Mercia, Autumn 920
Last time, it had been Aethelstan who had met her and the Alba warriors on Aethelflaed's behalf as they rode into the Ceastre. Now he was the lord, and he was, Osthryth was told, at prayer.
It had been a long ride, but swift, the weather had been good, and she and Caltigar had seen no trouble. But now her heart soared, because if Aethelstan was at prayer, it was likely that the priest with whom he might be praying was Father Oswald, Osthryth's nephew and Uhtred's first son.
She was met instead by Merewalh, who looked greyer around the ears but not much changed since the last time she was there.
"We heard you had married," he told her, as she and Caltigar rode their horses in through the gates of the forified city.
"I did," Osthryth replied. "I married a good man who was kind to me. But then he was lost."
"I am sorry," Merewalh told her, and he looked it. Then, he looked across to Caltigar. "Another waif and stray? You do like to collect them," he added, grinning.
"He was in service to my lord husband," Osthryth told him. And Osthryth told him about the invasion at Bebbanburg, and that she had remarried and kept the land.
"You, a farmer?"
"I am learning," she told Merewalh. "Caltigar's father manages the land if I am not there. Their family has been farming Berric longer even than the Angles arrived."
"As long as that?" Merewalh asked her. He held out his hand to the Pictish boy. "Welcome to Mercia," he said in Cymric. And then in Anglish. "I am sure you will find it so rotten here at present that you will be dying to get back to your sheep and cows."
"I can fight," Caltigar told him, in broken Anglish. "For my lady I have fought many times. We have rievers." He said the word as if he might have said, "We have rats."
"I am sorry to hear it," Merewalh said again, and showed Osthryth to the stables. "Your men are here, of course," he told her, and within a few minutes, Aelfkin was leading out his four other comrades. They beamed when they saw Osthryth. With them, was Aeswi.
"Who is this?" Aelfkin asked, eyeing the farm-dressed Caltigar.
"One of my landsmen," Osthryth replied. "We are training some as a militia; I chose Caltigar to come with me to learn. He is keen," she added, hopefully.
"Caltigar," she said in Pictish, "These are my men. I have known and commanded them for many years. You will be with them, and they will train you." She urged the young boy on, and Aelfkin held out a friendly, welcoming arm.
"Did you know that your lady has killed Norsemen?" he asked, in Welsh. It was good enough to get the gist across, and Caltigar gave the leader of Osthryth's division a wary smile.
"Aelfkin here, has married a Cymric girl," Oshere, always willing to gossip, told Osthryth. "Betraying us all by fraternising with the ancient enemy." Aelfkin grinned. "He is learning, even through I never thought he would manage."
"You don't need language to understand what happens between a man and a woman," Aeglfrith commented, with a big grin.
"You need to when she's nagging you," Falkbald put in.
"I would say that's an excellent reason for ignorance," Aeglfrith replied, and they laughed. Caltigar would do fine, Osthryth knew, and it wasn't long before he was in the courtyard being shown the basics by Aelfkin, a sword in his hand. Osthryth watched the young man swipe it through the air and overbalance a little, so used that he was to wielding an axe, and her heart filled with happiness when she saw the once little boy who had been scared of the dark, now captain of her Mercian company, show Caltigar what he knew, what he had learned from Osthryth.
Then, Merewalh placed a hand on her shoulder. He looked around the courtyard and then turned to Osthryth, and said, in a voice that carried, "So you are here to continue with the remainder of your service, Osthryth of Mercia?" Several people looked at Merewalh and then at Osthryth. Very good, she thought, and joined in.
"I will see my lord Aethelstan, or his general Aldhelm."
"Come with me," Merewalh continued, and they headed to the hall, which stood in the centre of Ceastre, and to the armoury to the side. There, he locked the door behind her and grinned at Osthryth.
"Just us," Osthryth replied. Safe, where no-one could hear.
"And the someone who got here before you," Merewalh added. It was then that Osthryth noticed a figure who would have been behind the armoury door if it were opened. It was Aeswi, and he stepped towards Osthrtth, and took her hands in his for a few moments.
"The children are safe?" Osthryth asked, for he had been in charge of taking them back to Alba.
"Indeed," he told her. "And you are here, which is where Constantine wants you."
"Constantine?" Merewalh asked.
"The King of Alba," Aeswi quipped, how many other Constantines do you know? We are here for information," he added, and nodded to Osthryth, "Amongst other things. The impending battle." Osthryth nodded. As they had neared Ceastre she had seen a camp of soldiers to the south, in Aethelflaed's heartland. Golden dragons fluttered on a red field. It was a possibility, but she hoped in some ways it would not come to that: if they were to fight, Uhtred would likely be on the West Saxon side - he had sworn to Edward before he had sworn to Aethelstan.
But then, this was her brother she was thinking about, and Uhtred did many things that defied logic.
"There is unrest," Merewalh told them, stalking to a chair that was used by the metallers when they hammered the plate metal into armour, and he gestured towards two others. "Edward of Wessex is ill - "
"Ill? What is wrong?" Osthryth interrupted.
"No-one knows. But if he dies, there will be a fight for the throne," Merewalh went on. Aethelweard has already been declared legitimate in Wessex, whereas Aethelhelm would like him to be proclaimed in Mercia, to be safe for when the time comes." Osthryth sighed. There was unrest, too much. Dyfnwal first, and now Edward...
"The West Saxon troops are coming, and who knows who they will support," Merewalj added.
