Summer 924, Cent
Osthryth remembered a time, in Alba, when young Finan had told her a story. It was from a long time ago, in a land far, far away. It told a story of a man, a commander, who had fought beside his lord and king for ten years, until finally, by subterfuge and deception, the land was won. The war had started over a woman, a woman kidnapped by her lover who lived in that country that was to be besieged.
But that wasn't the story.
No?" Osthryth had asked, as they had walked across the courtyard. Aedre had joined them and they had sat on the wall beside the chapel.
"Because, no-one really asks what happens in the days following a battle," he had confided.
"Where is that written? Osthryth had asked. But young Finan had shaken his head.
"I didn't read it anywhere," he told her. "Is it not true?"
"It is true," Osthryth told him.
And then young Finan slipped into the mantle of sceleocht, and began the story, "It took ten years for the man to get back home again. He left from the war, and took a ship home, but a series of disasters befell him."
"Did he get over the disasters?" Aedre had asked.
"Yes," he nodded, "And even when he was home, it was not over, for his wife was being courted, for it was assumed that he was dead. He even had to con his way into his own palace to be reunited with his wife."
But these thoughts were in the future. Osthryth had brought them to mind when the regrets of leaving her own lands were pressing in the days to come. She should never have gone to Bebbanburg, that accursed place. Nor should Uhtred.
Only...
...what he had done for his nephew had been bold. Reckless, but bold. Idiotic but brave. And had Aethelhelm's men raided Berric, or Bebbanburg for that matter, they would have asked no questions and young Finan would be dead.
Now, she was following a trail. By rights, Aldhelm should have had her executed for deserting her place, and she had deserted it, technically. But she was also working for Mercia, and she had known something was wrong.
That was in the future. Now, a half-drowned woman was pulling herself up onto the jagged rocks that lined a good deal of the north Centish coast. It was a fine afternoon, with the sort of warmth made for sitting in the sun, offering the least exertion possible.
But Wachilt was not in the sun, nor was the water warm. Yet, Osthryth had managed to get to land, a miracle, with the currents. The terror of water was not as acute as it had once been when they had been travelling south, and she had been lulled as Trinity had skimmed over the waves propelled by a favourable current.
Now, Osthryth hung onto rocks, and closed her eyes in prayer, thanking God that she had survived the swim, and that the settlement before her would be needing persons in service, or at the very least, would be easy to squat in for a night.
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And then she woke up, looking at a face that she knew. Her head hurt, and her body felt cold. She shivered. She was still in her wet clothes, but now there was a blanket over her body.
"Aeswi?" she blinked, and closed her eyes. A hand went to hers, and a blast of hot air came near her.
"Get Merewalh!" Aeswi demanded. "Or Aelfgar! Or any one of the Mercians, for the love of God! No, not a Centishman." He waved a hand. "Go!"
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Her mouth was dry. That was the first thing that Osthryth she remembered, a dryness to her throat. She reached up to scratch it, and coughed. She opened her eyes, then closed them.
"She's awake!"
"Osthryth!" A hand went to hers, and another to her head. Her body was hot now and her clothes were not wet. She shuffled up and opened her eyes. Someone she recognised. Not Aeswi.
"Keep this blanket around you," Aelfkin told her. "You've been unwell." Osthryth shivered, and reached up to hold her head. The sun was shining, and she was under a canopy, but a fire was still burning.
"Talk to me, Aelfkin," Osthryth asked and coughed, reaching for her throat. There was no mistaking his fair hair and bright blue eyes. He glanced up, and caught Aeglfrith's eye, who looked to his brother. Oshere knelt down and gave a skin of water to Aelfkin.
"You became unwell," Aelfkin told her, his mouth smiling, but with concern in his face. "The Centish warriors got you out of the water, but you collapsed." And he told her that she had begun to convulse and shake, and had fallen to the ground. The warriors had tried to warm her, but she had fallen as if she had died.
"We were about to move, but one of the men had, well, discovered you were a woman, and, that was not a secret he could keep," Aelfkin told her, with care. "He now has two black eyes and a broken nose. And - " But Osthryth found she could not keep her eyes open. Yet she felt for Buaidh.
"I have them," Merewalh told her. "You must have exhausted yourself, Osthryth, swimming with your ironware. And - "
And another three days on boiled broth and water and bread, and Osthryth was on her feet.
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"Osthryth?" Aelfkin explained on the fourth morning as she had got up at dawn and, blanket around her, had gone to take a piss. "Oh my word, Osthryth." She turned.
"Well?" she asked. "Do you have any spare clothes for your commander?"
And they say and talked together, and Merewalh joined them. She told him and Aelfkin what had happened, about the kidnapping and taking of the Trinity, and Eadgifu.
"What do you want?" Merewalh asked. "Really want?"
"To go home, eventually. I need to row to the fast lanes, where the merchants are and pay for passage north." And then she asked what had been happening there, between the two princes who were vying for one another's thrones.
"Better to talk to Aldhelm, his is in a good mood," Merewalh told her, exchanging looks with Aelfkin. "Be has just struck a bargain with the Centish commander - Cent will reinforce Mercia and support Aethelstan, who offers amnesty for Eadgifu."
"And, not missing a chance to oppose Wessex," Osthryth added. She knew that they had been subjugated, as had the Cornish, very early on by Wessex, but could not be stripped of their unique characters.
"That and the other threat," Aelfkin told her, passing her bread and meat and ale.
"Other threat?"
"A child," Aelfkin told her. "Another child of Edward's." He shook his head. "Not that anyone's seen or heard of this child...I think it is a made up story to sow confusion. But Osthryth shivered, and not from any lasting fever: young Finan. Somehow she knew that there was a core of truth in what her wretched brother had been saying, not real truth, but the gossip that surrounds truth that is incomplete.
"You know that I was a friend to King Edward?" she told Aelfkin, who glanced to Merewalh and then back to Osthryth.
"I'll get Aldhelm," Merewalh told him. You get Aeswi." And Merewalh and Aeswi joined Osthryth in tent, in the army camp twenty miles from Lundene.
"A rumour has begun that my son's dather was the late king, and - " she began. She glanced Aeswi. "And I need to tell this to Aldhelm alone," she added. "I will tell you afterwards," she told him.
"I can guess," Aeswi said in a low voice. "I guessed the minute I saw you and your brother and his men at Sheppey."
"You were there?" Aeswi nodded his head, then left through the tent flap, leaving Osthryth and Aldhelm alone. He looked across to her, and sighed.
"Osthryth, I am your friend, whatever you have to say, you can tell me." And Osthryth knew that she could: they had been through so much together, he and Osthryth had foiled their own assassination of Aethelflaed, and he had ensured that Mercia did not break up into factions. He had done so not too long ago, and genuinely served Mercia for the cause of peace and stability. When she said nothing, however, he prompted, "Please tell me Edward was not your child's father?"
"He is not my child's father," Osthryth told him.
"Or ever likely to have been?" Osthryth knew what he meant.
"I first was seduced by Edward when he was the aethling, when I was fourteen years old and he was thirteen," Osthryth told Aldhelm. "And this continued for many many years. Until I left Wessex, in fact." She saw Aldhelm sigh a deep sigh, and rest his head on his hand.
"Osthryth," Aldhelm sighed, "Oh my word, Osthryth, this could be bad very bad. What possessed you to bring him here?"
"I did not!" she told him, and explained how her brother had brought them, all except for Domnall, and that now she came to think of it, Uhtred had seemed exceptionally interested in his nephew, inviting him to sit with them, eat with them. She looked at Aldhelm.
"I am sorry that as a warrior when I chose to hump there was a consequence for me. There were many consequences which I had to deal with. But you must believe me when I say that my son's father is my husband. Not Constantine, not Edward." But Aldhelm only stared, then shook his head.
"Constantine? Good heavens, Osthryth!" Aldhelm exclaimed, and at this, she turned away, feeling the shame borne of years of survival from a man she so respected. Could she have resisted Edward? She supposed so. But he had been insistent, and near the end of the time they knew one another she might well have argued that it was rape.
And Constantine? He was different - they were different. Not sunny and easygoing, but strict and stubborn and insistent. He had taken her virtue before even Osthryth had known what was happening, and let him have her when he wished. He was home; she felt like she was at home when Constantine fucked her. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"I do not judge you," Aldhelm told her, "Nor have I ever judged you or had the right to."
"How long has it been said that his father may have been Edward?" Osthryth asked. "I assume you heard?" Aldhelm sighed, and looked at Osthryth carefully.
