridge, and onto Osthryth's farm estate.
It was Constantine, and with him Aeswi, young Finan and another man. Norse, by the look of what Osthryth could see, and she watched them approach, musing on what this meeting was going to bring.
Uhtred had let Aeswi go, and he had ridden north immediately, so he would have had first-hand news of everything that had happened. And she had had no notice that Constantine would bring young Finan. And what of this Norseman.
"Come back to bed," Finan told Osthryth, sleepily. "Caltigar can handle it."
"We have visitors," Osthryth told him.
"Unless it's the king of Alba, come back to bed," he told her. Osthryth, her face grim, climbed down the loft hatch and stood by the bed. Then she reached for her sword belt, and jerkin.
"You are joking!" Finan told her, working it out. He pulled back the covers, and Osthryth got a good eyeful of the reason why she had nicknamed him "Mor".
But there was no time to follow anything like that up now. Pots and ironware were being brought into play in the kitchen, Rhia, no doubt, ordering the kitchen maids about, having learned from Caltigar that Constantine had arrived.
A reluctant Finan went to inspect the harvest store shortly after partaking in a late breakfast with the king, and his son, and the Norseman, nodding to Aeswi as Constantine's spy say wth them. For Constantine had come to see Osthryth, and she was now walking in the orchards with him.
"I have two other guests at Dunnottar, two children," Constantine told her, after greeting her and asking after her health. He seemed to know about her head injury - Aeswi, Osthryth surmised; he would have told Constantine everything.
"Who do you mean?" Osthryth asked, at a loss.
"Can you not guess? A boy and girl?" Osthryth thought, and then her mouth fell open. Then, she closed it again. Stiorra's children?
"No," Osthryth told Constantine, "They died."
"They did not," Constantine told her, a faint smile on his face. "But they would have if I had left them there."
And that told Osthryth what she needed to know. No spy she had been in Mercia, he had wanted her there, the interest on Sygtryggr and Eadgyth, so he could send men past her door and down to Eoferwic, to make his presence known. He had not expected Skol Skallargrimmrson to be there, attacking the city in his king's absence.
"Egil Skallargrimmrson has been in my company since Oengus returned with the children," Constantine told him. "He is in open opposition to his brother. Who you killed," he added, with a smile. "Young Finan has been most intrigued by the man, a skald, who has taught him the rhyme of the provinces of Eireann, and a poem that lasts all night long." Osthryth laughed, thinking of her son.
"He will have loved that," Osthryth told Constantine. "And Mercia?" she asked. It had to come to it. What did Constantine want to exact from her now?
"You did as I wanted; you exposed the rebellion, showed me where the weaknesses are, where the alliances are." He took a step to Osthryth, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her mouth. Instead, he moved closer and kissed her forehead, his long, black hair by her face. Osthryth put her hand to his shoulder, and pulled away, gently but firmly.
"You have lost your pearl I see?" he told her, his hand near her hair.
"It is was a gift, to my Mercian deputy for his wife." She remembered Aelfkin's surprise when she gave it to him, and his astonishment when she laughed on asking her name. it was Haf, and Osthryth immediately remembered how she could have had what she suspected might have been a very passionate night with a Haf the cook's daughter, the kitchen maid at Caer Ligualid.
"I knew a Haf once," she had told Aelfkin. "Her name means, "Summer." "
"Summer," repeated, Aelfkin. "I never knew that. She was born in Three Milk Month," he added, "So it makes sense."
"How do you ever speak about things?" Osthryth had gently chided.
"We don't talk much about a lt of things," Aelfkin told her, and Oshryth shook her head, laughing to herself.
"Well, if you want your marriage to last, you should think of something pretty quick. It's good you are learning Cymric."
"Caltigar has taught me a lot," Aelfkin had confided, "Although I suspect it's mostly swear words."
"So, Egil has not come to exact revenge over his brother's death?" Osthryth asked Constantine, as they walked back towards the farm's hall. Constantine smiled.
"Indeed not; he wishes to thank you for his brother's death. He wishes to meet your brother."
"Perhaps he should go with Finan," Osthryth told Constantine. "He is due to resume his service to Uhtred shortly.
"And Uhtred would not come to Berric," Constantine mused, as they reached the hall.
"And I will not go to Bebbanburg, I think that's a perfect arrangement." And, when she turned, at the door to the hall, she saw young Finan standing beside his father.
"Your husband asked especially if I could bring him. Finan wishes to train his son to be a warrior. I accepted, knowing that he would take him back to Bebbanburg.
And, Osthryth learned, it had all been arranged; their son would be trained by his father and his uncle. Not his mother, as Osthryth had been so insistent about.
"Finan wishes to know if you agree to this," Constantine told her. She looked to her husband, who gave Osthryth a brief nod.
"I agree," Osthryth said, quickly. Could anything be more perfect?
Well, there was still the land dispute and Norse were still invading the west, and Edward still claimed Northumbria to the Forth and Constantine claimed Pictland to the wall.
And in the middle was Berric, in the centre of what Osthryth called Bernicia, and she was happy there, contented, to farm and to teach sword craft, waiting, if Aethelstan's words were true, for the world to burn around them.
Constantine left that evening, leaving Egil with them, to ride out the next day. Aeswi was staying to help train the young warriors.
"Aelfweard will be of age soon, and he will challenge Aethelstan," Osthryth told Finan in bed that night.
"Where will you be, when that happens?" Finan asked. They were close, Osthryth's skin next to Finan's. She leaned back and placed a hand on his chest.
"Here," she said.
"Keep safe," he told her. "If there's one thing I want you to do, is to keep safe."
"As well as grow my hair," Osthryth teased. And then they kissed, and then they touched one another, and they made vigorous, toe-curling love. And the next day, Finan and their son rode south to Bebbanburg, and war did not touch them, and Finan visited his land and young Finan grew in body and in skill.
Until the day, four years later, when news came that Edward of Wessex had died. Then, turmoil broke out all over the land once more. Aethelstan was claiming the Wessex throne. And too many rich lords with too many interests rose up to stand in his way. Peace could be no more.