"Isn't it obvious?" Aeswi asked.
"No," Merewalh replied, reaching for a bottle of spirit, birch brandy by the smell that came to Osthryth's nose and swigging deeply before passing the bottle to Aeswi. "They will want to fight for unity, yet if they do that they are openly supporting Aethelstan, who has been declared a bastard. If they fight for the independence factions then they are fighting against Edward's unity policy."
"What is the official line?" Osthryth asked. Merewalh gave her a half-smile, half-grimace.
"They are here to fihtt against the Danes and the Norse, who still flood the land. But that is not all. There has been an increase in forces at Tamworth." Tamworth? Aethelflaed's capital, where Aethelstan lived now.
"Aethelstan is not at Tamworth, is he? He is here, in Ceastre?" Osthryth asked.
"He is. And he is taking counsel from his lords." Osthryth swallowed. It came to that, did it?
"So it depends on what my brother does," Osthryth mused aloud. "Is he here?"
"With all his men, armed, ready for battle," Merewalh told her. "Which is why I can't help but think that a battle is coming."
"He'll fight for Aethelstan, of course," Osthryth told him, thinking of Uhtred's warriors, Sihtric and her husband, of course, little Rorik, who was not so little any more. And the young man he had spared on the beach of Saint David's. But if Wessex is weak, there may be more disunity in the alliance than before." And then she gave Merewalh a look of alarm.
"And what of Aelfwynn? Where is she?" For that young woman had been troubling Osthryth ever since her mother, Aethelflaed's, last words to Osthryth had been a demand for her to protect her daughter. Osthryth had never accepted, yet she felt troubled by it.
"Gone, no-one knows where," Merewalh told her. "Last seen being taken from Tamworth by her uncle's men."
"Perhaps I can help there," Aeswi put in. "I have heard she is in a monastery at Salisbury, though I have not been able to obtain corroborating evidence."
"Perhaps your husband can help there," Aeswi told her, but the expression on her face told him he had overstepped the mark.
"I have told Constantine that I will not use Finan for intelligence." Was that why he was here? Was Constantine pressing to overturn the agreement he had made with her? It was like him, Osthryth knew.
"Husband?" Merewalh repeated. "Forgive me, I thought you said he had died, at Bebbanburg?" Osthryth smiled.
"And then the father of my child went to the king and asked that he marry me. I agreed." She waited for Merewalh to work it out.
"The father of your child?" Merewalh repeated. And then his face darkened. "You don't mean...the man who fought his own brother at Eoferwic, when Aelffrith was killed...? He...wasn't he the man who attacked you when you were young?"
He attacked me when I am almost the same age as I am now, Osthryth mused, when we were in bed together just fornight ago, but not not in the same way you mean, old friend. But Merewalh was shaking his head. "This man was the same man who attacked you when you were young," he repeated, and looked to Aeswi. "Tell me, that he has never raised a hand to you?"
"If he has, she will have raised it back," Aeswi replied, and Osthryth thought of her husband, how he had been wth her when she had taken the herbs that made her miscarry Edward's child, how he had stood up to Uhtred when he was looking for her, how he held her as if she was the most important thing in the world.
"He never has, Merewalh," Osthryth assured him, then added if only to get off the subject. "I need to know several things about what's happening here."
"Do you indeed," Merewalh grinned. "So who do you want to speak to first in order to find these out? Aethelstan? Or Aldhelm?" He looked at the door on the opposite side of the armoury which led to the hall, where both men would proabably now be. "Or myself?"
"Why you?" Osthryth asked.
"Because," Merewalh told her slowly, "Though Aelffrith is dead, I am the leader of the independence movement, of course. As always."
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In the end it was Father Oswald that Osthryth spoke to first. He was coming from the chapel, and it was only when she put her hand on his arm that he turned. A smile came to his face, and Osthryth smiled back.
"Come," he said to her. "To my quarters." And he opened up a side door that took them up a flight of stairs and into a room above the chapel. It was well-appointed, with the sunlight in the south shining through the window, and he directed Osthryth to a chair. He looked older, and he must now have been in his late thirties. He was clearly trusted well enough by Aethelstan to oversee his prayers, though they had known one another as boys, since Aethelstan had grown up in Aethelflaed's household and Stiorra and Uhtred, as he was called then, had lived with her too, when they had not been at monasteries learning about God.
"You look well, aunt," her nephew told her, and Osthryth tried not to roll her eyes.
"Well," Osthryth repeated, and it had been her being "well" which meant that her armour no longer fitted properly and she had had to have Rhia help her with her bindings. Good eating on a farm and not enough sword practise.
"I heard you married," he continued, offering her some wine. Osthryth nodded, and allowed him to pour her a small cupful.
"Yes," she agreed.
"And have lands," he added.
"News travels fast. Your father has Bebbanburg, yours by right," she told her nephew.
"I know. I will not claim it; my younger brother will, I think." And Osthryth thought about the younger brother, kept by Hild safely in a monastery until he was old enough to be brought to his father. The boy was now living at Bebbanburg, probably in his late teens, probably Caltigar's age.
"So tell me," Osthryth asked of her nephew, "What has happened in Mercia since I was last here?"
"When were you last here?" Father Oswald asked, and Osthryth had to think. It must have been when she was expecting Young Finan, she considered. She had stayed in Alba after he was born.
"Teotenhalgh," she told him, but Father Oswald shook his head.