"The Lady Aethelflaed did speak to your brother that you had gone to Winchester to beg for aid, Aldhelm told her, and Osthryth's nodded. Of course, she thought bitterly. Of course she did.
"When did you hear, Lord Aldhelm?" she insisted. Aldhelm sat beside Osthryth.
"Only very recently, on the occasion that the king of Wessex ailed and discussion of the succession was had. Edward had willed that Aelfweard took Wessex's crown and Aethelstan took Lordship of Mercia. And then we heard that there was a hidden heir, and that hidden heir was hidden in Alba. It was then repeated, when the topic of the succession came about, as if it were fact, and has, unfortunately, spread widely, and fast." Osthryth laughed, but there was no humour in it.
"It seems to be a known fact in Alba that he is Constantine's," Osthryth said, bitterly. "And yet, neither can be true." Aldhelm shook his head.
"Of course, you are married to one of Uhtred's men," Aldhelm told her. "Perhaps he kept the boy close to protect him?"
"I escaped from him at the mouth of the river," Osthryth told Aldhelm, "And before that, he had a knife to young Finan's throat. So yes, I can see why it may be thought that my brother is protecting his nephew."
"What can I do," Aldhelm asked. "You are dear to me Osthryth, you are a respected warrior with a poor taste in lovers," he added with a small chuckle. And Osthryth returned the chuckle and nodded.
"Except the last, Lord Aldhelm," she told him. "And I expect I was the cause of his - " she broke off. Of course that was why Uhtred was saying all of those things, saying that young Finan was Constantine's bastard: because in doing so, and provoking her, she could be goaded into saying it. And if she confirmed he was Constantine's son, he could not therefore, be Edward's son, and therefore be aclaimant for the throne.
"Does this make sense to you, Lord Aldhelm?" Osthryth asked him, who smiled at her.
"It makes sense to me," Aldhelm told her, "And it depends on the value you put in your brother. His actions could easily be interpreted differently." And then Aldhelm leaned over and kissed Osthryth on the forehead.
"Although, you have been asked not to return to Mercia by Aethelstan," he reminded her, "You will now note you are on the south bank of the Thames, in Cent not in Mercia. And clad in Mercian colours. So?" He got to his feet. "Are you seeking to join us?"
"No," Osthryth said, "I am seeking to lead you."
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They rode into city from the south, coming up to meet the river at a narrower part and crossing the ancient pack horse bridge that crossed at the western side.
"It's so old and crumbly," Merewalh noticed, "Surely there will be a song written about it, one day." Aeswi, close to Osthryth, smiled. Aelfkin had been pleased that Osthryth had offered to command, but Aldhelm had told her that she could not lead, and not even fight with them.
"Why?" Osthryth asked him, affronted. If there was any army in the world she believed she truly belonged in, it was Mercia's
"Because you are, in the eyes of a lot of people here, an aethling's mother," he told her, his kindly eyes on hers. "I accept you with us for your own safety. And because you have been ill, dangerously ill, Osthryth. Unless you wish to find a way back to Alba with Aeswi?" Osthryth glanced at her friend.
"I need to take my son with me," he told Aldhelm and Aeswi.
"Then, and I have discussed this with Aeswi, he will be beside you."
"Then I can fight?" Osthryth asked. And Aldhelm reluctantly agreed. Osthryth could fight with her Mercians, if not lead them, so she may find young Finan. Who could be anywhere.
The army passed the church where, when she had been assigned to guard Aethelflaed when she had been newly married to Aethelred. There was church, where her jealous husband had insisted Aethelflaed be subjected to the purity rite called the Bitter Waters, and she remembered the place where Uhtred and Gisela had stayed, an old Roman house, that had patterns and tesserae made by the former overlords of the country.
She stayed with the Mercian camp inside Lundene, Aeswi beside her, as agreed. It was summer, it was warm, but the city smelled after dark, the fast-flowing Thames was not fast enough to displace all of the detritus and excrement out to the sea before its odour came to nostrils.
And after waiting nearly a week, Aldhelm had told the commanders that Aethelstan waited to the north of the city. There had already been skirmishes, but no direct attacks. No sign of an ambush or an overt attack. Neither side seemed to want to make the first move. So they were waiting still.
And then Oshere suggested an alehouse, which turned into a good idea all round. It was not the ale they were used to - Osthryth had boiled milk, but even that had a hint of staleness to it.
"I never have been naked in public," Aelfkin, after several drinks and calls for more, said to the warriors. Osthryth felt her face go pink, and received a sly look from Aeswi.
"Well, once," she said, when the rest of the warriors drank. "And you know why." She drank her milk then, before reaching for her head.
"Twice," Aelfkin told her. "But it was Aeswi, and as we all know about Aeswi, a woman's body does not entice him." Beside Aelfkin, Constantine's guard raised his cup, before leaning to Osthryth, as Merewalh stood the next round.
"You were going to freeze to death - you needed anyone to strip you naked and get you warm, or you would have died" he told her. "And you kept repeating these phrases," he added. "I have never..." Osthryth looked around.
"I have never...met a Roman," she contributed, blandly. None of the others drank, but someone drank, at the other table. In fact, he was sitting with someone who Osthryth imagined to look like a Roman - this woman was tall and slender, and had black hair to her waist. She was juggling hands with the man at the table, shifting them nervously.
"I have never been to a whore," Oshere continued, laughing. But Osthryth wasn't playing any more, for a man had just pushed open the alehouse door.
He was as big as Steapa, the head of Alfred's household guard, tall and broad. If Osthryth did not know better, it looked as if one of the statues in the palace at Winchester had come to life and was knuckling in. He slammed his fist onto the bar, and gave the customers a filthy look, as if each and every one of them had compromised his wife.
"I have never looked as if I have chewed granite and shitted flint," Aeglfrith told them, but very quietly. In fact, all of the alehouse looked very quiet, just a scrape of a jar from Oshere broke the silence.
"That's Woarmund, one of Aethelhelm's men," Aeswi told them. "But he seems to be without his livery." Another man opened the alehouse door, and pushed past a table of men about to get up to get himself across to Woarmund. The huge, ugly man got to his feet. Even the bartender, who was a tough-looking man himself cringed.
"There is an enemy in the east, the East Anglians," the man told Woarmund loudly.
"Do we know who they have declared for?" Woarmund asked, equally loudly, but then decided that he did not want to wait for an answer. Instead, he drained his cup and strode out of the alehouse, slamming the door back against the hinges as he went.
"So we know now," Merewalh told the men. "You stay here and finish. I will find Aldhelm."
Aldhelm had heard too, and had decided to take most of the Mercians with him out of the city. One or two companies remained behind, and scouts could be used to find Aldhelm should a bigger attack on Lundene come. For Aethelhelm had also heard the news, it seemed, and he was also riding his army out of the city and to the east.
Leaving the gates unguarded. For this had been a ruse, and the majority of Aethelhelm's men had remained hidden while the majority of Aldhelm's Mercians had left.
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"There does not seem to be many of Aethelhelm's men here now," Osthryth told Merewalh, as they rode north east. The road took a bend to the north and here it ran almost parallel with the Lee river, a significant trading route out of East Anglia, and along which the East Anglian army were reputed to be coming. Beside her, Aeswi was looking around him, glancing at warriors in the middle and far distance.
She had asked Aeswi whether Constantine had, as the Mercians believed, supported Aethelhelm, and provided ships and men.
"Not to my knowledge," Aeswi told her. And Osthryth chose to believe him. There might have been some evidence, but she did not think Constantine would give up the large portion of land or alliegance that Aethelhelm would demand in exchange. And if he invited one Saxon to Alba, more would follow.
As night fell, more of Aethelstan's West Saxons seemed to have evaporated. Leaving most of the Mercian army facing their enemy with not one of Aethelhelm's men in sight.
"It feels like a trap," Osthryth told Aelfkin, and her friend nodded silently. Aldhelm seemed to be coming to a similar conclusion. But then she saw one of the companies of Aethelhelm, red livery with the leaping stag. And she knew what she wanted to do: that story of Troy that young Finan had told her.
"Aelfkin, you know that I swore to Mercia," she told him, as they began to set up camp that afternoon."
"Yes," he agreed, patiently, sensing trouble. "Don't forget your agreement with Aldhelm with Aeswi," Aelfkin added. "Your son is wanted, as you know; you may well be as well." Osthryth smiled.
"You see, Aethelhelm's men have been a little careless, and left out this uniform," she told him, and showed him the livery. His face became soft, conclusive; Osthryth knew that Aelfkin knew she had a plan.
