Ceastre Autumn 914
Father Oswald's fever had broken and it seemed he would live. His eyes were closed, but nevertheless Osthryth sat next to her nephew thinking about what she had heard.
Her men were off duty, and in a alehouse somewhere, Osthryth presumed, and she was pleased they were bonding. Aelfkin and Owain had struck up an unlikely friendship, since Owain had saved Osthryth's deputy's life as they had returned to Caestre from a Dane with an axe, though Aelfkin was a good dozen of years older than the future king of Strathclyde and they struggled to understand one another. It was they who instigated all ten of Osthryth's men to Caestre's drinking establishments, and probably a whorehouse as well, although Aeswi and Aelffrith both promised to keep them from getting too inebriated.
At that moment, however, Osthryth didn't care. She had watched as her nephew had staggered through the headless corpse-grass that Brida had made, watched him stumble to his knees, watch Aldhelm help him to his feet, his company returned from Eadsbyrig. Osthryth had watched, too, as Uhtred, his own father, had watched him be carried, clearly in another realm of agony, and did nothing. Not even make a move in his son's direction.
As she lingered in the passage by stone-floored room that he had been brought to, she listened as he recounted, in fits of half-phrases, that he had gone to Stiorra, who was there in her own boat with her husband, Sygtryggr, who then had sent him to Ragnall to discuss peace terms. Instead, Brida turned on him.
"You may stay," the nun called Ymma told Osthryth, when she made to get up and leave. "If you know this unfortunate man, stay. He will welcome your company."
He wouldn't if he knew, Osthryth thought, though she did stay, and as the afternoon turned to evening and then to a blustery, chill night, she watched the sponging cool boiled water into his mouth
"If he were to try to - "Ymma began, but she faltered. Osthryth nodded. Father Oswald would have to lean to urinate, as his wound healed, and if he were to fill his bladder now, a large release of urine could dislodge the clots that would be forming. Even a trickle would be agony.
And so, under the woman's care, Osthryth chose to remember the small boy who had fastened his own hand to hers as Abbess Hild had told him and Stiorra her mother had gone to God.
"You have a brother," Hild had added. Young Uhtred had been interested and had sat with baby Uhtred in his lap. But Stiorra was not, and Osthryth had found the niece sitting in her mother's room, shrugging when Osthryth told her she had a little brother. He had gone to the church too, to Hild, presumably placed with a wet nurse. Where that little boy was now, Osthryth did not know.
"I am sorry, I tried to save her, I brought her the best people I know," she told her niece. But Stiorra had given her an unhappy look.
"You killed her," Stiorra had said, not accusingly, but matter-of-fact. And it was that fact she had repeated to Aethelflaed, who had repeated it to Uhtred, who had abducted her into being locked into the dungeon room with Aethelwold. They had known what they were doing, so she had let him, walking away knowing he was taking her body. But it was not her, not the thing that made her Osthryth. And he was dead, and Uhtred was exiled and without the woman he loved dearest. Osthryth's mind shifted to the now as a shuffling in bed made her look at Father Oswald.
"I know you," the elder of her brother's sons managed.
"I felt I needed to see you," Osthryth replied. Father Oswald blinked his eyes.
"You are...you were..." he continued, trying to sit up. Ymma put a hand on his shoulder, and he subdued. "Osthryth," he breathed, settling down. "Dear, dear aunt."
"I know your father will stop at nothing to murder she who did this," Osthryth replied, feeling the guult heavy in her heart. She watched as Ymma went to the bowl of water, scooping it up into her hands with the cloth that had been wrapped around it when she arrived. "It was me, I did this, I set her free."
"You told me," her nephew told Osthryth, trying to put out a hand to her, but withdrew it as he winced from the gesture. "I knew she was about, and had a vendetta against my father. I would not deny God to her; she has done to many priests what she has done to me." Father Oswald placed hand on her head, which made Osthryth feel worse.