"You came, do you not remember, to Ceastre?" He shook his head again. "You fought the Norse, and then tracked them to Eoferwic." And Osthryth had to admit it had gone from her mind, and that she was having a difficult time even remembering the events when Ragnall and Brida had torn north to Eoferwic to claim it. When she had gelded Father Oswald, when Finan had fought Ninefingers. Too many things had passed since then, not least her support of Alba against Mercia and Wessex, at Corbridge, and Ceinid.
"After the death of my aunt, the lords of Mercia swore that they would uphold the claim of the person who Aethelflaed wanted as successor, her daughter."
"Aelfwynn," Osthryth said, speaking the girl's name.
"Through both her parents she could have claimed Mercia, but there was a faction that supported Aethelstan, not least because of his connection to Wessex." He leaned towards Osthryth. "I do not want to suspect, but I do suspect, that Aethelstan was complicit in Aelfwynn's removal. But she is safe, I am assured she is safe."
"In a monastery in Salisbury," Osthryth replied, and the shock on her nephew's face came suddenly.
"How did you - "
"I know many things. At least she is safe and not food for the crows. I - " And here Osthryth broke off. It was the last thing that Aethelflaed had asked, had begged, of Osthryth to do, which was to keep her daughter safe, the only honest confession of her feeling that she remembered the spoiled woman to ever have confided to Osthryth in the years of misdirection and downright lies. She had never sworn it, but Osthryth felt a pang of guilt - Aelfwynn had inherited her mother's role, but had held it for less than a month.
"So, why are you here?" Father Oswald asked.
"I owed Mercia two years," she told him. "And I have paid four months back so far. So Aethelstan has my sword."
"And Constantine has your two eyes and two ears," Father Oswald replied, wryly. "I will help you all you can, but, aunt, promise me..." He trailed off, and gave her a grave look. "Promise me Constantine is not behind this?"
"Behind what?" Osthryth replied, shocked. "What do you think he is behind?"
"The influx of Norse," he told her. "Norse coming from Eireann still, overwhelming the country, polarising feeling in Mercia?"
"If feelings are polarised it is because of deep-seated divisions between the lords of Mercia," she told him. "If the Norse are coming, it might be to do with the fact that the kings of Eireann were defeated in battle and slain? It might be because there is unrest in the island and Norse communities are being displaced? And that Mercia is not defending her borders because of internal disputes?"
Osthryth shook her head. Why Constantine must have the blame, she thought, made her annoyed when there were so many other reasons. What interest did Constantine have in Mercia?
Although, he could be doing this for spite, because of Edward's declaration in Strathclyde - Osthryth would not put him past mischief, but could still percieve no benefit in terms of land, only indirectly through the Norse. She knew too little, understood too little. Which was a good thing - being an ignorant farmer was appealing to her more and more.
"Give a prayer to Eireann," she asked her nephew. "Good kings have died there." And her mind focused on Domnall who, out of everyone, was her dearest friend, who had had to go back to hold together the Ui Neill family and establish rule for the people of Eireann over whom he had never been king.
"Why are you here, aunt?" her nephew asked again.
"To spy," she told him. "To garner intelligence. But, I swear, if I am being used in some sort of strategy, it is unknown to me. Mercia is dear to me," she added, "As you know."
"And yet you returned to Alba," he reminded her.
"To my family, and to people who have treated me as family all my life," she replied. "I am the happiest I have ever been these last weeks, working at the farm I have been given, Berric, my late husband's land, married to the man I love." And she could not help it, Osthryth knew. She was smiling, happier than she had ever been for some time.
"So you are serving Mercia as you say, and intelligence gathering," Father Oswald asked her, asking her in a way that suggested he had used that manner of questioning on a regular basis in order to prompt confessors to examine their own consciences and perhaps consider again how they have represented the truth. But Osthryth could only smile.
"It is as I say; I could well return from Mercia with no intelligence, or badly-collected intelligence," Osthryth told him. Yet, Aeswi was with her, and he would know the difference.
"If Mercia is in your heart go to it," Father Oswald told her, and Osthryth leaned over to him, taking his own hands in his, before he could put one of his own on her head. She needed no Godly blessing; she did need what few family she had, and was so pleased, proud and pleased, to be in her nephew's company again.
"I swear it," she told the former Uhtred, son of Uhtred, "If there is a plot, I know nothing of it." Father Oswald smiled, and Osthryth smiled back. "And I would see you at Bebbanburg," she told him. "It is your father's now, and was your father's father's." The priest laughed.
"One day, perhaps," he told her, and got to his feet. Osthryth looked to the door. "And what are you intent on doing now, aunt?"
"I am intent on serving Mercia," she told him. And for that, e needed to overhear what was going on in the hall, particularly Aethelstan's business. Buaidh sheathed, the clasp over the hilt, Osthryth climbed not down, to the courtyard and the front of the chapel, but up. Time to be a bird in the rafters again, and glean what she could for her king, preferably before a battle began.
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"Lord Uhtred, please can you explain what was so important that I had to be disturbed from prayer." Aethelstan, sitting in his chair - throne, really, Osthryth thought, as she looked down from the roof, was giving her brother no possibility to get out of whatever it was he wanted from the Lord of Mercia.
