Berric, Spring 927

Three more years of relative peace had come to Osthryth's lands in Berric. Three abundant harvests and mild winters and glorious springs where food was in abundance and rievers raided little by both land or sea and the lands north and south of Berric imposed their presence lightly.

Osthryth was at peace with Constantine, who continued to send men in steady rotation to live at the farm cottage and patrol her lands and coast for signs of Aethelstan. Uhtred also did not incur in the land, and nor did Norse bother the farmers and families who were working the soil.

Though they rarely visited, Osthryth to Bebbanburg, or Uhtred to Berric, although young Finan, who seemed to be developing well as a warrior, came up every so often, usually when Uhtred had sent for Finan, and Osthryth pretended that she didn't see the spring in his step and the pace of his horse when he left the farm, although it wasn't quite so quick when Domnall or Aeswi, or the warriors Oengus and Feilim whom she had commanded had been sent to her. Perhaps he was alert to their presence? Perhaps he suspected that they might be there as the beginning of an army?

"She understood some of the Latin I knew," their son told Osthryth one day, as Finan saddled his horse and sheathed his sword. Benedetta was who youg Finan meant, the woman who had been kneeling over Uhtred when he had fought Waormund, a lard, brutal warrior in the service of Aelfweard, the younger brother who had challenged Aethelstan for the crown.

"She laughed," young Finan added. " 'You have a voice from a long time ago,' she said to me...mhathair...mhathair!" he called to Osthryth. She jerked her head back from watching Finan ready up, the gnaw of regret in her stomach that he would be leaving her, and for an undetermined amount of time. Osthryth smiled and imagined for a second the woman's voice, a high, tinkling laugh as she spoke to their son. " 'No-one speaks my language like that any more,' she said."

"It sounds as if you are having a marvellous time at Bebbanburg," Osthryth told him, vaguely.

"Marvellous?" young Finan asked, rolling his eyes. "If you call mucking out the stables, bringing in the hay, closing in the foul marvellous!" he complained. Osthryth turned to him.

"If you call eating more than your share of your uncle's food, flirting with the dairy maid, skiving off in the rafters above the chapel marvellous then - " she broke off as young Finan began to turn pink and swung his arm as if to hit his mother on the shoulder playfully, before pulling it to his mouth to cover it.

"She's called Aelfgerta, and we are friends, mhathair, honestly," he protested. Osthryth shook her head and smiled.

"You are seventeen, you need to make sure it goes no further than friendship - you know what I mean!" Osthryth added, with emphasis.

"I know what you mean, can I go now?" young Finan said. She sw the glance that Finan was giving her, as he glanced to their son. She needed to talk to him about this, so that there were no little surprises that Uhtred would use as an excuse to expel him from Bebbanburg. Young Finan was learning well at Bebbanburg despite her resevations. He could anticipate and had skill, was lithe and agile like his father. But she did not put it past Uhtred to encourage him on the one hand and punish severely if he carried it through.

And Osthryth was angry with her brother too, for deciding to bring the woman back with her, knowing that either Eadith lived, or that she had died. He clearly had not loved her enough, and that, to Osthryth, was very sad.

But there a worse feeling, an unpalatable one, with Eadith's death. Never again would she have to worry that she would be a temptation to Finan, and felt rather bad for not feeling bad about that.

"You are going out with the patrol, then," Finan noted, as seven warriors, a mixture of Berric's trained guards and warriors from Alba, arranged themselves as they always did, by the barn, which was, even now, getting its spring clean ready for harvest. Two older boys were raking out last year's straw. "I won't be gone long," he told her, and drew Osthryth near. She could feel the warmth of his body, his heart beating as he held her, and while her body wanted to pull him back to bed, her mind knew that Finan needed to let her go, if he was going to go to Uhtred at all.

"How can you know that?" Osthryth asked him to his shoulder. "You were away four months when you said a fortnight, last harvest. You came back at Christmastide," she added, to reinforce her point.

"You should come. See Bebbanburg. See your brother." He looked at young Finan. "See how our son is getting on." Osthryth looked to him, and then back to Finan.

"Mind he takes care to avoid any of the servant girls," he told Finan. "I don't want any excuse for Uhtred to send him back to me, real reasons or implied." Finan took a step back from her.