"So I need to go, I need to find out what Aethelhelm's men are doing," she concluded. Because, whatever was going on, this was strange. Someone had to take a look around the inside of the enemy.
"What?" Aelfkin asked. But she was already taking her clothes off. "Osthryth!" he exclaimed, as she stood in breeches and shirt.
"Pass me those," Osthryth asked, gesturing towards the red livery with the stag upon it. It was rumoured that Constantine was allied with Aethelhelm so she might as well make it come true. She bundled up the Mercian livery that she had just taken off and slung it over her shoulder.
"I am coming with you," Aelfkin said, determinedly. "Or Aeswi - I will wake Aeswi."
"You can't, you can't leave your men, they are guarding the gate," Osthryth reminded him, as she saw the look of division in his eyes. He did want to go with her; he did not want to abandon his command. "And Aeswi will stop me." Aelfkin sighed.
"I will take the men across the water at the ford," he told Osthryth. "I will be behind the East Anglians, if that is who they are." And reluctantly, but determinedly, he helped Osthryth dress. When he had finished, he looked across Osthryth's frame.
"One thing missing," he told her. And from his jerkin he pulled out her jewel. It shimmered in the evening light, its surface glowing as if it were absorbing the light itself.
"Haf died," Aelfkin told her. "I was going to bury her with it, but I changed my mind." He glanced at it, and smiled. "I like to keep it close because it reminds me of her, and you." He pushed her hand out of the way when Osthryth resisted his putting it back into her own hair. "Back where it belongs," he told her, and stepped back.
"I need someone to find young Finan," Osthryth said. "If I am injured, or killed. I - "
"I will do it." The voice of Aeswi was behind them both, and Osthryth's heart rose, and she nodded, telling him what she wanted him to do if he found her son before she did: go, as quickly as he could to Alba and take young Finan with him.
Thenm she crept out into the night, a horse in Aethelhelm's clothing.
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It was surprisingly easy to slip into the company of Aethelhelm's men who were also still heading east. His men, unlike Mercia's, were made up of people who hardly knew one another, and so one more face was just one more fighting person.
They marched in line with the river Lee, and with each step, Osthryth imagined Aelfkin bringing the Mercians behind. It must be tempting to attack, Osthryth thought, but he was better trained than that, and she looked further on and saw that, at the front, was indeed this big man who had come to the alehouse and staged the dropping of the false information.
And then Osthryth came across a sight she did not expect.
At first, she thought that it was the East Anglians, but they had with them so many children, and also men, some in chains, and some women as well. In amongst them all, Osthryth saw, to her utter astonishment, were her brother's men, Finan and Osferth, Sihtric and Berg and Roric. And with them, her son.
What on earth were they doing with these people? Leading them to safety? And if so, where was the danger?
She soon saw. As they settled for the night, Osthryth watched as Aethelhelm's men settled further away and it became apparent that there were spies among the red leaping stags: one would go to the edge of Uhtred's settlement and then report back. It was a task Osthryth needed to undertake for herself. And for that to happen, she needed to gain the attention of the commander of her section.
So she went to dig the latrines.
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It worked. A hard and unpleasant job, Osthryth was busy cleaning down when she chanced upon the man Waormund, who was gathering together a group of men. She followed them - it would be good to hear what it was the commander wanted from them, and they assembled in the morning light. It seemed they were going to attack the non-existent East Anglians, who were, in fact, Uhtred and his men.
Across the river, she noticed that the Mercians had made it across. Good, Osthryth thought to herself. There were very legitimate reasons for being in East Anglia, and very legitimite reasons for a company of Mercians to ask what was going in with a large group of people, and offer protection to them. The only difficulty would be if Uhtred or Finan recognised any of them, but with luck, and the breaking dawn and so many people to manage, he may not ask a lot of questions.
"Should we really be going this way?" Osthryth said to one of the guards at the back of the line, when they headed up the west bank of the Lee, in her best West Saxon accent. The man turned to her.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"The latrines," Osthryth told him, trying to sound nonchalant. "I was sent here by the commander?" The man sniffed.
"Sifwald?" he asked. Osthryth nodded. The man sniffed again.
"It's alright under Waormund, just don't get on his bad side."
"Why's that?" Osthryth asked.
"Because you'll never get on any side again!" The man laughed at his own weak joke. "They are the East Anglians," he told her. "So we are going the right way."
And he pointed out Uhtred's party.
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So, it was time to go. Get away from the Wiltunscir men and get across to young Finan. But, as she absconded, a hand caught her collar. It was the man with whom she had talked, who had liked the sound of his own voice.
"Oh dear," he mocked, as Osthryth struggled, and he hit her. "You are in trouble now. More so when Weormund - " He broke off, and pushed her again.
"Please," begged Osthryth, in mock terror. "I won't ever do it again!" The man looked her up and down, then spied her seax.
"That is a pretty thing," he said, glancing to her hip. Taghd's seax glittered there. "Alright," he said, as if he had come to an agreement with her without Osthryth even speaking, "I won't let Wearmund kill you if you give that to me."
Osthryth froze. If anything, Taghd's seax was more precious to her than Buaidh. She had to work for her sword, but the seax was had been handed to her by the man she had wanted to spend her life with. A rush of protectiveness came over her, shortly followed by a rush of anger. Osthryth slowly withdrew it from its scabbard.
"Pretty now," he told her, looking at the design of interlinked horses and hares and curls that was common on the Pictish stones, then glanced at Osthryth. "You are no West Saxon!"
And Osthryth gave it to him. A stab in the eye, and then the other, so quick that the man did not even notice. He slumped back, away from her.
Osthryth ran, discarding her uniform in the body of the dead warrior.
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And from the side of the bank opposite to Aethelhelm's men, and the same as Aelfkin and Uhtred, Osthryth watched. She watched the man be discovered by his comrades, and Wearmund coming over to see, and crouching to look at the damage she had done. It was reckless, she thought. All of this was reckless.
But young Finan was close, and she could take him from Uhtred, and take him back to Alba. Cross-country if necessary; Osthryth knew the routes, and the routes to avoid. And she watched as Aethelhelm's men staked out the line of warriors across from them, and the low ford of the river.
She had to risk it. But how? The Mercians were in pursuit of Uhtred, as were the West Saxons. The Centish warriors had an alliance with Mercia, for Aethelstan, even if they were Wessex themselves.
Who would move first?
It turned out to be Uhtred. Not her brother, actually, but a group of women who wanted to wash and bathe in the Lee, and Berg, Osferth and Sihtric had been selected to take them up stream. Osthryth watched as they turned their back on the women, who had got into a secluded spot.
Why had Uhtred got himself tied down with dependents? It only made them vulnerable. And vulnerable they were when Aethelhelm's men charged over the river, no subterfuge for them.
Some went across to the women, and were faced with Berg, at first knocking them side to side, and when they tried to get up for another attempt, were stabbed by Sihtric and Osferth.
At the centre, more West Saxons were attacking, and the defense that was being offered was being led by Uhtred himself. It was working. Some of the men who had been chained had slipped through them, and were charging at the West Saxons with wood fallen from nearby trees, while others were guarding the children, some of whom were itching to fight themselves.
Osthryth moved to try to spy the Mercians. No sign. They had not appeared yet, and perhaps they were waiting for some of the West Saxons to be killed before they joined.
And she waited. And waited, until several of the slave men had been killed, and until about half a dozen West Saxons were standing.
So, with the beleagured men in Uhtred's command, the Mercians flew from their hiding place, and continued to fight, hacking down more of the West Saxons, while Uhtred and Finan, surprised by the speed of the attack, turned to fight the newcomers before realising who they were.
And then all fighting came to an end. Because Waormund, standing in the centre of the battlefield, with a sword to the neck of a man. Osthryth felt her blood run cold: it was young Finan.
She ran. Buaidh in hand, Taghd's seax in the other, still bloodied by her killing of the West Saxon on the other side of the bank, all the force and energy she had. She struck the man in the leg, although with his size, it was not enough to do much more than make him unsteady. But it was enough to loosen his grip.
Osthryth struck again, her pommel of Buaidh into the elbow joint of his right arm, which she knew would be agonising, and as she fell from the blow he gave to her at the back of her neck, she plunged her seax into the hard muscle of his calf.
Waormund roared, and hopped around in one movement, his blade lost, but young Finan still in his grip. Osthryth rolled on the ground when the man's boot came stamping towards her head, and she managed to sit up and slash at the tendon at the base of his foot. He roared again, dropping his sword.