"I will do all I can, but I feel I am at the back of a long line of people ready to do harm to Brida," Osthryth told him. And when she felt that he was going to protest, she put her hand to her tunic and withdrew a small glass vial. Even the container was precious, but so was what it contained: Terabinth.
Osthryth had used it when she had instigated the loss of her first pregnancy. It aided the healing process and ensured rot did not set in. "You must tell them it is a church balm, a secret, but it will help." She placed what she had of it in her nephew's hand and wrapped his hand around it, knowing that if she had ten thousand of them, more valuable than the kingdoms of Mercia and Wessec together, it would never stop her feeling the soul-gnawing guilt that she felt then.
"Will you hear my confession, and that it will be held in confidence, that you are a conduit to God, Father Oswald?" Osthryth asked it of her nephew in Irish, in which language he replied that he would.
"There is an anger in me for your father, as worse as Brida felt which drove her to what she did to you today," Osthryth continued, still in the Irish tongue.
"Would you have done this?" Father Oswald asked Osthryth. "To one of her kin, perhaps?"
"No, of course not," Osthryth told him.
"Then it is not the same as Brida's anger," Father Oswald replied, then shook, as the pain took him over again. "How can it be?"
"I wish to deny him Bebbanburg," Osthryth confessed. "That will cause him pain. Your father must not know I have been to see you, for I carry an anger towards him so fierce and mighty not all the seas might not extinguish." Osthryth held put her hand as her nephew tried to sit up. Pain creased his face and he took her hand.
"I heard it, today," Father Oswald told his aunt. "God will calm your hatred. Do what you can to put aside this anger." Osthryth looked at him, bright blue eyes meeting hers.
"I know it," she found herself saying. "The longer I make my way alone, the easier I hear Him. As the church once advocated...as our blessed Saint Cuthbert knew..."
"The Irish church teachings," Father Oswald told her. "Our ancestor Oswy should have paid more attention to some of their tenets. And yet..." he trailed off, and looked from Osthryth as pain gripped him. Osthryth shuddered, as if feeling her nephew's pain.
"The direct church in Rome gave more prdigious advantage," Osthryth replied, "And the northern border was fragile to Pictish incursions - Ecgfrith found that out as a direct result of turning from ColmCille.
Father Oswald was lookng at the woman who was beside him. Her eyes were shining. If there was any doubt she was his father's sister, it was now gone from his mind.
"And you are here, Aunt Osthryth," Father Oswald told her, as she withdrew her hand.
"For Constantine," she told him, then smiled. "I am pleased Stiorra has found happiness...I am certain Donnchada did not make life easy for them, or any Norse or Dane." Young Uhtred crinkled his face again, and Osthryth made to take his hand, so he could bear out his pain, but he let out a laugh.
"Indeed not," he told her. But Osthryth could bear no more of this. She scraped back the chair and got to her feet.
"Get them to bathe you," she reiterated, pressing the glass jar into his hand as she withdrew her own again. "I am no nurse."
"Yet you are a warrior," Father Oswald replied. "And - " But he broke off as the door opened. A nun pushed her way through the adjoining door.
"I heard voices, Irish voices," she said, in a tone which might well have been interpreted as accusatory. Osthryth examined her face, and realied it was not Gomer, Father Leofstan's wife.
"Ymma," she reminded Osthryth when she asked.
"We were praying," Osthryth told her. "He says he has a balm, a holy ointment, blessed by Saint ColmCille himself." Osthryth trod the stone floor to Ymma, who was looking doubtful. "You know that saint, do you not, though we follow Saint John's church teachings no longer? Osthryth found her tone clipped, as a sudden hostility had filled her mind.
"I will give it to sister Gomer," Ymma told her, extracting the medicine from Father Oswald's curled up hand.
"The blessed Bishop Leofstan's wife?" Osthryth asked full of innocence. Sugar caught more flies than vinegar, Osthryth knew, but you had to break out the vinegar once in a while so people did not forget it. For she had found out exactly who the Bishop's wife really was - a whore who was continuing her profession in her spare time.