"And you know exactly how to change a subject, alainn," he replied, before kissing her on the lips. Of course he would keep their son away from women - his own agreement with Constantine meant no complications.

Did she know of the agreement, Finan wondered. Osthryth threw her arms around him and he stroked her hair. It was getting longer now, and she wished they could be like this forever. He liked it when she was womanly, it turned him on so very much. She let him pick her up and put her on his horse.

"Come with me this time," Finan urged.

"I have too much to do here, and - " she broke off, placing a finger upon Finan's lips which he kissed, before kissing Osthryth again. "I promise I will come to visit, though I do not like the place. Or the lord."

"He says very complimentary things about you," Finan replied. "Like how pleased he is that you let that Ui Neill bastard use your harbour so he can go sailing about around the Farne Islands and worry Aethelstan's ships. Like how delighted you play host to Constantine's army, right on his doorstep."

"They protect our land," Osthryth told him. "And when my husband rides away, they will still be here, protecting my land." She stopped, for she could feel an argument coming on. She didn't want him to go and part of her brain wanted them to part on bad terms. "But I will come, Finan, we can ride together and I can be introduced as the Lady of Berric, and you as the Lord." She looked towards the coast, the castle on Holy Island in the near distance, Bebbanburg further away.

"And you will be leaving to go with Uhtred so he can stand beside Aethelstan while he hears more lords submit to him?" Osthryth had asked the night before. They were lying close, Finan's hand on her back.

"Yes," Finan agreed. "Eoferwic first."

"You are that confident Aethelstan can take it?"

"Take it, and hold it," Finan nodded, "Or at least, your brother believes so. The displaced Saxons who once ruled are to be reinistated as Aethelstan's gift."

Are they? Osthryth thought. And then she placed her lips on his muscled stomach as he let her go, working her way down until they reached his cock, and mouthed it to hardness.

"No," Finan told her as Osthryth made to swing her leg over his largeness, "You first." And Osthryth found herself on her back, her legs on Finan's shoulders as he worked his way down to her cunt and, with practised moves at her clit, made her come with his tongue, his hands holding her breasts, kneading her nipples just as she liked, before plunging himself into her and riding her until he came in her, and Osthryth coming repeatedly, so that when she came to stand her legs were weak.

But he had had a disturbed sleep and Osthryth had got out of bed so he had room. It was the slavery that did it for him, sometimes and she had watched him until the morning.

One last kiss, and then her husband with her son beside him, and Osthryth watched until they were out of sight.

She was very busy, although there was nothing that Munadd couldn't do, or delegate, Osthryth did not want to leave her land. She had worked it, her people respected her rule and she wanted them to see she worked hard for their benefit. She had documents to show she had this land and that in Cumbraland - which is more than Uhtred had, for she had set fire to those pertaining to him and thrown their burning ashes over the top of Bebbanburg's cliffs.

Rhia was expecting hers and Caltigar's second child any day now, a robust little boy, or so said Munadd's wife, to go with the beautiful little girl, Seren, who they already had.

And besides, she had had a letter from her nephew, Bishop Oswald of Ceastre, Uhtred's eldest son, and Osthryth wanted to be at Berric when he arrived.

But a good deal of her reluctance was Osthryth's touchness about any of Uhtred's wives and lovers because of the abuse at Aethelwold's hand caused by that man's lies. He stlll had never taken her to one side to apologise. So she would stay away and put her effort into serving her people, by patrolling and defending her land as it prospered.

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Osthryth was riding up from Wooler, one of the hamlets on the border of her land and Bebbanburg's the day afterwards, having visited two farmsteads to inspect spring storm when the horserider came to her.

Beann, who was riding with Osthryth and learning her rounds, rode forward, waiting. As he looked, Osthryth could see the figure was tall, broad, with pale-blonde hair fanning out from the underside of his helmet, long gloves holding the rein, armour clad. As neared Beann drew his sword. The rider slowed, stopping ten feet away from Osthryth.

"Osthryth of Berric?" the lone rider asked. His voice was deep and his Anglish words accented.

"Whence do you come?" Osthryth asked, and repeated it in Norse. At the sound of the Norse, the rider shifted in his saddle. He then threw the parchment down onto the tufted, dew-damp grass and turned his steed around, riding quickly away.

