A maid came later that day to ask her to join Alfred on a walk. He did still go on them then, she figured. Despite her exercise already that morning, she did decide to join him. He was already on the grounds by the time she met him, enjoying the warmth of the falling sun. Soon twilight would be on them and the night would turn cool.
"I hope you are not upset with me for not interjecting about Hvitserk," he said some time into their walk. She had been upset with him, but the feeling was fading. She felt like it wasn't in his character to let Hvitserk be treated so, especially in front of the crowd that had gathered. Would it have been better in private, she thought. "It was Ubbe's decision as lead and he needed to assign punishment."
It was exile rather than punishment. Punishment would have been a thrashing or branding.
"I understand," she told him. She was trying to separate Ubbe's decision as one he would have personally chosen for his brother and one that he would make as head of an army for insubordination. It helped her not be as angry with him for it but prayed that he made the choice under the right reason. Though the small cut that was turning blue on her cheekbone had her angry at Hvitserk, so her emotions seemed balanced between the two of them.
"You're traveling with the army again?" Alfred asked.
"Yes," she nodded. "Ubbe said the men have gathered in Newbury. We leave tomorrow to join them."
"You are not taking Ragnar."
"Oh, no." She nearly laughed at the accusation. "He will stay with Wynnflaed here."
"Good, good." They were silent for a time, the crunch of the leaves fallen over time breaking under foot. "I'm sorry to have put Ubbe in this situation."
Lhyrie pulled her brows together, confused at his statement. "Ubbe nominated himself."
Alfred chuckled softly and then cleared his throat. "Some time ago in these woods, I promised you I would not abuse Ubbe's loyalty to my advantage. I asked for his advice for the Danes knowing he would be the solution."
She could tell it conflicted Alfred that he went back on his word to her. His words were all he had; they were his power. The look in his eye was near distraught and he avoided her gaze, something he never did. Should she tell him she was pregnant again? Would that make him regret his decision more, sending Ubbe, and her, into danger? No, she couldn't do that.
"No matter how he heard of the threat, he would have volunteered," she reassured him. "And I would go with him."
"I do believe Hvitserk deserved a different resolution," he said, again after a time of hearing the birds sing above them.
"What would you have chosen for him?" She asked, curious how he would have handled the situation differently.
Alfred scrunched his eyebrows down, thinking. "I would have kept him here. He was at war with his mind. I have found peace with God."
Of course he did, she thought, wanting to laugh. Was baptism always his answer? "I don't fathom Hvitserk would have been as open to the idea of converting as Ubbe had been."
"No," Alfred laughed. "I wouldn't think so. Not in his current state." He glanced over at Lhyrie and smiled.
She had missed these walks with him. They had been few and far between before they had left Winchester for Medeshamstede, as then they were preparing for the battle with Harald's men. Part of her wanted to stay here in Winchester instead of travel with the men – with Ubbe – to live life normally again for more than a few weeks at a time; to spend time with Ragnar, as he would surely take his first steps while they were away. No, she needed to go with them. If anything happened while Ubbe was away, she could not live with herself if she were not there. To whatever end.
The morning dew was thick as she rode out of camp. The sun was just breaking the surface of the dawn, rising in the east, a brilliant orange and purple illuminating the sky. A single other scout was with her. She woke him from sleep, before the disapproving look that Ubbe would assuredly give them. She was going against his orders to assess the Dane's camp.
He refused, of course, to allow her the night prior to volunteer to assess the settlement the Dane's had established on the banks of the River Kennet and its adjoining lake. She would go unnoticed, she figured, and would not be seen as a threat even if she was noticed.
"No," he said frankly. "I can not risk it."
She was surprised Ubbe did not wake when she dressed as she placed her armor on as quietly as she could, the strings were awkward and cumbersome by herself. She wore it loosely although her baby bump was hardly noticeable, for she did not want to place any stress onto the growing child there. Who knows what stress would occur with these negotiations. Instead of the heavy chain mail, which surely would have woken Ubbe if she wore it, she opted for a red reinforced tunic, which fit well even under her loosened armor. Even with the warmth of both tunic and leather, she threw a dark green cloak from Kattegat over her shoulders and blended into the wood.
They had left Newbury the day before and made camp somewhere between there and where the Danes were settled. She wasn't sure how far the ride would be to their settlement to observe them, but hoped it wasn't more than half a day. Ubbe would not be pleased when he found her missing. She could picture him scoffing and slamming his fists in the furs they made their bed out of, shaking his head. He would not have the angry fire of worry until past mid day if they were not back. She quickened their pace slightly.
