Bebbanburg, December 937
"How old was he?" Osthryth stood with Finan, looking east, over the sea, to where Uhtred Uhtredsson's body had drifted, aflame, not two weeks before. They had not been out of each other's company. In fact, Osthryth intended never to be out of Finan's company.
He gripped her hand. "He was twenty at Ethandun," Finan told Osthryth, he too refusing to name the man to whom he was bonded. "So old, quite old."
"And yourself?" Finan turned his eyes from the sea and looked back to Osthryth.
"I'm quite young," he told her. "Not old at all."
"Did you know them? The people he spoke of, who Benedetta said he spoke of, near the end?" Uhtred's demise had come quickly; he had never really recovered from his injury at Brunanburh. Benedetta, the ex-slave whom he had rescued and brought back to Bebbanburg, not knowing at the time that Eadith, his previous wife, had died of a fever, was never far from him when Finan and Sihtric between them had brought Uhtred to his bed.
"Leofric? Iseult?" Finan shook his head.
"Before my time in Wessex with him. Leofric died at Ethandun. As did Iseult. He did tell me about that time." And Osthryth knew about Mildrith, for she had served her, in her reclusivity at Lord Odda's estate, before joining the nunnery at Exeter.
"Halig?" And it seemed that Finan jumped, then, when he heard the nae. But he did not let go of her hand. In fact, he held it tighter.
"I knew Halig. He met Halig in Wessex; he too fought at Ethandun. Accompanied him to Northumbria. Died when we were enslaved." Osthryth gave Finan a smile, although she knew she was not fooling him. If he was prepared to talk about his time in enslavement it was because he was hiding the fact that he did not want to talk about Uhtred's death.
The slave ship had been where they had both met, keeping each other alive until they had a chance to escape. Halig had been the unfortunate wretch, shot in the leg and then strapped to the front of the slave ship. Uhtred had told Hild once - when Osthryth had been overhearing two friends having what they thought was a private conversation - that he didn't know what was worse: when Halig was screaming as he drowned and died of hypothermia, or when his screaming finally stopped.
"And Leofric was Osferth's uncle," Finan told Osthryth. Reminded her, for she did know this. But it was a long time ago. Osferth had died near Ceastre - her nephew, who had gone by the name Oswald before dying at Brunanburh, had been there as Osferth lay dying after a Norse raid while he commanded at Rumfcofa.
"Don't think about it," Finan cautioned Osthryth, as her eyes drifted north, to her lands of Berric. She had been the lady there since she had married Ceinid, Constantine's second cousin, since just after young Finan had been born, nearly twenty five years. But on her return to these lands, her way had been barred by Alba warriors, Alba warriors she knew.
Osthryth had chosen her side and was living with the consequences. Young Dubhcan had, at least, allowed her entry to the hall to remove her possessions, which had been packed away, and were waiting for her. Caltigar, Rhia and the children, and Beann, at least, all had said a brief goodbye to her.
What had caused such a parting Osthryth might still have been guessing at, had it not been that the Berric landsmen, who had been trained by the Alba warriors - who had been once trained by her - had been surrounded by an army. Those who had survived Brunanburh, it seemed. Or had never fought there.
Beann, one of Ceinid's kin, would be taking over the management of Berric, and Osthryth had ridden back to Bebbanburg to ask her nephew, young Uhtred, for shelter. Finan had met her, and she had explained. And he had not left her side for nearly six weeks.
"They will be well; you've no need to worry."
Yes, worry was what Osthryth had. Worry, and concern about the people who lived on her lands. Were the families to the west safe? Sometimes, the winter brought famine and brought rievers to raid grain stores. Were her fishing boats secure? Had Caltigar managed the Blood Month slaughter? Had Samhain been remembered throughout the lands, as observed by the majority of her people, the majority being Britons of the Old North.
"When the New Year comes, I will go back, and see the people," Osthryth promised aloud. Only an oath spoken outside a person's own head was binding. "Something happened there, something more than Constantine reclaiming the land. I can tell."
"And I will be with yer, Alainn," Finan told her, taking her other hand. "Whatever will come of it, and - "
But whatever Finan was about to say, Osthryth did not find out, for his hawklike eyes had spotted a figure on the lower headland.
"What?"
"There." Finan traced the figure with his finger in the air as the horse came more interview. Still holding Osthryth's hand, he wrinkled his forehead to get a better view.
As the white horse came up the winding path to the front of Bebbanburg, Finan strode to the front of the ramparts, Osthryth's hand still in his, and she strode after him. They waited as the horse came into view, its rider making the horse tread carefully over the rocky path.
To home. Or at least one place this rider had once called home. Finan held Osthryth's hand firmly as both of them looked down from the rampart gate to the person who had, two days before Christmas come calling.
Osthryth's heart beat hard and fast in her chest.
It was young Finan, their son.