It was then, Osthryth remembered, looking back as an old woman, that the long peace had come to an end, happy days in honey-sunshined visions of her mind soon to be replaced with mud and cloud and mist and cold, and blood and shattered bone and death.

But the message the rider had brought was not about any of that. It simply held a request, a request from a queen, written in beautiful Saxon with a neat, bright hand. It was from Eadgyth, and though it was not signed, Osthryth recognised the dainty hand for Eadgyth had written words on a parchment before her wedding in Tamworth.

Now, she was the repudiated queen of Eoferwic, who Aethelstan had married to Sygtryggr, who had died when the plague had ravaged the north three years before. She had survived, then? Osthryth could not think how she would begin to find her, for there was no other information on the letter other than that help was requested of the most noble lady of Berric. Or even if she would try.

So she put the letter away and continued with her management of the land estates, with Munadd and Caltigar, planning the ploughing and planting and anticipating the lambing and the lenten fasting, the using of the winter food and the anticipation of the late spring and Easter.

"Aeswi, can you help?" she asked, when birth of the lambs was keeping Boradd up at night and Osthryth too, as with any birth. Rhia's was close, and the woman was finding it hard to sleep as well, so Osthryth had given her her own bed until her time and had taken the role of mother to Seren.

Osthryth had not found mothering the child easy - the girl was well behaved and did what Osthryth asked, but the nurturing that seemed to go with motherhood was absent, or so long dormant that she was finding caring for her difficult, and she persevered, but the knock late at night which woke the child found Osthryth hurrying Constantine's spymaster into the farm and in the direction of Seren.

Aeswi smiled, and sat at the end of the child's bed, and told her a story, softly, and rhythmically, and in the end she settled and went to sleep. Osthryth watched in wonder at the spell the man had cast over her, for she never had that knack.

Young Finan had the knack, though - with his voice, his memory, his communication skills to any person, was truly God-given. He could bring peace to the angriest child, the frailest man or woman - light would dance in their eyes when young Finan spun the stories of old, replacing the coldness and the despair and the loneliness

He was on his way south, Aeswi explained to her, as they sat around the fire in the kitchen and Osthryth offered him what little they had, ignoring the riles of lent and finishing off meat and milk which would otherwise have gone off.

"To Eoferwic," he confirmed, and had read the letter that had been dropped at Osthryth's feet. "I will do what I can to find her," Aeswi said, "Although I would consider carefully whether you should try to free her, wherever she is." To Osthryth's look of indignation, Aeswi clarified, "There is talk that Aethelstan wishes to offer her to Constantine, and that he take Constantine's daughter as his own bride."

"Constantine's daughter? You mean Aedre?" Osthryth felt shocked. "Anlaf Guthfrithsson is travelling to Dunnottar so they can wed - " she broke off. "Tell me, Aeswi," she insisted. "Tell me what is happening?"

"I do not know," Aeswi admitted, drinking deeply on the milk cup. "Constantine may sanction the wedding; they have been promised for such a long time. Or, he will deny it, and take Aethelstan's sister. But if he does that he is conceding the right of Alba to Aethelstan, of course. Even Owain has changed his mind on the treaty he agreed with Aethelstan - not that he did it very willingly for he had been encouraged by Hywel. But he sees now that Alba's men, supported by the Eireann Norse, are better at protecting Strathclyde than history that tied the Hen Ogledd to Cymru. Hywel cannot help protect Owain's lands, but Anlaf and Constantine can."

"He sees?" Osthryth asked, finding the pertinent part of Aeswi's sentence.

"He was persuaded, by Constantine's withdrawal of all warriors from Strathclyde. Glaschu was raided; Jura, Arran, the southern coast. I think Owain now appreciates his father's position - he has people to protect in his land and not enough warriors to defend it alone. Independence is not independence if a nation falls."

"As Rheged did, as the Hen Ogledd did, when the Angles and the Saxons arrived," Osthryth mused. "Perhaps I should just go up to Glaschu and declare myself queen." Aeswi paused, looking at her over the top of his cup.