When she found out where the woman conducted her business, Osthryth had the mind to relieve the whore of her silver and gold, wondering how it was that she, who barely spent time in alehouses, had worked out the puzzle which even her poor sweet nephew didn't believe her. It would be wealth enough for Constantine.
"Yes," Ymma nodded, cautiously. "You may leave, while the Bishop's wife treats Father Oswald." She held the door open, as if to hasten Osthryth's departure. Osthryth folded her arms.
"I could," Osthyth said to the nun, "Or should I stay myself and ensure he is treated effectively."
And then the name of the woman who was so readily in her mind, astonishing Osthryth with her audacity, came with the bishop's wife as she entered the room, her eyes entirely on Father Oswald.
"Stay, or go, it makes no difference to my treatment of our dear brother," she told Osthryth, and took the terabinth from Ymma's hand.
Good, thought Osthryth, as she strode out of the door, after resting a small kiss on her nephew's forehead. If Gomer was here, caring for her brother's eldest son, Mus would not be claiming her company of men.
88888888
What to do now, Osthryth thought, now, in terms of her battle strategy, and service to Mercia, and now, as in that night.
Osthryth needed air, needed space and needed to let Father Oswald rest. She also sensed that his father would be making an appearance at some moment, and Uhtred was one person she did not want to see.
Coming out of the chapel, which was where her nephew was being treated, as the cold night air wakened her dulling senses, she looked about her.
She needed to speak to Aelffrith, for the Mercians and Aeswi for the Alba lords. But, more importantly, she needed intelligence on which to build a plan. If she could take her Mercians then she would but knew they would have divided loyalties, because Osthryth wanted to go back into Northumbria. For that was where Ragnall and Brida would be now, taking the men north east, as Osthryth suspected they were going in the first place.
Where would her men be now? Drinking, no doubt, and after just a small search she found them, drinking and talking in an alehouse called the "Swan".
"Captain!" declared Aelffrith, when he saw her, and Merewahl and Aeswi ushered her onto an oak bench beside them.
"Men, you made me proud to be your leader today," she told them, first in Anglish and then in Gaelish. "I could not have done what I did without you." And that was her short speech for what else did warriors need to know other than that they had done a good job for their commander, and where they could go to relax. More importantly, what to drink. Osthryth slapped three silver pieces onto the table beside Aelffrith.
"Ale for all," she told him, a declaration which as accompanied by approving cheers and roars at the gesture. She watched as Merewalh picked up just the one piece; three pieces was enough to buy drinks for the whole of the alehouse twice over. That was fine, thought Osthryth, who left the other two where they were: it was the gesture that mattered. But it did nothing to assuage her guilt, especially when Aeswi got to his feet to help Merewalh with the bringing of the ale over to the table, and clapped her approvingly on the back.
"I sensed you needed one yourself," Merewalh told her, placing a jar in front of Osthryth. She glanced up the table to check everyone had something. "And food is coming - the landlord is bringing out salted pork."
Salted pork and Mercian ale, Osthryth thought. It was reward enough, especially with what she had planned for her company. The beer tasted rich and heavy, made at Burghton, she guessed, on the Trent river, and she drank it down promptly. It felt good, and the oblivion it would give her in the not too distant future.
"Steady," cautioned Aelffrith, touching her forearm. "You have something in mind for us for those bastard Norse - we need our commander." Osthryth smiled, and glanced to the men again, putting down the jar at her friend's advice.
"They are getting on?" she asked, and asked the same of Aeswi, who had turned to look at her when he saw her looking down the table.
"Yes, Osthryth," Aeswi replied, and Aelffrith nodded in agreement. "Who would have thought? But we have an ancient enemy in the Northumbrians," he added. "Mercia was overrun by Edwin, and before that Aethelfrith the Twister; Pictland, and now Alba, is in constant low level war." He took a sip of his ale. "Farmers, cattle raids, and so on, despite Lord Wihtgar's alliance." Osthryth listened, and fiddled with her cup, before necking the last of the ale.