And then, through the tree line, they saw a break of light. They came to a high ridge, a line of trees between them and a slope down to the river. She slowed her horse and the scout did the same. There was a single boat along the shore, tied just off of it. No men were near it, no fire on the beach, no supplies littered about. She stopped, looking around the woods and the brush surrounding her. They were around, she knew. Clicking her horse back into a walk, she pushed forward, cautiously, trying to seem as though she did not sense them spying her. She hoped an arrow would not find her or her companion.
A mile down the path and up the river, the lake expanded, and she could see the settlement they had formed. It was on the opposite bank, but Lhyrie could clearly see that it spanned inward for a ways. She gulped. They looked like they had more numbers than Alfred first told them, but maybe it was just the way the morning sun was glistening off the water into her eyes, blurring the tents into larger than they were. She could see shields of three different markings strapped to their boats, lined neatly along the banks; supplies boxed and pulled to spots on makeshift docks; and men practicing their steps, their swords and axes clashing with one another, the cling of metal traveling effortlessly across the water.
Three different insignias. She didn't recognize them. With the army to avenge Ragnar, many Danes declined their invitation to battle, so these shields just looked like paint on wood to her. She did know there were not many Earls left in Denmark, so they must be Kings joined together. Three Kings to persuade away from war.
They were not far from where their own camp had been made. Six miles perhaps; the perfect mileage to prepare for battle: far enough away but not far enough for the men to become weary from travel to whatever battleground was in between them.
She had seen enough and nodded her head silently to the scout to her rear. They turned on the path to travel back to camp and she thought they would be face to face with the men from the lone boat, but the path was empty before them besides the twigs and leaves of fallen trees. A branch broke to her right and she nearly jumped, expecting the ambush to come now, but it never came. She nodded again, and they were off. Her horse fell into an easy trot and it would almost seem like she was enjoying a ride in the wood with an escort if it were a normal summer's day, aside from the eyes hiding through the tree branches and the sword on her hip.
Once they were well past the lone boat, she pushed her horse further, into a cantor to hurry back to camp. She knew it wouldn't take long to get back to now, but she wanted back to the safety of their camp's numbers before the Danish scouts changed their mind of keeping them alive. The path was fairly straight so as they crested a hill, she could see their army in ranks already, crammed on the narrow path, and Ubbe waiting, not so patiently, at its helm. Lhyrie gulped and pushed her horse forward, pulling her to a stop in front of Ubbe, who was leaning back on his horse, his hands folded in front of him on the horn of the saddle. His own dark blue cloak was hunched off one shoulder casually and his chin was raised, fighting against the disbelief that she disobeyed him and the gratefulness she was unharmed.
"Three Danish Kings have camped five miles upriver," she reported, trying to slow her quickened breath. She wasn't the one who had been running, but her heartbeat was in her ears. "By their stores, they are preparing for battle."
"Then we should attack at once," a man said to Ubbe's right. He was one of Alfred's men, a noble of some importance in the West. His accent had the regality Alfred's had, the crispness she felt came from reading and writing the words as well as speaking them.
"I do not think so," Ubbe cut him off.
"What advantage do we gain by delaying?" He countered. Aethelnod, she thought his name might have been, but the names of the nobles sounded too much alike to her. He looked disgusted at Ubbe and she could tell he hated the idea of Ubbe being of higher rank than him. "They will soon discover we are here."
"Oh, I am sure they know we are here," Ubbe spit, throwing Aethelnod a look to silence him of the critique.
"What on Earth do you propose?" He then asked, biting down the defiance.
"We go down and speak to them –,"
"Speak to them?" Aethelnod cut in no sooner than Ubbe breathed his last syllable.
Ubbe pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes as he turned his head to face him slowly. She could see Aethelnod cower slightly as his eyes flashed to hers. "We are here to negotiate, not go to war," Lhyrie said sharply, matching Ubbe's disapproval of him. He would get no reprieve from her.
"And if you want to overrule your King," Ubbe snipped, a satisfied look in his eye following her response, "who appointed me as head of the Army, go ahead." That silenced Aethelnod quickly, who turned his head away from Ubbe to shield the red growing in his cheeks. Ubbe nodded his head hard, with his eyebrows raised and lips pursed. "You went to them," he said, looking back to her with a cock of his head. "You know where they are. Let us go."
"Now?" She asked, her voice cracking in surprise.
"Yes, before they do attack."