And he had changed, Osthryth thought. It had been over two years since Aethelflaed had died, two years for Alfred's grandson to rule in Mercia, to oversee its lands. He looked magnificent. A glimmer of metal sat in his golden hair, and it had lengthened, falling in loose curls about his face. A reminder to Osthryth of Edward, who had his curls into late childhood. But Aethelstan's must have been curled deliberately, for bronze wire was woven into some of them, a glint of emerald, or possibly garnet in them.
At his throat, a garnet-encrusted pin held a green and gold cloak, the colours of Mercia, and Osthryth was willing to bet that if he got up the white dragon of Mercia would be seen. Like his father, Aethelstan clearly had a taste for the expensive. And why not? Alfred was pious, but he knew that a display of wealth held the population in awe, held enemies in awe. He represented God, and the jewels and precious metals on earth needed to represent the glory of heaven beyond, unchanging, everlasting.
"We have come at your request," Uhtred told Aethelstan. "I was under the impression this was your seal, your words." He held out what looked like a letter, rolled and the remnants of a seal at the bottom.
"It is," Aethelstan told him, without looking at it. "And I was in prayer. I did not need summoning like a child, for as you know, I am no longer one." Osthryth could not argue with that: if Uhtred had taught him anything it was to be a king in the model of his grandfather. He could not then complain when Aethelstan used that manner to his former teacher.
"And so, you have come, to defend Mercia. My Mercia."
"Once the Lady Aethelflaed's Mercia," Uhtred reminded him.
"Once the Lord Aethelred's, and the Lord Burghred's in alliance with my grandfather, and so on and so on." Osthryth bit the back of her hand to prevent her from childishly giggling at Aethelstan's attitude to her brother. "If the point is that you are now needed at Mercia's behest, how is it that a week ago you knew of the West Saxon threat, before they had set up camp at Northwic?"
"I did not know," Uhtred repeated, "I came because you summoned me."
"Indeed," Aethelstan replied. "So a deal of patience could have been used, Lord Uhtred, rather than disturb me in prayer. Perhaps you would like to join me at the chapel some time? It settles and focuses the mind when one unburdens to the Lord."
There was a silence, and Osthryth noticed Finan's hand move almost imperceptibly to Uhtred's shoulder. What would her brother be without the continued loyalty of Finan, bonded at the slaver's oar? Uhtred said nothing as Aethelstan continued to look at him.
"We last saw one another at Bebbanburg, tell me, how does your land suit you? Is it what you hoped."
"It is everything I hoped, Lord Aethelstan," Uhtred replied.
"And, being Lord of that land, I hope you come to repeat the oath that you made to my dear aunt."
That was it, Osthryth thought, holding into one of the beams as she listened. It wasn't a battle that had instigated Aethelstan's call of her brother, but a swearing of loyalty. He wanted what Alfred wanted, Bebbanburg, its lands, her lands, Strathclyde, Alba. The whole of the island of Britain.
"You were asked to kneel for my father," Aethelstan told him. "But I do not command you to kneel. What I wish is that your reaffirm your loyalty to Mercia, through me as its Lord."
Was there a pause? Osthryth was never sure that she noticed one or not in her brother. Whether a pause or no, she watched her brother take out his sword and lay it at Aethelstan's feet. Then he knelt.
"I, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, its fortress and lands, do hereby swear alliegance to the Lord of Mercia, his lands and burhs." Uhtred's voice was clear and loud. None could doubt it.
And yet there was room for doubt: his prior oath was to Edward, Wessex's king. It could only mean one thing. That, once Edward died, from whatever illness he was suffering, Uhtred was supporting Aethelstan in his claim for Wessex. Which meant, the West Saxon men outside his walls were here at his request. Aethelstan wanted to crush the independence factions which had had Aelfwynn as their figurehead and he had, now, what he needed: the support of the greatest warrior in the land.
It also meant another thing: there were two Mercias, Aethelstan's and those wishing independence from Wessex, and Osthryth, though neutrally collecting intelligence for Constantine was, in effect, on the other side.
For Aethelstan wanted Britain, so Constantine would do anything he could to slow Aethelstan's advance north. She was Merewalh's side, with Aeswi, Constantine's loysl spy. And she had to wonder whether Constantine had set her up to fight in Mercia on his behalf after all.
It also meant that she was on the side opposite to Finan, who was, techinically, Constantine's man now he was the lord of Berric. Let there not be a battle, Osthryth thought, watching Uhtred get to his feet. Please, let there not be a battle.
"Who is your priest, now Bishop Leofstan is dead?" Uhtred asked Aethelstan. He would know, Osthryth thought, and wanted to assert this against the lord of Mercia.
"Your son," Aethelstan told him. "Bishop Oswald."
"Bishop?" Uhtred told him. Osthryth, too, was amazed, more so that her nephew had not said.
"Indeed. How your son has risen," he added, and the Christian reference was not lost on Uhtred, telling from his face, Osthryth thought. She also thought it was pretty cruel of Aethelstan to remind the lord who had just sworn an oath to him that he had lost his daughter. Stiorra had not survived the siege of Eoferwic, and Osthryth had wondered, at Corbridge, whether this was the reason he had acquiesced the city to Edward so easily.
Uhtred was dismissed, and Osthryth crawled back through the roof, listening as he and Finan spoke on the steps.
"I'm tellin' ye, it's going to snow," Finan told Uhtred. She watched her brother glance at the sky.
"It's October," he told Finan. "Not even the time for blood in this Blood Month. We have had no frost." They were nervous, Osthryth thought. She recognised it in her own warriors. They would talk about crap, bet on whether one worm crawling in the mud was longer than another, even, while waiting on the edge of battle, on the edge of certain death.