"And what of the priest?" Aeswi asked her. "You spent a lot of time in his company."
"I have a plan, for the bitch that did that to him," Osthryth told him, and Aelffrith. Both men, older than Osthryth, commanded respect in the Mercians and the lords of Alba. It would not do them harm to hear it.
"We follow them," she continued. "They will be heading to Eoferwic, or if not yet, they will."
"Follow them, and fight them, you mean?" Aeswi asked. "Osthryth, we are only few..."
"We are few, and we can choose our targets. We can ride apart from one another, target different parts of the line. Or, we can wait until they get to Eoferwic."
"Who rules in Eoferwic?" Aeswi asked.
"Stewards," Osthryth told them. "Saxons, appointed by Edward of Wessex. And there are the bishops. Archbishop Wulfstan." She shook her head. "No-one strong, no-one that can claim a voice for all people of Eoferwic nor call on alliances."
"It's a prime target," Aelffrith told her, and Aeswi nodded. "The Norse want back what they think is rightfully theirs, and there is no-one in that city that would be a credible opponent." Osthryth leaned back on the oak bench. Her head was fuzzy; she was sickened by what had happened to Father Oswald, her nephew, Uhtred's son, and she hated the fact that it was her fault.
"Here, eat some of the pork," Merewalh said to Osthryth, but she shook her head.
"You look terrible," Aeswi told her. "You must eat something." Aelffrith turned and looked down the table to the Mercian warriors. "Oshere, Aeglfrith, get more ale, and something for your captain something to eat." She watched two of her Mercians get to their feet, Aeglfrith being clapped on the shoulder by Feilim as he handed the man back some apple pips from the game they had been playing.
" If they have mutton, that would be good," Osthryth told them, and pressed a silver piece into Oshere's hand. The man nodded his head to her, and ambled towards the bar with Oshere. When they returned, a plate of lean mutton placed in front of her with a flourish by Aeglfrith, and all had ale to hand, she got to her feet.
"You did well, all of you," she told them. "You trusted me, trusted my word. After tonight, once you have slept, we meet in the courtyard beside the stable." She then repeated that in Gaelish for the benefit of Oengus, Feilim and Owain.
And the men began to chat again, and do some sort of betting game with apple pips, which involved one of them taking a big swill of ale when they lost. Had Osthryth been in a happier mood, she might well have joined in, but even as she was, she was enjoying their company, like a mother whose two sets of children were getting along.
Osthryth was starting to unwind, she noticed, when Oengus began a song. It was a rather rude song, though it didn't matter because it was in Gaelish, but the Mercians got the idea, and joined in the best they could at the refrain. Osthryth joined in, enjoying her ale. It was about a cook and the food she was making, but with suggestive words every so often, so that the cook was serving large quantities of chicken and duck, which was about all she could translate into Anglish for Merewahl and Aelffrith's benefit.
Until the door opened, and the guard Osthryth had let down was suddenly up to attention. Uhtred's men had just come in, Finan, Sihtric, Osferth without her brother. Osthryth got to her feet.
"I do not want to be here," she told Aeswi and Aelffrith, who watched her glance towards Finan for a moment. "Look after them, do. Make sure they have a good time." She eyed the backs of the three men, who had slowly approached the bar, and slipped towards the door. Aeswi followed her, holding it open.
"I will walk with you," he told her, but Osthryth put up a hand.
"No need," she told him, getting to the door, relieved that none of them needed the fresh air anyway, hoped FInan had not seen her, wanted to be alone now. Uhtred would be with his son, and she she felt sick. If she spoke to Finan, she knew she could not keep up her nerve, and that was unacceptable to her in front of her men.
The night was warm, and the breeze in the air suggested that summer had not deserted them just yet. She would sleep in the stables, Osthryth told herself. And -
But then she stopped thinking when she saw a small figure come out of an alleyway from the direction of the church. It was Gomer. Or, perhaps, Mus. And she felt compelled to follow the woman along Ceastre's narrow street towards the northern end.