"The King's whore!" he screamed at her, as the man fumbled with another blade. This, too, fell to the floor, where it skittered across the hard earth in his attempt to retrieve it. Osthryth turned and used the power in her legs to throw herself at Waormund, but the momentum had not been enough for Waormund to release young Finan, and the huge man turned, towering over Osthryth
"I will wring his neck!" Waormund told her. "After I have killed you, whore!"
The man raised his foot aiming for her head, and Osthryth closed her eyes. My son, she thought, I love him.
There was no impact. Finan had pulled her, holding onto Osthryth tightly as she struggled to reach their son, who was being crushed at the throat by Woarmund.
But not for long, and young Finan was thrown to the hard summer floor as a volley of thrusts with sword and dagger came at him: Uhtred was fighting Waormund and was giving no ground, striking his face and neck, and landing a stab from the dagger in his left hand into the man's upper arm.
And Osthryth really thought he was going to do be the victor, her brother, attacking the man who had been attacking his nephew. Uhtred rained down blow after blow on the giant man. But somehow, it was making little difference, and worse, as everyone watched this single combat, Uhtred was growing tired, his arm was lower and he was slower. Woarmund struck out with his hand, and Uhtred was on his back, and the man was dragging him around the clearing.
Osthryth could not watch. Pulling young Finan to her, she buried her head into Finan's shoulder, pressing herself to him, flinching at every thinp and cry.
"Alainn," Finan soothed, and after what seemed like hours, the thumping came less and less frequently.
"I will take the Pretender!" Waormund exclaimed, and Osthryth turned to see the man stalking over to them. Behind her, she heard a "shrrrm" of weapons being unsheathed - the Mercians had other ideas, and within a few seconds, Aethelhelm's men were sword-to-sword to Merewahl's, and on the losing side.
"We will find you," Waormund growled as he called off his men, some of them dead, many of them having been forced back into the river, and stuck his finger point out to young Finan. "Edward's bastard!"
But before anyone could reply, the man was stamping through the middle as if it were a stream, calling his men to him. Finan, pulling Osthryth towards him, kissed her forehead before pulling young Finan in too.
"Thank God you're safe," he told her. "Thank, thank God you are safe." Then he broke away, and nodded towards Uhtred, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground just before them.
"I need to - " he began, and Osthryth nodded, adding a "Yes," when he paused. Then she realised young Finan was staring at her.
"...Edward's bastard...?" he repeated. Finan turned, and looked between his wife and his son.
"You haven't told him?" she scolded Finan. He crossed back to them.
"Not when it's not true," he told her, "And I told ye, Uhtred had a plan." And then turned and strode towards Uhtred, who was still down. A woman was kneeling beside him, long black hair falling on either side of her shoulders. Osthryth turned to young Finan, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Finan beag," Osthryth began, laying a hand on her son's shoulder. "There might be just a small, tiny rumour that you are the son of the dead king Edward."
And there was a pause, a pause so long that it felt like a chasm between two precipices.
And then, young Finan laughed. Osthryth stared. If she was expecting anything she was not expecting that.
"I agree with Athair," her son told her, and he stepped to Osthryth and gave her a hug, like he used to when he was a child, all close to her neck with arms tight about her neck. "Thank you for trying to rescue me."
They watched as Finan knelt, tenderly, beside her brother. He had fought Waormund to protect her, Osthryth knew, intervened when she was about to die. And young Finan had called him, "Athair", she knew, Finan, not Constantine.
There was a plan. And when the Mercians came to her, Aelfkin, Aeglfrith and Oshere and Falkbald, they waited with her, Aeswi with young Finan to find out what that plan was.
"You did not kill him, Lord," Finan said softly, to Uhtred. Neither of them thought that he would get up again, but with the help of them both, himself and Benedetta, the former slave girl who had taken a shine to Uhtred, he was on his feet. He would be sharing it, and by all the gods, none of them would interfere again,
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It was simple.
Or rather, it was straightforward. That did not mean it was by any means safe or might not go wrong at any point. The Mercians, beside their captain, waited for Uhtred to speak.
And he told them it all.
Mercia, of course, was for the plan. Osthryth, however, shivered. She had, and Uhtred more than had, paid for young Finan's life. Putting him back into danger was not at all what she wanted.
"He is fourteen years old," Finan told her. "I was a warrior at that age."
"Training to be one," Osthryth replied. She thought of Dubhcan, the mormaer's son, who was all mouth and little skill. If Osthryth had been fighting him for real when he was fourteen, Dubhcan would have been dead by now. "And he learned very little at Bebbanburg, so I am given to understand."
"He learned enough," Finan told her.
"And he's not fourteen until December," Osthryth told him. She knew she was on to a loser - his father, his uncle would be beside him. Uhtred would never have let himself get pulverised if young Finan was not dear to him.
At least she would be there.
"You will not," Uhtred told her, and when she opened her mouth to protest, he added, "You heard how dangerous it is going to be; I cannot spare men to defend you."
"You won't be, I will be defending myself." Uhtred glanced to Finan, who gave Uhtred the same look back, and he crossed to her, and put his arm around her, walking her away from her brother and Aeswi and Aelfkin.
"If you will not do it for your men, your Mercian warriors, if you will not do it for your ally from Alba - " and here, Osthryth knew, he meant Aeswi, " - will you do it for me?" Trust me, was what her husband was asking her to do.
"I will do it for you," Osthryth told Finan, and to her own surprise, knew that she meant it. Aeswi would take her back to Alba, and Osthryth had agreed to that too, though how he meant to do that, being as they were in the middle of East Anglia she didn't know.
So she watched young Finan dress in Mercian livery, and her heart beat faster as the time neared for them to leave.
The children whom Uhtred had rescued and any slaves who wished it were going to be taken back to Bebbanburg, and Aeswi suggested she went with them.
"No," Osthryth told Aeswi. "I am not a person who my brother has rescued."
"But you are not intending to abandon me and chase after them, are you?" Aeswi asked. Osthryth shook her head. She'd given Finan her word that she would meet them in Berric, and in Berric she was going to be, somehow.
Berg was going to take Sparrowhawk and the children, and the Mercians, with Uhtred, would march south west and meet up with Aethelstan. Young Finan was going to be a Mercian, and serve under Aldhelm's command, thus keeping him away from any plots against his life, or ransom attempts or using him as a third candidate for the Wessex and Mercian thrones. He was her son, hers and Finan's, and that was how it was going to stay.
"The West Saxons are inside and are closing the city," was the news that Aeswi had brought.
"Like hell they are," Merewalh exclaimed, feiercely. "Lundene is Mercian, Aethelstan is Mercian."
And with such fighting talk, with such men as Aelfkin and her old company around young Finan, he could not go wrong. Although she hated that her son was going, going because of her own inability to keep her legs closed for Edward on the day she had brought the plea for troops at Teotenhalgh, if she had to choose men for him to go with, Uhtred and Finan, and her Mercians would be those men.
"Keep your blade high and your mouth closed," Osthryth said in Gaelish to her son just before they left.
"Why?" Young Finan asked, as he kissed his mother's sake. She took his hands in hers.
"Because, my son, I love you more than words can say, but if you open your mouth you sound like a Gael, and they will know about Aethelhelm's plot with Constantine and they'll run you through without any questions being asked." Into his hand she pressed Ceinid's sgian, in its holder, with its strap.
"You knew him," Osthryth told her son, before he could protest. "You loved him, as I loved him. I want to know something of Alba goes with you." For young Finan was to stand beside Aethelstan, when he won, and make his alliegance known. If Aethelstan harmed him in any way, Osthryth thought ferociously, she would find him and she would kill him.
"And you will be the Trojans," she added. Her son smiled and shook his head.
"You've got it wrong," Finan beag told his mother. "The West Saxons are the Trojans and we are the Greeks."
And Uhtred was the horse, Osthryth thought, the trap that he would be pulling off, to upset the whole lot of the West Saxons to make Aethelstan king, of both Mercia and Wessex.
And then she turned, because she knew if she didn't, she would stride back out with them to Lundene.
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"We will follow the river down to the estuary," Aeswi said, walking beside her. "It's a good, good thing you did letting your son go with his father." Osthryth nodded, but could not bring herself to say anything for some while.
As they neared the flatter part of the land, Aeswi pointed to the shore. "We have silver enough to get you back to Berric."
"I have silver," Osthryth told him. "And I wish - " she broke off. What she wished was irrelevant, and she changed the subject.
"Is Lundene taken with West Saxons?"
"It appears so," Aeswi told her. "Lundene has already been taken."