"It is what he believes Constantine plans, when Anlaf and Aedre marry," he told her. "It is what Hywel told him when he took himself secretly up to Glaschu to treat with Owain - that Aethelstan was a safer bet than Constantine; that Constantine looked to usurp, whereas Aethelstan would preserve Strathclyde and protect it from subsumption." Osthryth smiled, the knowing smile of someone who had just realised something, and felt so stupid that she had not seen it earlier.

"To divide the Brittonic nations," she said, aloud. "To divide Gaelish from Cymric, to overthrow both. To make himself King of the Total land of Britain."

"Rex Totalus Britanniae," Aeswi echoed. "But, there is a fly in his stew, so to speak. The Norse, the Danes."

"I will do nothing," Osthryth told Aeswi. "I am not going to get my people involved in this. The are a Pictish, Cymric culture, and - " But Aeswi was waving a hand towards Osthryth, for her voice was beginning to get more heated, more urgent.

"Osthryth, let me take this," he said, and reached for the paper. "Let me find out about Queen Eadgyth, and whether this is not just a trick, as you clearly suspect." And Osthryth did suspect it, although she only realised that she did when Aeswi had said it. A woman in distress calling for her help. Or an accelerant, a catalyst for war. "You forget Constantine is Pictish as well as Gaelish," he added, as he got to his feet.

"No, it is because I remember it that I say it," Osthryth told him. "Do you think Aethelstan will win in Eoferwic?" Aeswi, pausing in the act of throwing his leg over his saddle, nodded.

"I do," he told her. "Guthfrith is weak. He has some army, and loyalty from many Saxons in the city. But it is not enough. Aethelstan is bringing back what was lost, what, sixty years ago? As many as support Guthfrith, Saxon or Norse, support Aethelstan. And he has the numbers.

"Then it won't be long before he looks further north," Osthryth told him. And as she watched her friend ride away, she added, as the morning birds began chorusing, "And the first peoples will band together, in the end.

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Seren was still asleep when the cold dawn of the morning spread out over the land. Osthryth sent Rhia's sister, Bethen, up to see whether she needed anything, for the girl had woken as Osthryth had opened the front door. Then, she strode to the shore, to look at the sea.

Rough, and unsettled, winter's turbulence had not yet calmed the North Sea - it would take until early summer for that to happen, and when it did, strong, hot sunshine would grow her crops and give them a mellow, warm autumn. There were ships, as she thought, and the mixture of sails told of the busy shipping lanes that were beginning to be reused, as they had been used perennially for centuries.

More were on them that morning, however, more like she had seen when she had looked the day before, and the day before that: the red and gold of Constantine's Englaland, with the blue and silver of Constantine's fleet. And she was sure that, right on the edge of her view, the white flag with the red hand of Ulster: Domnall was sailing with the ships. War was coming.

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But before it came, before even a week had passed since Aeswi had visited before his ride south, another visitor came to Berric. Ernan, Caltigar's younger brother and manager of his father Munadd's farm towards Acha's Headland, was riding towards the farmstead as Osthryth was supervising the fowl. He pointed south, as a warrior rode, slowly, tentatively, as if he was unsure of himself, as if nervous.

As she watched, Osthryth wondered whether it was not the same man who had thrust the parchment of paper at her feet, the one imploring her to find Eadgyth, Aethelstan's sister, Sygtryggr's former queen.

He got to the ford that trickled down before the farm buildings, a tiny tributary of the mighty Tuide, and led his horse over towards her. His hair was indeed fair, and his eyes the intense bright blue that she remembered Eirik Thurgilson's to be, his forehead similarly shaped, his hair in braids about his head.

"I am here for the promised aid," the man said, "In defence of Jorvik, and humbly beg you, Lady of Berric, for more." He nodded his head, holding his horse at the rein near the bit.

"I am the Lady of Berric," Osthryth told the man. "What aid do you believe was promised you?"

"Alba's aid. King Constantine's aid," the man continued and Osthryth was touched by the man's deference. He had, she noticed, his right had to his sword hilt. "And you know who I am, so tell me, warrior who comes for aid, who are you?"

He was Guthfrith Ivarsson, brother of Sygtryggr, and now that Osthryth looked, his eyebrows and nose looked similar to those she remembered of the former king of Eoforwic. Or Jorvik, as Guthfrith had said.