Did she do it for fun, being a whore? Because she was a cock-tease? Because she knew it was a good way to add money to the church? Osthryth did not care, but she was offended by the woman's arrogance.
And that offence was just a diversion from the guilt she was feeling.
Osthryth had never wholly accepted Gisela's death of her making. And yet, Uhtred had exacted a terrible revenge on her. If he heard now, would he try the same?
But yet, Brida would have got out, sooner or later. Ula, or someone else. Even he himself might have been moved to pity.
The night air was making her feel better, and Osthryth focused on the day ahead. Follow the Norse; follow Ragnall, for he was bound for Eoferwic, no doubt.
And there was Mus again, covered in a cloak. Heading down an alley with no end. Osthryth followed her.
She could go nowhere, Osthryth thought, as the stone wall of the chuch lay ahead. Ha, that would serve her right! No whoring for you tonight.
So Osthryth was only half-surprised when Mus drew out a knife.
"What do you want?" she asked, in a voice steady and clear. "I have a high fee."
"I have nothing you would want," Osthryth told her, hand on Buaidh. She may try to fly at Osthryth if she thought she was under threat, and an injury was the last thing Osthryth needed. But instead, the bishop's wife and unashamed prostitute narrowed her eyes.
"You are the witch?" Mus looked at her in all innocence.
"I was called that, once," Osthryth told her, alcohol depressing her caution. So who would she have heard that from, for she seemed to recognise Osthryth Aethelflaed, no doubt. Osthryth withdrew Buaidh. "Now I am your worst nightmare."
But Mus did not look afraid. Nor did she even seem to notice Osthryth's sword.
"Leadership comes at a heavy cost," Mus soothed, putting a hand out towards Osthryth. "Come on captain, let me show you how to relax."
88888888
It was light when Osthryth finally opened her eyes. Late, very late. Scrunching up her eyes to let the brightness ease into the back of her eyes she stretched and pulled herself upwards.
Stables, good. Straw, good. She was there. But what had caused her to oversleep? Her mouth fell dry as parchment and her head ached, and Osthryth moved, trying to stir her limbs into action.
"That'll be a silver piece," said Mus, from the other side of the stable loft. Osthryth blinked some more, and realised it was not the warriors' stables. That was where the men from Alba were sleeping. Plus it was a storey high, and from the window, light was streaming down.
"Where am I?" Osthryth asked her, fumbling for her jerkin. And then, she realised that her wrap containing some silver had gone. She glared at Mus.
"Alright, alright," Mus protested, holding out Osthryth's money, watching the leather disappear from her outstretched hand and back into Osthryth's shirt. "I had a lot of fun removing that, last night. Amongst other things." Osthryth gave her a long look. Had they...
"You had some fun, but I don't think I helped to heal your heart," Mus mused, sadly. "Whatever the cause, I hope you can get over it."
Osthryth said nothing for a moment, but then reached back into her shirt for her silver. She unwound the leather strap that held it closed and reached in for a large piece of hacksilver. As she held it out to Mus, the woman's eyes widened, and she shook a hand towards Osthryth.
"No," she protested, then gave Osthryth a wide-eyed look. "I...I wanted to be with you. I chose to be with you." And then with humility Osthryth did not think the woman possessed, she looked away.
"Take it, for the church," Osthryth insisted. "That is what you do this for, is it not? To men? To blackmail?" If she thought Mus was going to rise to her taunts, Osthryth was mistaken. She wasn't in the mood for this - there was her company that she needed to go and find and give commands to.
"Here!" Osthryth insisted, stepping to Mus over the dew-damp straw. She siezed the woman's small, dainty hand, its softness a contrast to Osthryth's hard, rough hands, and opened her fingers. "I am sorry if I do not remember."