"I bet you two shillings," Finan offered. Uhtred held out a hand and they shook on it, muttering at the ease at which he was taking his money.
"Bishop Leofstan is dead," Uhtred murmured.
"And Bishop Oswald is very much alive," Finan goaded.
"Do you remember Mus?" Uhtred grinned to his friend.
"I surely do not," replied Finan.
"I know you do," her brother replied. Or did. Osthryth also knew Mus, Sunngifu was her Saxon name and Gomer her Christian name. Bishop Leofstan had married her trying to prove he was able to convert fallen women, but Mus was the one proving that power over men came from between her thighs, that her body delighted them. She had kissed Osthryth once, and it had been good, she had to admit. But not good enough to lose her head as a man might, abandoning wfe and home and lord for the pleasures of the flesh and call it love.
Nevertheless, a flame of jealousy licked inside Osthryth's stomach, and she was taken aback that she cared where normally she would not. Finan was a soldier and women came naturally to him. Osthryth didn't ask, and he did not tell, and it was the same the other way round. Not that there was anything to tell that he didn't already know, and as she had overheard Finan saying to her brother once, that they had a mutual agreement that he would not kill Constantine as long as Osthryth did not kill Uhtred.
But she cared now, and did not want her husband to be reminded of that perfect-bodied woman.
"And did you?" Uhtred was still talking about Mus.
"No," Finan replied. "You?"
"No," Uhtred said. "Eadith," he added. "Anyway, I am asking on behalf of a friend." And they moved from the entrance of the hall, and Osthryth could no longer hear them.
"You really want to bet two shillings," Uhtred asked FInan, as they reached the stables. There were rooms for warriors there, more spacious than many halls. It was as if the Lady Aethelflaed had expected a large garrison to be at Ceastre and had made accommodations for them.
"Bet you two shillings the King of Alba is behind this somewhere," Uhtred told him.
"He gifted us land," Finan told him. "Berric."
"Good," Uhtred smiled. He had not asked for many details from Finan when he finally returned to Bebbanburg. "At least I know you as I send my armies through to ravage land north of my own."
A horn sounded in the distance. A few flakes of snow began to fall. Finan grinned at his lord, before hurrying from his side to gather Uhtred's men.
A leaden feeling was forming in Osthryth's stomach when she, too, heard the horn. Whether she wanted it or not, it would seem that there was gong to be a battle, and she climbed out of the roofing thatch and onto the palisade wall: the West Saxons had surrounded Ceastre.
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Osthryth found her company in the armoury, preparing themselves with arms. Caltigar looked up when Osthryth entered. Fear was in his eyes, along with a measure of determination. If she had known there was going to be a war, a battle, Osthryth would never have brought him: his only foes had been ones growing from the ground and covering many acres, or wide and strong with many branches.
"You do not have to fight," she told him, moving to his hand and lowering his sword. "Whatever would I tell your father?" But the boy pushed her hand away, much to the astonishment of her men, and strode to Aelfkin's side.
"The Captain, Aelfkin, has shown me what to do," he insisted. And Osthryth smiled for a moment, less so when she noticed the three dead mice in the corner of the armoury. Beliefs died slowly amongst the northern folk, and it would seem, though her people attended priests and churches, Caltigar had just sacrificed for the good fortune of battle. He was far from a sacred grove and these were not children. Urien of the Hen Ogledd would be amazed at the young man's resourcefulness.
She watched him stand beside Aeglfrith and Osthryth beckoned to her captain. "Whose side are we on?"
"Aethelstan's of course," Aelfkin replied.
"By what orders have you been given?" Osthryth pushed, "From Aldhelm?" Aelfkin blinked, and put his arm around Osthryth's shoulders.
"For Aethelstan, against the West Saxons," he confided. "They fight on behalf of the lady Aelfwyn, or so they say."
So that was it. Aethelhelm, Edward's former father-in-law was using West Saxon troops to harry Aethelstan, on behalf of his grandson, Aethelweard. For Mercia would never accept Aethelweard when they had Aethelstan, Aethelflaed's nephew, who was their lord, so force had to be used. And Aldhelm was on the side of independence.
"Company," Osthryth called, and they lined up before her. "Out there, is a fight for Mercia. It is your land, our land." She glanced behind her. Already, the rattle of swords on shields was echoing along battle lines. And within? A heartier rattle. Mercia was bent on fighting back against Edward's West Saxons.
"Mercia is not about who governs it, or what is said about it," she continued, "But it is what grows in here!" She put her hand to her chest. "I am not a Mercia by birth, but I am a Mercian by choice. Today, as every day, when I am in your great land, I choose to risk my life for this land, for your people, for your earth. I choose it above Wessex, above Cent and East Anglia or the bradwr land, Cymru, who is your neighbour and refuses to stand with you when you need it. I choose it above even Alba! Because every day in Mercia, is worth fighting for the freedom - of this realm!"
And she looked about at the faces, faces who had been faithful to her, Osthryth, even when they had had no cause to other than that she had been named their captain. Every one of them was looking at her, head high.
"We fight!" she concluded, "For Mercia!"
"For Mercia!" they replied, in voices so loud that they must have been heard over the roar of battle. "Mercia! Mercia! Mercia!"