She should have expected the swift action once they were here and surveyed, but part of her wished they would wait until the following morning. Having defied one order already today, she gulped and nodded her head, turning her horse back to face the path she just rode down. Ubbe pressed forward past her, clearing his throat as he threw her a side glance.
"What if you do not return?" Aethelnod called quickly.
Ubbe pulled the reigns of his horse to a halt abruptly and turned himself on the saddle to look at him, his brows pulled down in aggravation. "Wait two days. Then by all means, join us in the slaughter."
Aethelnod swallowed his tongue and regretted asking as his blood turned cold as Lhyrie's had. He whispered something to the man beside him who started the whispers down the line. Men started to disembark their horses again and those on foot relaxed, leaning against trees, ridding the metal helmets that squeezed their heads.
"Come on, then," Ubbe said, clicking his heels to jolt his horse awake again. They did not trot or cantor, the rush to meet their counterparts not felt amongst them. The scout that had accompanied Lhyrie this morning followed behind them; he had a white flag tucked somewhere in his saddle if needed. "You should not have gone," Ubbe muttered once they were away from their camp.
"Aethelnod would have come back nearly headless." She pressed her lips together, ready to defend her action, but instead a smile creeped on Ubbe's lips.
"Aethelnoth," he corrected. Close enough, she felt. "He believes I am favoring you."
"Should a husband not favor his wife?" She asked. He smirked.
"And he thinks you should be disciplined."
"Hmm," she mused, adjusting on her saddle. She should be used to horseback by now, the amount of days they had spent riding the past months, but she was still sore being all morning in the same spot. "What sort of punishment would you assign?" She asked, trying to hide the jest in her voice.
Ubbe laughed and coughed to rid it quickly. "You would enjoy it too much."
Lhyrie's laugh echoed amongst the trees and a pair of birds flew from their nest. Ubbe gave her a silencing look. "They know we are here," she told him. And they were speaking Norse just now, so they would be able to understand them if they were listening. They would laugh too, she was sure of it.
Just then, on the path ahead, the same burst of light through the trees appeared. They were nearing the boat then. Lhyrie hadn't noticed it before, but there was a sandy path that cut down to the beach and she pointed it to Ubbe as they rounded the embankment. A branch broke in the thicket as they journeyed down the slope and then onto the beach. More movement could be heard and then seen as they approached the long boat tied just offshore. The scout had his flag up.
"We come in peace," Ubbe called. "We are not your enemy."
The wind off the river was cool and she wished for more than her thin cloak to cover her, despite her other thicker layers. Despite being in England for over a year, the weather still puzzled her. As the river licked the hooves of Ubbe's horse, more rushed steps through the brush were heard with the distinct draw of bowstrings.
"I am Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok!" Ubbe bellowed against the winds swirling their cloaks.
The hurried steps broke through the tree line, and they could then clearly see the row of arrows pointed at them. Ubbe raised his arms out wide, palms up at his sides and leaned back on his horse. A shiver ran down her spine. It was the same stance he used to facilitate peace riding into Winchester and it reminded her so much of his father.
"Take us to your three Kings," he added, arms still outstretched.
Lhyrie and him exchanged glances as a leader emerged from the tree line. He held no bow, but the sword that once hung on his waist was held tight in his hand, raised in their direction. "Hví?" He asked, his sword unmoving.
"To speak… To compromise," Ubbe answered. He did not lower his hands, the threat of the sword still drawn to him.
"Hvi?" The man asked again. Lhyrie didn't like the tension still placed on the metal between them and the man, let alone the dozen arrows still pointed at them.
"On behalf of the King of Wessex," Ubbe breathed, lowering his hands to his sides, "we want peace."
The foreman nodded and the arrows pulled to them lowered. "Ubbe, son of Ragnar," the man commented, stepping closer toward them. "It is an honor."
Ubbe swung his legs down, his feet sinking in the soft sand of the beach. Lhyrie did the same, but the scout who rode with them remained on his steed. The two men clasped arms as she awkwardly made her way over to them. Her feet felt like they were being pulled into the sand.
"We should make way at once," the men before them said. "We go against the current."
"Yes," Ubbe agreed and turned back to face the scout, who still had a lone arrow sighted on him. "He will stay, as collateral." The scout's eyes widened even though the words spoken were Norse. Being a hostage was communicative in any language.
The row up the river was long, but it allowed her trousers to dry from waddling in the water to the boat. Winds howled around them as Ubbe wrung his hands, his elbows perched on his elbows. He didn't look nervous, just bored. The wind kicked water up over the rail, the spray chilled her and the rocking shook a bit of bile into the back of her throat. She swallowed it down, pressing her eyes closed and breathed in the smell of fresh water. She felt Ubbe's hand fall into hers and she opened her eyes.