Mus did not withdraw her hand immediately, and when Osthryth made to go, she took a few steps after her, and reached for her hand again.
"Why I do this?" Mus nodded. "For control. For fun...but last night..."
"Still think I'm a witch? Like Aethelflaed has told you?"
"She told my husband," Mus told her, her voice soft, sorrowful. "And...how you made me feel last night...you could be a spell-weaver..."
Osthryth smiled to the young woman. Those days fearing being called a witch, all through her days in Wessex, and then in Mercia...it was all gone now. And it was a pity she remembered nothing of the night when this little troublesome woman was in complete awareness of what had transpired.
"It was kind of you to remember me, Mus," Osthryth said. "But, if I'm pregnant, or you, then there'll be trouble."
Osthryth knew she would always remember the woman's laugh. It tinkled like a little bell at Osthryth's joke. She would never have sought out a whore, nor gone with the Bishop's wife willingly. Clearly, things had just happened, and they had happened because copious amounts of alcohol had been involved.
But it had not cured of her of the knowledge that her nephew had been cut to pieces by Brida. How was he this morning, Osthryth thought, as she passed through the main square and up into the horse ground outside the warriors' stable. To her dismay, all of her warriors were there waiting for her, Aeswi in front of Owain, Feilim and Oengus; Aelfkin, with Merewalh and Aelffrith beside him, heading the Mercians, Falkbald and Oshere nudging one another at Osthryth's dishevelled appearance.
"It would appear you were right, captain," Aelffrith told Osthryth, glancing at her for a moment, and that glance told Osthryth she looked a mess. Aeglfrith smirked for a second, before catching Osthryth's eye and adjusted his face. "Ragnall and Brida and their armies are on their way to Eoferwic."
"I am pleased to hear it," Osthryth told Aelffrith, and repeated this in Gaelish. This is why she didn't drink, Osthryth told herself; the after-effects, the dizzyness, the nausea, the aversion to sunlight, it was just not worth it.
"You arranged the horses," Osthryth exclaimed, when she noticed them all lined up. Then, to Merewalh, added, "We just need food, and water, or water skins, at least."
"Done," he told her. "And Aelffrith has slipped the guards at the eastern gate some money to ignore us leaving. We are ready, Osthryth."
"Ready," she repeated, and looked over for the horse she had ridden the day before, mottled black spots on a grey coat, he looked ready too, they all did.
As they were about to make for their horses, Osthryth suddenly noticed Oengus's face. It was cut down the left-hand side of his face. But he did not look ashamed.
"What happened?" Osthryth asked. But Oengus would not say. Nor would anyone else.
"What happened?" she repeated, in Gaelish. "Was it a fight with your comrades?"
"Swords were drawn," Owain told her quickly. At this sudden confession, Feilim nudged the crown prince in the ribs. "In the alehouse," he added, clearly not taking the hint.
"And where was I in all of this?" Osthryth asked. And then she groaned, inwardly. She'd left, hadn't she?
"You left, to...sleep off the ale," Aelffrith told her, diplomaticlly, glancing at the straw in her hair.
"A man came over and insulted the mormaers - " he looked actoss to Feilim and the damage to Oengus.
"I was telling him of your intended again," Oengus boasted in Gaelish. And then, suddenly, Osthryth put two and two together. Finan had been in the alehouse, hadn't he? He had gone to the bar and had been sitting with Osferth and Sightric. "He took exception to my...honesty."
"I am sorry you were attacked," Osthryth told him. "But you should not have told him of my life, Oengus." The mormaer lord looked abashed.
"He is an Irish prince, Osthryth, an exiled Irish prince," Aeswi told her. "And he was drunk and belligerent. He should have had more manners."