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At the west gate, Aethelstan had broken his men up and had now reformed against his own city. Standing beside the West Saxons, he looked at the palisade wall and was in conversation with Wessex's army general, Aldred.
"What was that about?" Finan asked Uhtred, confused. "I thought we were fighting against Wessex, for Mercia."
"We are," Uhtred told him. "But Mercia, in this case, Aethelstan, has chosen to fight with the West Saxons, against the Mercian traitors who are trying to garner independence from Wessex. They are the ones trapped inside fighting a losing battle" He watched Finan shake his head.
"And they say the Irish are mad," he told his friend. "I do not understand that in the slightest. I am glad I follow you, 'tis all."
"All we need to do is help reduce their number," he told Finan.
"And how are we supposed to know which of the Mercian bastards are for Aethelstan and which are not?" It was a reasonable question. It wasn't just a case of looking to see where the lord of Mercia actually was, and who was following him. The guards on the ramparts, understandably, were trying to prevent a Wessex breach of the walls, while some of them were debating whether to open the gates again seeing as Aethelstan had turned his back on the West Saxons and was trying to make his own city's fortifications yield to axe and sword blows.
"Look for anything unusual," he told Finan. "Like Mercian guard firing down onto their own guard." He pointed to one part of the ramparts where half a dozen longbowmen were aiming into the confusion outside the city walls.
"Get up there," Finan told Berg and Sihtric. "Get those bastards down before they manage to hit any of the West Saxons." Both men paused, and looked instinctively to Uhtred for guidance against what sounded like illogical orders from Finan.
"Yes!" Uhtred told them. "Do as you are told!" And they went to it, scrambling over the ramparts until they reached the walkway.
"And there," Uhtred told him, sliding his sword into his scabbard, mid-run to an attacking position. He gestured to the western rampart where a company of men were descending to the outer field. "Where was it you said your wife was? Alba? Or has Berric suddenly become a lot closer to Ceastre?" Finan looked, and saw indeed that Osthryth was leading her company of men. He smiled.
"Yes," he agreed.
"Well?" Uhtred demanded to know, "Why is she over there, commanding a Mercian company?"
"She will have her reasons," he replied, his words irritatingly reasonable. "Doesn't she owe several months to Aethelstan, for the death of that commander? Eadith's brother?"
"No, Aethelflaed sent her away, debt paid!" Uhtred shot back. "As well you know." Around them flakes of snow began to fall.
"Perhaps Aethelstan reinstated it," Finan continued, again, annoyingly reasonable. Uhtred shook his head, annoyed that he could not get a rise out of his friend about his accursed sister, and thrust Serpent Breath into the hard earth. Then he sighed, and clapped Finan on the back.
"You married her?" Finan said nothing. He didn't even look longingly over to Osthryth, as she climbed down the ramparts onto the outer side of the palisade wall. It was so frustrating.
"If you are going to keep it a secret, I could demand it," Uhtred said at last, resorting to threats that even he knew Finan had reduced him to.
"I did," his friend confessed, and there was a pang of hurt in Uhtred's heart, as much for his friend as his estranged sister. She had fixed it that he would claim Bebbanburg, not his cousin, her other brother. After everything he had done to her over the years, she was loyal to him, in the end. More snow fell. "Two shillings," Finan added, holding out a hand.
"Was it beautiful?" Uhtred asked, handing over the coins reluctantly.
"She was," Finan replied, matter-of-factly, as he looked for the weakness, the mistake of the Independencers. "That bastard Constamtine witnessed it."
"You still hate him then," Uhtred asked, equally matter-of-factly.
"I do," Finan told him, peering out into the sea of fighting men. "I hate him more than I hate the devil." There, the mistake. A thin line of Mercians who seemed to be on the side of the West Saxon fighters had turned and were attacking them. Too close to the eastern gate. It was vulnerable.
"And where will you live?" Uhtred asked, looking where Finan was pointing.
"She will remain in Berric, or at least I think she will," Finan added, giving a light chuckle. "And I will remain in your service, lord, and live at Berric when I am not needed by you."
"You will always be needed by me," Uhtred told him, and Finan turned his head sharply. "But I will not let it be said that a lord kept another lord from his people. For you are now a lord, are you not?"
Finan's face was a picture. He had spent his life post-slavery trying to avoid titles of all sorts, titles and positions and responsibilities.
"I understand you are called a "mormaer" now?" Uhtred was really trying to wind Finan up, now, and it was working.
But there was no more time for this awkward conversation. For just then, the west palisade wall was attacked with the full force of the West Saxons. And with them, the Norse.
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"Norse!" Aelfkin called, as they fought, backs to the wood of their own fortress while blow after blow came onto them. Already Osthryth thought she had lost Falkbald, yet he was found several minutes later with his sword embedded in the backbone of a West Saxon warrior.
Osthryth had no time to think, but plunge on. And on they fought, as Norse and West Saxon and some of the Mercian warriors fought them. Until a banging on shield was given, and confusion reigned. Some of the fighting waned, especially when Mercian faced Mercian. But others, West Saxons, Norse, were still going, intensifying as they saw what they thought was their goal, the west gate.
"Back!" Osthryth called, "Back!" And they slipped through a group of Mercians who were now united with one another and had turned their backs on Ceastre and were instead uniting against the West Saxon men, ignoring the urges of their commanders to turn and fight again.
Oshere and Aeglfrith were isolated, however, and a West Saxon warrior, huge like Osthryth remembered Steapa to be, was bearing down on them.