"You mistake that this is Alba," Osthryth told him, and thought of the two children of Stiorra's and Sygtryggr's, who were living now in Dunnottar fortress, niece and nephew to both her and Guthfrith.

"I see Alba warriors, Guthfrith Ivarsson said, nodding to the stables, where the morning's sword training was about to begin. "Alba warriors," he repeated, "Like the ones, I am told, killed my grandfather."

"And I am sure you look like ones that killed mine," Osthryth replied, firmly. "And I look like the ones that killed those of my Pictish people." But Guthfrith was not here to debate prior battles and invasions, and he took his hand from his sword before taking a step towards her.

"If we do not get Constantine's support, I will lose Jorvik," he told her bluntly.

"Then you must ask him yourself,"Osthryth told him, as Ernan came to stand next to her, alerted by the Norseman's presence, "He is fifty miles north." And she gestured north with a pointed finger. But Guthfrith was not finished yet.

"His daughter is to marry my cousin, for warriors, for influence - and you say none of these men will march south with me? " He looked angry. He also looked desperate, and desperate men are dangerous men. Osthryth turned, and called over to the stables, where Oengus and Dubhcan were calling out all of the Pictish youths, weapons being brought out, morning training about to commence.

"Lord Oengus!" Osthryth called. "A man called Guthfrith Ivarsson calls on you for aid."

And she should have stepped away - God's will, she should have stepped away. But Osthryth was not prepared for anyone to bear false witness to something that was said. So she listened as Guthfrith asked for warriors and to Oengus deny him those warriors.

WIth the nobility that his brother had had, Guthfrith simply turned and touched his horse's bridle, saying nothing, no protest or even a comment. Osthryth's heart moved.

"I will come," Osthryth told Guthfrith as he made to leap into his saddle. "I do not know what treaty was made between you and Constantine, nor why he will not honour it. Nor you and your brother's father-in-law -" meaning Uhtred, "- but Aethelstan should be limited. If my one sword can help prevent that - " Osthryth broke off when she saw his face. He leapt up anyway, no emotion in his features at all.

"Kriegerkvinde, I was one called," she told him as he made to "hie" his horse away. She could seek Eadgifu, at least, for he had not asked her for the men.

"Do not make promises you cannot keep, Lady of Berric" Guthfrith warned her. "I applaud your heart and your spirit. I have seen you fight and I know you would be a great arm for the Norse. Stay here - keep this land free. I my lose Jorvik but as long as it is Danish in spirit it will always be free. And I know you offer yourself because you want the north to be free."

Guthfrith turned then, and rode away, leaving Osthryth watch her third visitor that spring leave her lands.

And it was true, as true as Aeswi's truth had been: that there had tobhe a limit to Saxon - and Anglish - reach, and if Aethelstan did not choose to recognise it, the Cymric, Picts and Gaels were going to have to show him where that would be.

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So news came that Aethelstan has been made king of Eoferwic, and displaced Guthfrith, and that he was now king of Deria, not Bernicia, not Cumbraland. It was Aeswi who had told her, returning to tell her of the rout of the Norse by the stronger and more numberous army comprised of West Saxon, Mercian and East Anglian warriors.

"Not that anyone can tell who was who," Aeswi told her. "For they all wear, now, the livery of Englaland." The red field and the gold dragon, Osthryth knew.

"And he is expecting all the lords of his new lands to bow to him, either at meetings he will call, or at his palaces, or he will visit the lands he now claims," Aeswi told her, drinking down a small ale made by the widow brewster over the pack horse bridge on the north bank of the Tuide.

"That is going to take some doing," Osthryth told his friend. A little sigh from Seren caused her to turn her head and listen. But no more sounds came from Caltigar and Rhia's little girl, Rhia herself almost past her time now and Osthryth making inquiries as to a midwife on her lands who knew about post-mature births. "He must still have a great deal to do, even though he was crowned three years before.

"He has a Norse advisor, of the name Inglmundr, representing Aethelstan on visits." And Constantine would be told, but thankfully not by Osthryth, she told herself. To tell Constantine that the king of Englaland expected him to subjugate himself as an under-king while Aethelstan was high king was outrageous. No Angles, nor Saxons, had ever been further north than the Forth in trying to gain land, Ecgfrith, King Oswy's son, the last to do so, at Nechtansmere into Perthshire, where the Angles had been soundly beaten by Constantine's Pictish ancestors.