And a day later they got to the coast to see her transport back north. It was flying the white banner with the red hand of the Ulaid. There, at the prow, was Cillin, the captain of Domnall's ship, Constantine's flag ship.
"Did you know it was going to be here?" Osthryth asked. Aeswi smiled.
"Only before I left Lundene," he told her, and smiled at her astonishment. "Domnall's men refused to go home without you."
Which is when she heard that there were more reinforcements moving into Lundene. Aethelstan and his men were going to be seriously outnumbered.
"I couldnae stop you" Aeswi told her, when they were both aboard, Aeswi, who knew everyone in Alba, or so it seemed, shaking Cillin's hand energetically. "Your reputation for impetuosity is well known," he added.
"My reputation?" Osthryth asked. Did she even have a reputation?
"Oh yes," Aeswi told her. "You fight with all your heart, with great skill and daring. You play to your own rules, though you listen to advice, all the advice. And should there be a change in the field of battle you adapt to it. Men follow you because you inspire loyalty in them. And occasionally, just occasionally you disobey direct instructions, and if it is bound to an oath, you stretch its agreed conditions to the limit."
Osthryth stared at him, and then glanced around the crew of the Trinity.
"How long have you known that I would head west?" she asked him.
"Almost as soon as we left. These proud men are Pictish, and have been trained at Dunnottar. Under Ceinid."
So Ceinid had never left her, Osthryth thought. And what's more, her first thoughts had been the right ones: in the "Trinity" were red liveries, with the stag of Wiltunscir embroidered on to it, like the one she had abandoned when the guard had fathomed she could not be West Saxon."
"How far north on the river is still Wessex?" Osthryth asked. Because when Aethelstan claimed victory she wanted to stand before him and swear she never entered Mercia.
It was only when the ship was under way, however, that Osthryth asked Aeswi one more question.
"And how long was it before Uhtred knew I would go west?" Aeswi smiled at her again, as if she was a student who had just worked out the answer to a complicated puzzle which, indeed, she had.
"He always knew, Osthryth," he told her. "He always knew."
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The smell from the city hit them almost as soon as the banks of the river narrowed to become the liminal boundary that separated sea from river. Sailing up-stream, the Picts had begun to help the ship by at first rowing a pair of men and then rowing more pairs. Cloth and scummy filth drifted by them, and a dead dog. They were in Lundene alright, and the first thing Aethelstan should do when he takes the city, Osthryth thought, was to sort out the water supply.
The Trinity slowed when they got to the junction with the Thames and the river Fleet. In that river an army sat, waiting on traders who were coming up. Aethelhelm's men, in red, had stopped the merchant in front of them and a guard was busy inspecting what looked like barrels of fish, herring or mackerel, that were stored within them.
The guard waved them through, and then it was the turn of the Trinity. Osthryth watched as Aeswi took up the negotiations, and an almost imperceptible change of coin purse from her friend to the guard took place - they were through, and into the mercantile area of the city.
"Billing," Aeswi told Osthryth. "He is the man who controls the trade here."
"A West Saxon? Aethelhelm's man?"
"His own man," Aeswi told her. "We trade uisge-beatha down here, and return with all manner of things, furs, cloth, jewels. Medicine, herbs and spices. Meat that can keep."
It made sense. A lot of trade was done in Lundene, and the cloth that was used in Dunnottar and sewn by Ealasaid and her troupe of maids had to come from somewhere.
"We are traders, or at least I and Cillin are traders. You may go to do as you wish." He handed her a purse of silver. Before Osthryth could wave it away, Aeswi pressed it into her hand. "You may have need of it; better to have it and not need it," he added.
So there were two horses, Osthryth thought, as she stepped down onto Billingsgate, in the uniform of a West Saxon warrior again. Or was there only her? If that was the case, and Uhtred had guessed she would come to Lundene in any case.
"Wait for me," she told Aeswi, and then repeated this to Cillin. "Wait for me, so I may return to Berric." For she was no oath breaker, and Finan and their son were going to come home.
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It did not take long to find a company. Men were coming out of a hall at the eastern bank of the river. A captain was calling them in.
"Hamptun, here," the man called, looking with sharp eyes at the recruits. "Winchester, here, Andover here." Men who had been brought as reinforcements were being sorted into companies, and Osthryth joined the Hamptun men, althought a thought had crossed her mind that, as Constantine had been aiding Aethelhelm, she should have said, "Alba".
They were here to defend the gate at the north, and would join the other men in sections on the old Roman wall. They were to look for Mercians. With them were several bowmen, bows hewn from ash trees and strung with horse gut bound with tree bark fibres. They were there to be marksmen. Osthryth shuddered as she thought of young Finan being the target of one of these archers.
What to do would become apparent when there was actually an attack. Her son had told her that it was once said that the supreme art of war was to subdue the enemy without actually engaging men in battle. It was clear that Aethelhelm was subscribing to that school of thought: it would be difficult - impossible, even, to break the Roman walls until Aethelhelm, on behalf of his nephew Aelfweard, the second son of Edward, for his claim.
"There has been sickness in the north," the commander shouted at the Hamptun company. "Has there been any ships in your port from Eoferwic?"
Eoferwic, Osthryth mused, as they marched to the walls, and she hoped that as far north as Bebbanburg, where Uhtred's Sparrowhawk was heading, and Berric, where Trinity would eventually take her, had been untouched. There was Dunholm, technically Uhtred's, but between there and her own lands sparse populations dwelt.
And they waited. And they gamed and told stories and polished weapons and waited. The gates were barred. Wessex, under Aethelhem's men had control of the city. Unless Osthryth could throw them an advantage, Mercia would have to attack barred gates and the loss of life would be heavy.
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And the day after Osthryth found the advantage for Mercia. She and three other men had been sent to watch for the Mercians and those in East Anglia loyal to Aethelstan. It was a tiresome job, not least because there really was nothing to look at except for the heads of the West Saxon warriors below. One of the guards in her company leaned over the balustrade and pissed on another West Saxon below. Osthryth moved out of the way in time, in case she was seen and handed the blame.
Until the morning. Early in the morning, as the sun was rising and a flock of geese sped overhead towards the south men were coming from the north.
"They're coming, the bastards," Herewald, one of the other Hamptun gurards exclaimed. "Didn't take long to climb out of their holes."
And Osthryth thought, a year ago, they were your allies, your comrades. A decade, and you were fighting side by side, cheek by cheek. Now, down there were Uhtred and Finan and her Mercians and her son would be there somewhere, fodder for the bowmen in the ramparts.
A noise began to grow, starting low, a murmur, a rumble of voices and feet pounding the dry earth outside the city. As more companies, led by more commanders in green and yellow drew nearer, it got louder, a thumping of legs and spear shafts.
From her position near the top of the rampart, close to the mechanism of the gate, Osthryth peered down, looking for the impossible: looking for her kin.
And then the fighting began. West Saxons who had lined the ramparts had begun to hurl stones and rocks down onto the Mercian warriors as they in turn began to hack at the gate.
Two West Saxons were having a competition as to how many Mercians they could hit, a common pastime, but that afternoon it touched Osthryth's raw soul, and she punched one of them in the mouth.
"Good one," the other man said, with a laugh. "I was getting tired of hearing him speak." He turned to aim back down into the Mercians now, but Osthryth hit him too, thumping him in the jaw. He lost balance, and tumbled back, spilling his arrows and bow, which Osthryth threw outside the walls, down into Aethelstan's warriors.
Down into the street a tussle had begun, as a Mercian helped by two more, had scaled the stonework, and had made it to the palisade level. He was doing well, Osthryth thought, as he helped up two of his colleagues, but then one toppled back when he was hit by a spear haft, and another fell down shortly afterwards. The north gate was closed, and it was holding.
So she needed to do something.
Behind the rampart, Osthryth collected more arrows that had fallen and thrown them over the side as well, as she ran towards the rope that held the gate on one side. She needed to cut the rope, which would make one side weak.
"Hey!" A voice called behind Osthryth, but she wasn't turning. "HEY!" And feet followed her.
At the junction of the rampart and the gear housing for the gate rope, Osthryth chanced look behind her. Two men were running after her, one with an arm raised.
"Hey you! You killed Ecghere in East Anglia!" he cried, then turned to the other man, "I knew he wasn't from Hamptun!" One tried to grab at her ankle as she scaled the wall, but she managed to kick him in the face, but the other had got hold of her calf, and was pulling her down.
Osthryth struggled, but it was little use, and she was now down, and she skidded on the wooden wall. The man said nothing, but instead held up his right arm to deliver the killing blow.