And the only way to fight Steapa, Osthryth reminded herself, was to be nimble, be quick, and she attacked his hamstrings at the place where the two parts of his armour had the tiniest of gaps. The huge man howled in pain, and began to try to swat Osthryth with his arm.
"Go!" she shouted to Oshere, and he pulled his brother away from a fight against a Norseman. Norse boy, Osthryth thought, before stopping. She forgot to run, however, and the big West Saxon caught her at the head and knocked her over. Osthryth scrambled back. But she had seen, nevertheless. On four big horses, leaving Ceastre, had been Aldhelm, Merewalh and another two men. The independence factions, Osthryth knew. They had been attempting to impose their idea of Mercia from inside Ceastre. And when Aethelstan had formed a plan to capture them in the city, they had still made it out.
Osthryth fell onto the hard ground from the blow of the West Saxon warrior. Blood came to her temple as her head hit a rock. The man raised his sword in both hands. The end of Osthryth.
But it didn't come. Instead, like a towering rock teetering on the edge of a cliff, the man tumbled to one side with an audible thump. Finan's blade had done the work. Her husband looked at Osthryth, giving her a, "This is what you call trying to keep yourself safe?" look. Finan made to bend to Osthryth, but stopped when he saw Aelfkin. He was close enough to help, and was in the process of scooping her up under her arm. He stopped when he saw Finan glare at him.
However, this only lasted for a second, and he then backed away, watching as Osthryth's commander helped her to her feet, then stepped lightly over to Uhtred, who was busy organising the Mercians, as per Aethelstan's instructions. Aelfkin watched the man glance over his shoulder once or twice, and then commented to Osthryth that he had been looking at her through most of the battle.
"Your husband?" Aelfkin exclaimed, as he helped her towards where her company were standing. "Uhtred of Bebbanburg's man? He's a - " He stopped when he saw Osthryth's face.
"He is in service to Uhtred, as I am in service to Mercia," she explained, then asked, "Where's Caltigar?"
"With us," Falkbald told Osthryth. "He fought well, lady Captain," he added. "I have never seen one so natural in my life," he enthused. Caltigar, who had also sustained a blow to the head, smiled as Osthryth came nearer.
"I fought well. I killed many," he told Osthryth.
"And nearly all of them were the enemy," joked Aeglfrith, who turned to Caltigar and clapped him on the back. "You saved my life," he added.
"Aelfkin showed me," Caltigar said, with his usual understatedness. "You should thank your captain."
Over at the other side of the field, Uhtred could be heard talking loudly to Aldhelm about the battle.
"And you think Constantine is behind this?" Aldhelm asked, laughing. "What has the lord Aethelstan told you?"
"His peace accord still holds, and that the Norse are coming here in refuge from Eireann," Uhtred divulged, reluctantly. "But he has given the Western Isles to the Norse; he has an understanding between Anlaf and his daughter." But Aldhelm was laughing and forcing himself not to show it.
"Uhtred, the Western Isles belonged to Strathclyde, and they were taken, not given." He clapped Uhtred on the back. "Speak to the lord Aethelstan - he will tell you that the king of Alba is in no way involved."
"He's involved, alright," Finan confided to Uhtred. "And not just because I saw Osthryth, either," he added. "Constantine is too clever to tell her outright - he will have just manipulated her into coming for some reason, the Mercian debt of time she owes, or something, so she is here, and not somewhere else."
"Where might somewhere else be?" Uhtred asked.
"Could be anywhere, Alba, Pictand...Eireann, even." Finan shook his head. "There has been much sorrow in Eireann," he added, "And I wouldn't put it past that bastard to use it for his own advantage."
"Sounds like you like the Scottish bastard," Uhtred told him, as they assembled for Aethelstan to see. The West Saxons were retreating to their camp.
"I hate him," Finan told Uhtred, once again, "Hated him once more than I hated my brother later on."
"Yes, you said. Why?" Uhtred had not heard that story, and it was sounding promising.
"He and his friend - a girl - played on a beach near the Foyle, several times. And when I say played, well - " Finan shook his head. "They were two young people alone on a beach, you know what I'm saying," he added. "But they were Ui Neill scum, and if there is anything we hated more, Conall and I, was a Ui Neill. I am sorry to say my brother and I did not treat them well."
"And what happened to the girl?" Uhtred asked, noting that this was the first time Finan had ever referred to his brother by name.
"She got herself tied up to a rock because she was a witch, and we waited for her to drown," Finan told his friend. "But, we ran when the sun began to be blotted out, bit by bit. That was how we knew she was a witch."
"A good story," Uhtred replied. "I wonder where she is now?"
"I married her, five weeks ago," Finan grinned, watching Uhtred's mouth open in horrified fascination. "Your sister has led a full and interesting life, Uhtred of Bebbanburg. You should speak to her about it, sometime."
"She works for Aethelstan's enemy," Uhtred said, testily.
"She works to survive, a deal she must have agreed to with the current king of Alba. And thanks be to God for chancing on the future King of Alba in a bloody fight between the Picts and Norse," Finan continued, "And was rewarded with a home for saving the Scottish bastard's life." He lowered his voice, for Aethelstan was nearing. "It was where she ended up when she fled your uncle," Finan hissed, "But she never forgot Bebbanburg was yours. She looked after Thyra and Beocca's daughter; tried to rescue her mother."