"Rex Totalus Brittanium," Aeswi mused. "This is what he had styled himself." And it turned out that Constantine had sent men to support Guthfrith opposing Aethelstan at Eoferwic or Jorvik, as the Norse said it. They had come south, picking up support from Strathclyde and Owain, who had sent men, but meanly, and more from Caer Ligualid, those still loyal - though Osthryth could hardly believe that there were still any - of her "husband on paper" Guthred Harthacnutsson, brother of Gisela, Uhtred's wife.

But it had not been enough, and they had been scattered when the Saxon nobles, descendents of the last rulers of Eoforwic before the Danes came, had colluded with Aethelstan to leave open the gates.

So King Aethelstan had invaded further north into Northumbria, stopping at about level with Bebbanburg, only to leave key men in place, and take his troops south. So she knew where Finan and young Finan had been, at least, and wondered whether their son had felt anything, confusion, split loyalty, guilt, to fighting - as he must have when he saw their enemy.

"Gloucester," Aeswi told Osthryth, before he left. "To intimidate and subjugate Hywel."

But it was the last vistior of early summer who brought the intrigue to a conclusion.

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And Finan was still not back with her in Berric. Clearly, Uhtred commanded, and he obeyed. But she was missing him, she wanted time with him, together, not least to love one another, but to talk to him, confide her fears. It was no wonder she spoke to Domnall, Osthryth thought, no matter how much she knew it angered her husband. But even Domnall had not sent the fleet in to Berric's harbour. The invasion was significant, then, war tensions heightened.

As heightened as her own, Osthryth thought, as she went to bed to hump her own hand, , pulling her fingers through the hair as Finan did, pretend she was with Finan, pretend it was he who was touching, twisting her nipples, pretending it was his hand that was holding her clit between two fingers and applying soft, rhythmical pressure right at the very front bumps where delicate flesh was covered, and Osthryth knew just how to push back the hood, gentle, then hard, until the fizz of relief came to her hips and her back and legs, all her tension flowing away.

A man would find a servant or a maid, but she had sworn faithfulness before her Gaelish family to Finan alone - she could not imagine another man, even when she tried. Osthryth wanted him, just Finan, and she was doing now, what she would swore she would never do, long for a man just She wanted him, and was doing what she swore she never would do, long for a man - her husband - to return to her. Finan was not Ceinid, who was always there, and when she needed Ceinid he was just there, always.

So Osthryth busied herself with the farms and the training of her warriors, and the crops, and midsummer, and the Midsummer bonfires where spirits were high, and spirits were in hands as dancing was done from dusk until dawn, as had been the tradition in Berric, so Ceinid had told her, for always.

The Morrigan came that night - Osthryth felt her presence. War was never far away - and peace, as Finan had said, was just the pause in between wars. She had never fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Finan, she had never been in an army in which he had also been. Maybe that would never happen, now.

And Rhia had a baby boy who she called Odhran and the summer never seemed as sunny again, the land so safe.

On the day after Midsummer night came Oswald, Bishop of Ceastre, Osthryth's nephew, Uhtred's eldest son.

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"Did you visit Bebbanburg?" Osthryth asked her nephew, as she showed him her land. He hadn't. But he had embraced her, and Osthryth had embraced him back. Uhtred, as he had once been called, had been placed in a monastery under the orders of Alfred, grown up a Christian, and refused to bend back to Uhtred's will, so Uhtred had disowned him. Not even being gelded by Brida had allowed her brother to show mercy to his firstborn.

"And you are still Bishop of Caestre?" Osthryth asked. They walked along the Tuide, the brightness of the day holding fast over them.

"I am, aunt," Bishop Oswald told her. "Offa of Mercia did create it, to not make the same mistake our Northumbrian ancestors did."

"Mistake?

"Too much land to the church meant not enough to give as reward," Bishop Oswald told her. "Sons sought to be churchmen not warriors, the line was greatly reduced, Mercia followed; Offa learned, and when the Liccefeld see got too strong, he divided it."