"Oengus? A prince?" Osthryth looked confused, but then shook her head, hoping it might make a difference to the fuzziness within it. "No matter, we are here for Consantine, for the alliance, nothing more." She pointed to the horses and to the gate. "I am here to ensure there is no diplomatic issues between my king and the Lady of the Mercians. "Thank you for organising our company, all of you," she told them. "We are going to follow the Norse. Sooner or later the Mercian Lady will have an advisor who will come up with a credible strategy and he will lead, or will send an army. We will do what we can to delay them, on whatever manner we can. We must prevent Ragnall entering Eoferic and taking it."
When Osthryth looked back to that moment, she wished she had asked Aeswi what he had meant, but she hadn't. Osthryth did not want to feel the pain in her heart again that morning, not until they were far, very far away from Ceastre, away from Father Oswald and Mus and her brother. She had chosen instead to focus on the task in hand. It was a mistake. She would pay for later.
"I know, Aelffrith, Merewalh," she nodded to her two friends, "Aelfkin, Aeglfrith, Oshere, Falkbald, you have no authority to cross into Northumbria," Osthryth went on. "I will not judge or hold to shame anyone who wishes to remain behind remains behind.
When none of her six Mercian warriors said anything to Osthryth, she bowed her head. "In that case, otherwise, under my command, we go to Eoferwic." And, within minutes, they were riding, out of the city and towards Eadsbyrig again.
"Why would Ragnall take men to Eoferwic?" Merewalh asked Osthryth, as the sun rose to midday. They were leading the men, two abreast, as they climbed uo the higher ground they had climbed the day before.
"Because, whoever becomes king there, whether by Aethelflaed and Edward's permission, or independently, is who Constntine will wilsh to speak with. We need to be there so we can take this news back." Osthryth's horse climbed the last of the ridge, and she and Merewalh turned, waiting for the rest of the men. "Norse Northumbrians are rallying to him now Guthred is dead, rhe nominal king of Eoferwic." And Osthryth could see now that what she was as his impotent reign of Caer Ligualid, Eoferwic and the lands in between was what had made the country peaceful for so long. While Osthryth despised him for claiming her in marriage, Guthred must have been an effective negotiatior, a humble one, for Norse incursions to have been so few.
"And if we are spotted?" Merewahl asked. Aeswi brought his horse next to Merewalh, tilting his head towards Osthryth, his long fair hair blowing in the wind. They were on the border of Northumbria now, and Osthryth looked over to Finnolai's brother, at the backdrop of the country in which they were going.
"We have come from Constantine as emissary. The king of Alba is neighbour to Nothumbria, and if Ragnall ends up controlling Eoferwic, he in effect controls all of that kingdom to the wall." It seemed plausible. But there was a part of Osthryth, a stubborn, erascible side, which just wanted to go to Eoferwic for the pleasure of being proved right.
And to kill Brida. If Uhtred did not make it, could not make it, Osthryth knew she had to be the one to do it. She turned back and watched as the rest of her men joined them.
"Ragnall will know about Anlaf visiting," Osthryth told Aeswi, not caring if the Mercians heard that which might be intelligence against Alba. "So he will assume the King of Alba is sympathetic to his cause."
"It is a risk, Osthryth," cautioned Aeswi.
"I know," Osthryth agreed. "We just have to take it and hope I am right. We will know if he sends men to Caer Ligualid. Now," she added, looking at the ground, perhaps hoping to see the line of the map drawn out for real on the hard earth. She brought her horse around.
"Mercians!" she declared, and all of her men looked back to Osthryth. "Here is Northumbria. You followed yesterday, and followed my orders. What say you now?" She turned to the mormaers of Alba. "Men of Alba, what say you?"
A cheer erupted with words of approval. The warriors looked at one another, and the cheering continued.
And, above the cheering came a voice, slow and steady, speaking for them all, "Osthryth, you are our captain," Merewalh's voice cut through rousing cheering. "Our captain from Alba. And if you believe we should cross to Northumbria to protect Mercia, then I for one say, "Aye!"
"Aye!" shouted two more people, Aelfkin and Oshere. And they continued cheering as Aelffrith and the stoic Falkbald join in.
"Very well," Osthrtth told them. "To Northumbria."