"I do not want to hear this," Uhtred told Finan, but could not do anything to make his friend stop talking.
"And before that," Finan carried on, as if he hadn't heard Uhtred, "After she left Eireann and left Alba, she came down to Wessex to find you. Worked for Lord Odda before she worked for Alfred. Survived Edward. And Aethelwold's mistreatment." Finan paused, and then added, matter-of-factly, "And then went back to Alba."
"How do you know all of this?" Uhtred asked him, turning to slowly look at his friend. He had chosen a place where Uhtred could not flee, Aethelstan approaching to give congratulations.
"Because I talk to people, I listen," Finan told him. "The bedroom is not just for one thing, you know? Afterwards, we talk."
"Thyra burned to death," Uhtred retorted.
"No, she did not," Finan insisted. "Osthryth got her out. And a healer amd otherwise good pagan woman by the name of Ula delivered Thyra of a baby girl. The same healer who tried to help Osthryth help Gisela." Had he gone too far? Uhtred, however, did not look like he had even heard Finan's words.
"And she took the baby? My sister, that is?"
"Back to somewhere she knew was safe," Finan told him. "And in doing so provided a safe, happy place for her upbringing and, in time, for young Finan. Dunnottar is beautiful, although I would say that; it reminds me of Ulster."
"And now you are Lord of Berric," Uhtred replied. Aethelstan was not far now, congratulating, talking to a group of Norsemen. One in particular seemed very interested in his words.
"Indeed I am," Finan nodded. "I am your neighbour and yes, techinically, a mormaer of Alba. Though, as I have duties to attend to with you, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, I cannot tend to the land myself and I have, at my wife's discretion left a steward in charge." Uhtred then turned his head slowly to his friend, a wide smile on his face.
"Finan, you are so obbiously in love I could kiss you."
"Don't do that, Osthryth would kill you. And you know she could."
And after they had been spoken to by Aethelstan, congratulating them on their role, Uhtred and his men continued to laugh as they went to the alehouse in Ceastre that their lord Uhtred favoured for some reason.
"The White Swan," Sihtric read.
"The Dirty Duck," Uhtred commented, and they all laughed.
in Manchester where Uhtred availed Mus of her services, fir they had escirted the nuns Aethelstan had sent to establish a nunnery there.
"You are my brother in law, said Uhtred, clapping him on the back. We drink! To a man ensnared in love!"
And so they did drink, until they all went off to the stables, heavily inebriated. All except Uhtred of Bebbanburg, who had spied his little mouse, and went off to with her to her little mouse hole, alone.
Osthryth's evening, however, was not as pleasant as her brother's. Her head wound was enough to cause her to be dizzy, and Aeswi had taken her to Merewalh's room at the back of the armoury and laid her on the bed.
"Because he won't be needing it, tonight at any rate," Aeswi told her, which confirmed to Osthryth what she had seen before being knocked over. And Aeswi, once he had sent Osthryth's company to a different alehouse in the east of the city, almost demolished from the siege on the wall that day, but still standing, sat beside Osthryth, chiding her and praising her in turn.
"What possessed you to take command like that?" he asked, soothing the side of her head, which had become swollen.
"Because I am their captain, Aeswi," she told him. "Would you be telling a man off for leading his men?"
"This man, this hypothetical man of whom you speak, may not just have entered into an agreeement with the king of Alba to go to Mercia for intelligence," he emphasised, "not to fight!"
And he went on to tell her of the Norse, and how it was he knew that Stiorra was dead: Sköll Grimmarson, recently come from Eireann with hundreds of wolf-warriors had descended on Eoferwic. Sygtryggr survived, as did their children, but Stiorra was cornered, and she fought back. Osthryth could imagine. She was truly Uhtred's child, and she could imagine taking out four or five Norse in her demise.
"No," Osthryth said at length, having closed her eyes and opened them again a few hours later. "This battle wasn't just about West Saxon and Mercia. I saw you ride with Merewalh and two other men away to the east today."
"Perhaps the blow to the head has come a little sharply," Aeswi told her, and then added, "Sh, sh!" when he saw Osthryth trying to prop herself up with her elbows in defiance. "Alright, I will tell you, if only to stop you from getting yourself worked up."
And Aeswi told Osthryth of Aethelstan's meeting of the Witans, which was to be held at Tamworth. How Wessex and East Anglia, Cent and the Mercian Witan, under Aethelstan himself, were going to re-declare their loyalty to one another.
"But, you forgot Northumbria," Osthryth pointed out. And then thought, Aethelsan would never forget Northumbria.
"Sygtryggr is invited also," Aeswi told him, "As is Eadgifu."
"Eadgifu?" Osthryth had to think, which was hard with the pain in her temple. "Not...Eadgifu, Aethelstan's twin sister?"
"I have said not a thing," Aeswi told her. "And I will deny it to anyone who asks. But yes. It is a design to stop the independence movement in Wessex. Because Constantine needs to know that some lands in Britain desire independence, and that subsumption, ultimately, under the crown of wessex is not inevitable." He leaned over and kissed Osthyth's forehead. "And I fear that Merewalh and Aldhelm are being led into a trap."
Later, when she finally fell back to sleep again, Aeswi left Osthryth in the armoury room, glancing back for a moment, watching her sleeping form.
But Osthryth was not asleep, not quite. And in that semi-slumber, one thing occurred to Osthryth more deeply than anything else: she needed to be at Tamworth, too.