But it never fell. The Mercians had their own bowmen and the man was a good target when he had raised his sword. His eyes glazed over and he fell back. Osthryth skittered on the wood, and got her balance, then began to climb again.
But then another, firmer hand, gripped Osthryth, and this time brought her down hard on the deck. She was ready, this time and flew to the man's legs, trying to tackle him, but instead missed and fell at the man's feet.
The blow did not come. But a hand did.
"It's me, Lady Osthryth," came the voice. She looked up into he face of a man she knew. There was only one person who called her "Lady" when in truth, his father had been the king.
"Osferth?" He smiled, and Osthryth smiled too. And with him, Sihtric.
"Take the men with you over there, and I will climb," he said, and gave Osthryth a quick smile, and behind her she saw Berg and another Mercian. Two others, then three came behind until she had her warriors again.
"He is with Uhtred," Sihtric told her, before Osthryth had asked the question. Below them, the gate groaned. Sihtric had done his work, and it wasn't long until a stream of Mercian warrors were pushing, fighting, hitting, and kicking their way into Lundene.
"Come on!" Aelfkin called to his commander, raising a hand to pat the jewel that she had once given to him for his wife, now back in Osthryth's own hair.
But instead, Osthryth sat with her back to the wooden wall - she could not, not yet. And she flung her Wiltunscir livery, the white horse on the red field, over the rampart, where it was hacked to pieces by the Mercians below.
And they waited, her warriors, Aelfkin and Oshere, Aeglfrith and Falkbald. It was something Osthryth would remember with pride when she was an old woman, with her grandchildren about her, how her men had so respected her they had waited.
When they did come down, there were Mercians all over the city, fighting West Saxons and pushing them back towards the north bank of the Thames, to Billing's gate and further, until they came down into the water.
"Where is he?" Osthryth said, under her breath. "Where is he?"
And he was there, along with more of the men she loved. The fighting waned, and there was the king, the king of both Mercia and Wessex, standing over the bridge with a kingdom on either side of him, a blue cloak, not the blue of Domhnall's, but the blue of the sky hung from his shoulders. In the hands of one of his attendants, Alfred's crown was being gripped, its emeralds glinting in the afternoon sun.
"What is he doing?" Oshere asked. They all looked as a man in chains had been brought before Aethelstan. Osthryth pushed forward, and she was standing with her men ten feet from the bridge. Aethestan was making a declaration.
"As I rise, so does this man," Aethelstan told them. "He is released from slavery and is a free man - "
But then he broke off. For, to his right, a man muscled through. It was Waormund. He was coming through at pace, pushing and knocking warriors and the populace of Lundene out of the way. In his hand was a spear. When he got to the bridge, he began to pick up speed and he levelled his spear, so it was horizontal. And then he brought his arm back.
He's going to kill Aethelstan! Osthryth's mind screamed. He's going to kill the king!
It was as if all of the air had been taken out of the world as Waormund ran. But, at the last second, something opposed him. And, as she looked, Osthryth realised it was not something, but someone. It was Uhtred.
Osthryth's brother threw himself at the giant of a man, which was not enough to floor him, but to divert the trajectory of his spear throw. When it came, it whistled past Aethelstan and his counsellors on the bridge but landed without harm in the river.
The fight was tremendous. No-one seemed to move, or want to, as the combat took place. Waormund had unsteadied Uhtred, who had landed awkwardly, but he was using his agility to outfox the man, turning before Waormund could turn.
But his injuries were causing issues, and more than once he twisted awkwardly and his feet skidded across the dry earth beside the river. Waormund was using his sword like a club and trying to swat the too-quick Uhtred.
A gasp came from men who were nearer the duel - Uhtred had rolled away from a thump and had just missed having his head smashed in. Osthryth surged forward, but was held back by Aelfkin.
"Don't, captain," he told her. "Don't try."
So she watched as Uhtred again narrowly missed death, swinging himself round and slashing at Waormund's ankles. The West Saxon stumbled but did not fall, and Uhtred caught the man's hand with then blade of his sword. Several fingers flew from the man's hand and Waormund roared in pain and Osthryth thought of the poor, humble fishermen of Uhtred's who had been subjected to worse.
But then he stopped. Something had caused Uhtred to come to a stop: it was the river. Waormund was backing him into the river.
So Osthryth could understand completely her brother's next move. But he didn't make it. He slid between Waormund's legs, but the man had anticipated this, and Uhtred was sprawled out in front of him. Waormund pulled him up to his knees.
This time Osthryth did push forward and got closer to the fight, Aelfkin beside her. And then she saw him, she saw her son beside Finan, and her husband was whispering something in young Finan's ear.
It took a matter of minutes - though to Osthryth it felt like centuries - for young Finan to raise the sword he was using and deliver the killing stroke, as he in turn was raising his arm to deliver the killing stroke to Uhtred.
The sword found found the gap in his armour and young Finan drove it home with a ferocity that made Osthryth proud. There was a thump, and Aethelstan's would-be assassin was, himself, dead.
Osthryth could not help herself - she laughed. Small chuckles to begin with, it rose to guffaws until she was laughing so hard tears were coming to her eyes. Aelfkin turned, and . Her brother was a cocky, arrogant shit! He had planned this. And still allowed it to go on, knowing how Waormund had beaten him. Aelfkin looked at her, and then back to Uhtred, who was being helped to his feet by Aethelstan.
The common touch, Osthryth thought. Helping up his allies to his feet. Then, he saw Osthryth. How he knew it was her, she did not know, but the keen eyes looked at hers, telling her that she had been seen.
"My people," Aethelstan said, returning to the centre of the bridge, his blue cloak blowing in the breeze. "I have defeated my enemies. My brother is dead, killed when sieging my men at Aylesbury. All of my usurpers are dead. Except one." He looked at Osthryth again.
And then she saw. Young Finan was being dragged to the side of the river, one of Aethelstan's men beside him. He had a sword.
"No!" This time Osthryth did scream, but Aelfkin took her arm.
"No, Osthryth!" he hissed urgently, "It's - " But Osthryth had struggled free and was striding towards them, her hand moving to Buaidh.
"Look, Captain!" Aelfkin tried again. And this time she watched as her husband strode across the bridge and stood before Aethelstan.
"No!" Finan's voice came loud and clear. The hush came again. "There will be no killing."
He looked across to young Finan, his eyes softening in a way Osthryth had never before. She thought he was about to turn back and stand beside Uhtred, but he had not finished. The potential executioner stood still, his hand on his halfway drawn sword.
"I am Finan, of the family Conchobar,rightful king of the Ulaid, lord of Berric!" Finan declared to them all. " This boy is mine, my own blood. And I am married to his mother." And this time, he looked to Osthryth, his eyes wide and bright, like the Finan she had known when she was much younger. Osthryth smiled back, though more in astonishment than anything else.
"He is claimed, and there will be no more talk of fathers."
And Finan waited until Aethelhelm released young Finan, who walked across to his father, who took his arm. It was the law, Osthryth knew. If a man claimed a child, then it was his. Young Finan was Finan mac Finan ui Conchobar, and no longer had the suspicion of being Edward's bastard son.
"How long do we wait for the coronation?" she heard Aeswi asking beside her, and he smiled back when Osthryth looked at him, with a look that said, "They knew what they were doing."
They knew what they wanted to do with all the braveness and stupidity of men, Osthryth thought. But she looked across to them anyway, and to answer Aeswi's question, it was then, just then.
A priest had been called. From his attire he looked to be a bishop and he had been given the crown of Wessex.
"Before all of you today, Mercians, West Saxons, East Anglians," the bishop was saying, "I proclaim you, Aethelstan Rex, to be their king." He raised the crown over Aethelstan's head. "And, of the dominions of Cornwalum, Cent, the five counties. He hesitated, and his next words were almost imperceptible. But they were there. "And Northumbria."
So he had claimed it, Osthryth thought, but did not hold it. Yet.
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Cillin brought her back under the bridge as the coronation finished, and the royal party had left. She looked up, hoping to see Finan and young Finan, but they had gone.
"I came because I thought you would need me," Osthryth said to her husband's look of surprise and lack of surprise when it was they, Uhtred beside him, Aelfkin beside her, had caught up with her with Trinity waiting.
"I will get to Berric before you and Finan beag," she told him. Finan looked at her, doubtfully, and after the biggest embrace, where Finan hugged them both to him, Aeswi had taken her across to Domnall's ship.