"You know a good deal, nephew," Osthryth told him.

"As do you, of our lands to the north, as well as the south."

It was once my job to think like that," Osthryth confided, "But I am no longer a diplomat for Constantine."

"No?"

"Domnall Ui Neill is," and she looked out to sea, as if his ship, Trinity, was out there. "And I shouldn't doubt he is telling Aethelstan that he has been to Bebbanburg, to your father."

"He has what?" Bishio Oswald asked. Osthryth nodded, and drew her dear nephew to her. "I am so pleased...our dear Saint Oswald who fell at Maserfelth." Osthryth hugged him. "You do know our history." They broke off, and headed to the harbour. A good morning's catch, by the look of the bulging nets.

"Who are you for, aunt?" Bishop Oswald asked.

"Who am I for?" she repeated.

"The boundaries are hardening; Aethelstan would see Englaland; Bebbanburg, Berric, are contested lands. What do you want?"

"Lamnguin."

"White blade?"

"You know the stories," Bishop Oswald complemented her.

"But white hand is the Anglish translation, and then lamn is hand in Gaelish and guin Welsh. Geal is the Gaelish." Osthryth smiled, then added to herself, "You want to fught

"I am proud of you, standing up for yourself," her nephew told her.

"You came all this way to tell me this?" Osthryth asked, dountfully. "

"I want only one thing, my lands, your lands, Bebbanburg, Northumbria, to continue, and there still might be a way," she told him. "Bishop," Osthryth added. Bishop Uhtred returned her smile. "Yet you would pull down all the stone circles."

"They are pagan," he told her.

"They are history, you think the Britons are a threat, now?"

"Aethelstan thinks so - I fear he asks too much of Hwel and the other Cymric kings."

"And the Norse, and the Gaels," Osthryth added. "There will be a rebellion if he asks too much, if he refuses to be a bit humbler to the lords under his care. There's overlordship, then there's arrogance." Bishop Oswald looked to his aunt, and smiled, clapping her on the shoulder.

"If you can do one thing, make it up with your father," Osthryth counselled, as they rounded the bay, and looked north to the mouth of the Tuide, the soft sand cushioning the gentle North Sea waves.

"You too?" Bishop Oswald asked.

"I have too many commitments; Uhtred would just wish to care for me, as a wife to his warrior, to have me as a dependent. I cannot do that, I have always fought." And never beside Finan, her mind reminded her again.

"I'll speak plainly, I have come especially for you, aunt," Bishop Oswald told her, as they walked back on the other side of the river, "Aethelstan has summoned kings to bend knee at Gloucester. I think you should come."

"This land is not Englaland," Osthryth told him, looking at the hills that rose and then flattened towards Melrose.

"Your land, which is Owain's land, has been an ally of Aethelstan for many years. It would be well for you to go to Gloucester," he told her.

"It would be seen as compliance, as an admission of acquiescence," Osthryth told him.

"It will be seen as a good move," Bishop Oswald told her. "You are showing with your presence you accept his kingship, even if you do not bend the knee. Particularly as you have Alba soldiers here, and Constantine has just sent men to fight him at Eoferwic - if you were never here, you could not have known."

"Alba soldiers are here because I allow it," Osthryth told him.

"Does Aethelstan see it that way?"

"I see it that way. Constantine sees it that way."

"You believe this is Alba?" Osthryth cast a look at her lands.

"This is North Bernicia, neither Alba nor Englaland. As it has always been - as you know, nephew, because you know more about the history of our land, our family than anyone else I know." It was true. He had taken the name "Oswald", not by accident, but design. Saint Oswald, once King Oswald, was the most holy king, most beloved king of Bernicia. He had brought Christianity, he had died trying to bring Christianity to pagan Mercia.

"Owain is to be attendance as is Hywel."

"Hywel?" Bishop Oswald gave her a brief look.

"Gloucester borders his land," Bishop Oswald told her. "He wishes to exact tribute."

"Tribute?" Osthryth repeated, the first time she was at a loss. Hywel had not exerted Cymru's independence against Aethelstan? He had given over kingship to Aethelstan?

After she had left her responsibilities behind, the land, the people, Caltigar's family, her warriors and the Alba guards, and rode south, with her nephew.

/