"We will," Cillin told her, confidently when she told him this. "We are escorting the trading ships, we will fly like the wind, over the water, as we came, fast like the Holy Dove." ColmCille, Osthryth thought. "We will get your home, Caileag." And her heart softened, and she smiled at Cillin. Only Ceinid called her that.
"Don't you know us?" Cillin asked, when they were under way. "We are Ceinid's kin, the better part of his family - Picts," he added. "You are getting to your kin and we are your kin too."
"It will be good that you are apart for a while," Aeswi told Osthryth, as he declined the invitation to join them in Trinity. "I will come when I can." Before Osthryth could ask what made it so he could talk about herself and Finan like that, Aeswi explained that it was because of Uhtred.
"The plague in the north that broke out," he told Osthryth. "It has killed Sygtryggr and his children - his grandchildren are presumed dead," Aeswi added, but Osthryth detected a twinkle in his eye as he said this. In fact it was probably his own idea to bring them to Dunnottar and hide them as Ealasaid's grandchildren.
"And his own wife," Aeswi told Osthryth. "But he does not know, yet."
"You saved my life Osthryth of Berric," Aethelsan had acknowledged, before she had left. "And though you are in Mercia, and I told you not to come back to my land."
"I only ever stayed on the south bank of the Thames," she lied. North was Mercia, and she knew Aethelstan had a thing about sticking to his promises, particularly regarding Osthryth being in Mercia.
"So I do stand by my oath that your people will not be harmed when I take the whole of the British Island." It was the first step Aethelstan had told her, become king and take the land, now Alba was in his sight and he had an alliance with Owain of Strathclyde. How funny, then, that they had lived, ten years before, as neighbours in Gwynedd and Tamworth.
As Osthryth looked out onto the sea, as blue as Aethelstan's coronation cloak, desperation in her stomach began to gnaw, that longing to be back in Dunnottar, beside Constantine, back to the northern sea. Aethelstan had no right to Alba, he barely had rights to Northumbria.
And so then it was that her side was chosen, chosen for her by her alliance to the people who had nurtured her kept her safe when they had no reason at all to do this. It had mattered in the end.
It would put her on the opposite side to Finan, for Uhtred could only choose one side as well and that would be for the King of the Angles and the Saxons.
Finan was right, peace was just a breathing space between war, where repairs were done, promises made, the next generation of warrior conceived, alliances reforged.
"You might well be from Mercia again today," Aethelstan told her. "But, will you bow to me Osthryth of Berric, as your king?"
"No," Osthryth told him. "I will bow to no-one."
"Then you will leave my land immediately. Constantine took alliegance with Aethelhelm," he told Osthryth. "He will bend or Alba will burn. And when I get north, Berric will not be spared."
"You may try," Osthryth told him, "But it is my land, my faith with Mercia is ended, for you intend to invade my lands." That had him. Aethelstan paused almost imperceptibly before nodding for Osthryth to continue.
"It is true, Lord king," said Finan, who had been standing next to her throughout the exchange. "My wife is the lady of the lands of Eamont Bridge and of Cumberland and Rheged, I have seen the documents." In fact, Finan had the documents with him,both the deed of land for Gwythelth and of Guthred and he showed both Uhtred and Aethelstan these before handing them back to Osthryth.
"Then I will sail with the crew to Alba," Osthryth said, "Will you come with me Finan Mòr?"
"Not today," Finan said. "Eadith is dead, his family are dead, he will need me, especially with the new mouths to feed who he has sent north. Take our son back to where he is safe."
They both looked across to young Finan, however, who was showing his blade off to Sihtric and Berg. Osthryth shook her head.
But her son insisted, even though the look in his eye was one of disappointment, that he would come with her. But Osthryth took his hand.
"Go with your father," Osthryth told him. "I have taught you all I can." And beside young Finan, Uhtred strode.
"You saved my life, boy," his uncle told him. "So I would be happy that you are in my household, we need a...what do you call yourself, scaly-ox?"
"Sceleocht, uncle," young Finan told him.
"My lord of Bebbanburg," Uhtred corrected.
"Yes, uncle," young Finan replied.
"He is to learn sword skill," Osthryth told Uhtred, "Don't let him use too much of his time with Egil."
"Your younger nephew will teach him," Uhtred said, and a look came across his face which Osthryth took to mean that he was thinking about his elder son, Bishop of Ceastre, Bishop Oswald. He had been Uhtred, once, had that name given to him by his father and then had it taken away from him in his father's fury.
"Thank you, for keeping him safe, no matter how you feel about me."
It was just as Cillin was helping her over the taffrail that she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"How do I feel about you?" came Uhtred's question.
"You hate me," Osthryth told him, simply.
"No. I don't hate you," Uhtred told her, sorrow in his face. "When I knew I had a sister, when Father Beocca told me about you, I was overcome with joy." Osthryth shook her head.
"And I had escaped to Alba, where I was taken in, as you were taken in with Earl Ragnar," she replied. "But I came to find you, in Winchester. But, I saw you before that. I watched you, Uhtred, at Bebbanburg. You had Seobridhgt's head and you held it up and swore to overthrow our uncle Aelfric." Osthryth shook her head again. "I watched you; I was a chilld then, and I watched for you every day because I wanted you to come back." Osthryth lowered her voice. "And Aelfric swore me as a bride to Sven Kjartannson for Kjartan's loyalty. I was ten." At this, she was sure Uhtred gave a shudder.
"Father Beocca told me this," he said. "I never thought it was true."
"When ever did Beocca lie?" Osthryth asked. And she told him of her escape to Pictland, fighting against Ivarr's men, saving Constantine's lie and exile in Ireland.
"The second time I was nearly murdered I was tied to a rock in a cave as the tide came in; Constantine ran too; I thought he was scared but he had gone to get help. The water was above my mouth before he swam to rescue me." Osthryth shook her head. It was keeping her from screaming out, from crying. She needed to tell Uhtred this; she needed to have him hear it.
"Those two Irish boys...they taunted us, they terrorised us, they set traps for us; they tied me down and try to rape me. But after coming back dripping wet Constantine finally told Domnall, who saved my life. He went to the boys' father and threatened their lives. I don't know if that's the reason tbe blood feud began; maybe it inflamed it."
"Let's hope those bastards are food for the crows now!" Uhtred exclaimed, and in the telling, the years of woe and angst were slipping away from her, and she felt light, and happy.
"One is," said Osthryth, laughing, "The other made him so. The other is very much alive."
"I will kill him," declared Uhtred, forcefully, but Osthryth threw back her head and laughed again. "You won't. And I have had too many chances myself and not done it."
"Whyever not?" Uhtred asked, hotly.
"Who between us could kill Finan?"
And after a look over his shoulder, and a brief nod from his dearest friend, Osthryth told Uhtred about coming to find him, in Wessex, amd having to find a living.
"For a long time I was angry, angry at you for the life you had; angry at my mother for marrying Aelfric, then dying. Angry at Beocca, for he knew of me, knew I was alive but never sent for me." Osthryth placed a conciliatory hand on Uhtred's shoulder. "I know you have found your peace, my brother, but I never did."
"I? I am not at peace." He looked across to Aethelstan, who seemed to have found some lords to speak to. "And he will be in Alba before long." He bent to Osthryth for a moment. "Constantine should submit," he advised.
"Will Aethelstan submit should Constantine invade?" Osthryth asked.
And then she boarded, after a tight embrace with her husband that told her that he really would not be far behind, and began her long journey home.
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"You let her go?" Uhtred asked.
"She will be back at our farm doing what she does best, Finan assured Uhtred. "I do not have to worrry about my wife's honour." Uhtred creased his head, doubtfully.
"I wouldn't be too sure," he reminded Finan. "Domnall? Constantine?"
"They mean nothing to me. I have my son, and he has been acknowledged. And it wasn't he who was taking the former slave Benedetta to his home, Finan noticed, with Eadith waiting for him at Bebbanburg. And he calls me the fool, Finan thought, for I could never, never shame Osthryth like that, nor she me.
"She waited for me, Finan told him. "Yes she married Constantine's cousin, and I can't blame her for that; she needed security for Finan beag."
It was a few minutes before they spoke again, on the way, as they were, to the palace.
"You know Constantine calls him by his dead son's name?"
"Yes," Finan nodded. "And if he plays his luck well, would it not be grand that my son becomes king of Alba one day?" Uhtred stopped walking and stared at Finan.
"You are joking, surely? He just avoided becomimg king of Englaland!"
"No I am indeed serious, what with Osthryth's claim to Cumbraland and Strathclyde," he added. For it had been the agreement that he had made with Constantine, when he had gone to ask him to agree for him to wed her. Young Finan was kin, and Constantine wished him to be acknowledged throneworthy.
"You are - " Uhtred broke off, and Finan grinned. And they walked on, laughing and trying to forget the immediate future that awaited them in a disease-ravaged homeland.
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Trinity was not met with ships to ambush it when she had got to the Berric coast. Instead, it was an army that waited on the shore. Constantine had brought men, and they walked with Osthryth, and Trinity's crew back to Osthryth's farm estate.
"This is Alba, and as such needs to be defended," Domnall told her as they went.
"You look well, Domnall," Osthryth told him. "Found yourself some clothes?" Domnall laughed.
"The Lady of Bebbanburg was - " and then he stopped.
"What?"
"There was a plague, Osrit," he told her. "Your lands seem to be well, you have lost few people, but the lord Uhtred has lost his wife. She saw her Christian duty was to clothe and feed me," he added.
Osthryth knew that she would, that Eadith would have helped him. She had also known about Eadith, but somehow it felt more real there, in her land again. Her neighbour had died, and she would not be able to recommence her plan to get to know Eadith. It was a pity she was gone; Osthryth knew that given longer, she might well have become more amilable towards her.
"I brought back your ship," Osthryth told him.
"So I see."
"And you brought an army," she added.
"No, not an army," Domnall replied. "A few companies who knew that your land had been invaded and felt in their hearts they needed to defend it. I would send them to Bebbanburg to do the same, but, you know, it wouldn't be kind to men who have shown loyalty to get the plague."
It was then that Osthryth threw her arms around her friend, and gave a brief, gut-wrenching sob.
"I know," Domnall told her, stroking the back of her hair. "The bastard wouldn't even stand by you to - "
"No," Osthryth replied, forcefully, "I will not hear anything against Finan. He did stand by me."
"Aye, well," Domnall said, as they began to walk again, "It will not stop me thinking it, he leaves you here, when this is his land - how could he ever, if he so loves you? He deserves my sword up his Ulaid arse, that's what," Domnall added, with disdain.
"I would...I would appreciate it if you were to stay," Osthryth said to Domnall as they got to her farm estate. "To be in charge of the fleet? In charge of the army?"
"Yes," Domnall told her. "I will look in on you from time to time, make sure no Norse have been invited to steal your land. They were here, and all of your men fought with courage.
"They fought?" Osthryth replied, in alarm. "In a shield wall?"
"In a shield wall," Domnall told her, with a smile. "Every one of your men survived, and that is because of you. You gave them a reason to fight, it is their land."
"Here is not Alba," she told Domnall. "Here is Berric, neither Northumbria, neither Alba. Not claimable by Aethelstan."
"So you believe he is coming then? The king in the south?"
"Yes," Osthryth told him. "He told me so. He wants Northumbria, and with Guthfrith on the Eoferwic throne, no longer a brittle Sygtryggr, there will be war, and destruction." Domnall reached for her hand for a moment, and she let him take it.
"Not if Constantine strikes first. There is peace now between he and Owain. Owain has accepted Constantine as overlord."
"That is something," Osthryth told him. "That is something."
And then, as they neared the farm cottage, guards approached, and others flanked her. In one helmet and mail she recognised Caltigar, who nodded his head to Osthryth briefly. Other guards were riding in from further afield, and behind them, two more horseriders.
"It is the lord Finan!" Caltigar called when he approached his own two scouts and then relayed the information back to Osthryth.
It was. Domnall, however, did not move from Osthryth's side.
"I have brought our son back to our land," Finan told Osthryth.
"And this is where you want to be?" she asked young Finan.
"Yes," he told her. "For a time. And with my father.
"You heard the boy," Osthryth told Finan, who kissed her with passionate heat, not caring who would be there to see it. "Will you be staying long? Before you go to stand by Uhtred's side?"
"We have a new arrangement. Should he need me, to fulfil my oath, he will come to get me, at my home," he added, and looked at Domnall for a second. He then held out a hand.
"I thank you for defending our lands from the Norse. Tell Constantine that I am very grateful."
"He will be sending more," Domnall pointed out.
Oh yes, let him!" Finan encouraged. "We cannot have enough protection. Now," concluded the Lord of Berric, "Will you and the mormaers kindly join us for supper?"
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They had had the best sex they had ever had, the night before Finan had left. In fact every night, now they were settled and content, they humped as if it were their first night. Now Osthryth was on her own for the foreseeable future, so she would have to make herself come.
She began with her nipples, as she lay in their bed, running her hands over her body and catching them as Finan did with his fingers. She lay with her legs slightly open, so the feelings that would grow when she did finally start to knead them did not bring her off too soon, and she reached for them, bringing them up between her thumb and forefinger, adjusting the pressure, the more the better. Constantine had brought that out in her, and she remembered riding him, in Dunadd's stables, fantasising about Domnall, then, as the tight feeling of pleasure had begun to build.
It was building now, so Osthryth opened her legs wider, so that she could delay her orgasm, and reached into her hair to remove her jewel, its flat metal clip gave just enough pinch to keep the pressure going while she continued to pull and pinch her left nipple and move her right hand down to her cunt.
It was Finan's hand she was imagining now, fingering the lips of her, sometimes bobbing his head down to tongue her, sometimes using his index finger and thumb to pinch her clit, and bring it around in circles. When he did that, Osthryth's organsm was never far away, and this time she pushed the thumb knuckle of her right hand at the top of her clit, grinding down on it, as she continued with her nipple, feeling the tingling growing in her hips and along her spine.
With one swift movement, she drew her jewel from her nipple, and with her hand, inserted two fingers into her cunt, her juices flowing down them and onto the back of her hand. She wasn't done yet, but the pre-cum orgasm, the light, feathrery pleasures, were just beginning under her skin. She pushed her fingers inside herself a little deeper, and flexed them, which brought her very quickly to the edge.
And then it was back to her clit, that tiny little nub of pleasure that she had perfected the playing with over the course of her life, and she rode her hand, her legs folded for extra pressure, until she came, wave after wave flowing through her body while she rode her hand vigorously, and then stopped, repeating and repeating, drawing her tender nipple up while she did so to get every ounce of pleasure she could out of her own body.
When she had finished, she lay back, her breath ragged, her muscles used, her hand still at her cunt while the after-orgasm feeling flowed through her, and her mind drifted to the future.
War was coming, and the war would be at home, at Bebbanburg's door, and Uhtred had to fight himself for the cause he believed in the most: Bebbanburg or Aethelstan.
And when he came to ask for Finan, young Finan joined him, and rode between his father and his uncle. But Osthryth rode a different path, leaving Berric in good hands with Munadd and Caltigar.
"Berric is under my protection," he had told Osthryth, "They are the lands of my kinsman - they are your lands, and as with all my lands I wil not have them invaded." So Osthryth had nodded to the men heading south, to her lands as she rode north to Dunnottar.
And it came from Eireann, where Osthryth had fought for breath against the northern sea, where she fought her biggest fight and ended her first pregnancy. Where she watched a king buried and one crowned, and a queen marry for happiness as well as for politics. Where she taught two princesses who grew to be queens themselves. Where she had watched the oldest Eireann family, the Ui Neill, fall apart.
The plague in the north had left Sygtryggr dead, and presumably Eadgyth, Aethelstan's sister, though another rumour said Sygtryggr had repudiated her, and she had died in a nunnery.
Berric seemed to be spared, but not so Bebbanburg and Eadith, the most skilled healer Osthryth knew, had not been able to save herself.
And she was angry with herself, that she had not done enough to speak to the woman, who had been no threat to her and Finan, in the end, and she could now do nothing about it.
She was angry, too, that Uhtred had brought with him a slave he had freed. What would have happened if he had arrived at Bebbanburg with this slave while Eadith had lived? Would he have shamed her and allowed the slave to stay?
He was a cunt, Osthryth though, and went back to her vow that she would not interest herself other than within the scope of her own lands, and her own people. Aethelstan was now king of the Angles and the Saxons and from waht she had heard had sent messages of friendship to Owain, as his liege lord.
So Constantine would have to continue the war, she assumed, and when she thought like this, too many people Osthryth knew became involved. So she folded up the manuscript that Aedre had given to her and put it away, deep away, with the intriguing thought that she might have been an even bigger landowner. But she would not get involved in an already complicated situaton, she had enough, she had Berric.
And that was the thought she clung to when, even though she had turned her back on the rest of the country, it had not forgotten her.