She shook her head at his silent question on if she needed the railing as another gust of wind shook the waves and the boat. Gripping his hand tighter, she gulped again, feeling herself turn green. Ubbe rose then and dragged her, unsteadily, with him, pulling her toward the front of the boat where there was an opening at the rail not occupied by an oar. She leaned forward, letting the spray wash over her face. It helped slightly.
The timed breathing of hard labored strokes passed the minutes until the Dane's settlement came into view and she tried to time her own breathing with it. Seeing the structure grow closer with each tug of the oars, the camp looked even larger than it did on the other side of the river. Lhyrie then noticed they chose a peninsula to settle on. It wasn't visible from across the lake. As they cut through the water, she saw the hidden bay was overflowing with boats, all tied in the center, a floating land mass.
She stood tall as they entered the bay, willing her nausea to leave. Surrounding the tall ledges of the shoreline, along the sturdy pines were the thousands of Danes Alfred promised. They all seemed to be watching as they continued to pull to shore. Ubbe was still standing behind her; she could hear his breathing slow even above the wind still whipping in the calm water.
Those not standing on the shore facing them, were on the boats still turned, their eyes focused on nothing but the single boat moving back into camp. There was no sound either, besides that of nature. No murmurings amongst the men, no shouts, no alarms, no chatter. Lhyrie palmed the sword on her hip as the boat pulled to the dock. No one moved, so she did. Stepping off the boat, her feet wobbled on the unmoving dock as Ubbe hopped down behind her. Again, no one moved, no one spoke. She looked back toward the lake, to where they came from, to see if there was some sort of ambush coming that would explain the strange behavior, but there was nothing. Ubbe looked back, his eyebrows low in confusion and they exchanged a questionable glance before Ubbe turned and stepped forward to face the path up the slope and into the camp.
There was one man blocking the steps up, his legs spread wide in an unmoving stance, his yellow horned shield raised, his long axe gripped in his hand but resting by his foot. Ubbe sniffed and shifted his feet, staring hard at the man. Why bring them here if they were just going to kill them now? Her palm was still digging into the hilt on her waist, ready if needed. Then, the guard swung his axe up onto his shoulder and she gripped her sword outright but did not draw it.
"Ubbe!" He called, banging his axe against his shield. "Ubbe!" Others around him started to bang their shields and chant, until it seemed every Viking along the shore, every Viking in camp was unified in rhythm. Goosebumps ran down her arms. She had dreamt of this once, of the Danes on the shore, of the chant of her husband's name. She hadn't recognized the vision until now, until the reverberation of sound into her soul.
Stepping forward, she passed the stunned figure of the named man on the dock. "Ubbe!" She cheeked, a smile replacing the uncertainty on her lips, and started up the steps to the raised ground of their camp. She felt Ubbe's footsteps trail behind her. He was trying to understand the sentiment as he walked, the wheels in his mind trying to reason it and it caused him to almost trip on the makeshift structure. Couldn't he see he held just as much esteem as Bjorn did for his own accolades after the success of York and the Heathen Army?
The chanting continued as she walked the path through camp. The camp was definitely larger than she had thought it was from the shoreline. Ubbe eventually joined her at her side and they continued deeper and deeper, the chanting still following them. It was easy to tell where they were going, as Danes lined the path, their chants leading the way to their Kings.
And then there they were, standing before them on the path, at the crest of the hill she didn't realize they were climbing. She felt the whole of the camp had swarmed to this spot, traveling with them from the docks to here. The trees would surely fall from their pressure. The chants continued until one of the kings raised his fist and then all was silent again. Lhyrie fell back a stride and let Ubbe stop before the three men. Her hand rested again on her sword.
"Ubbe," the middle king echoed, "son of Ragnar. We welcome you." His voice was light and airy like a songbird and Lhyrie couldn't picture him doing any of the unthinkable things she heard the Danes doing. He was bald, but any hair he did have was long and grey, tidied into a beard. "My name is King Hemming. And here are King Angantyr," he looked to his left, a man of similar height, but younger with dark eyes. "And King Frodo." To his right, King Frodo was at least two heads taller than Hemming with facial tattoos reminiscent of King Harald.
"Of all the enemies we expected to encounter," King Hemming continued, "we could hardly have imagined having encountered you."
She could sense Ubbe's smirk. "I am not your enemy," he said, stepping forward, his arm outstretched to Hemming. The King was hesitant, not wanting to clasp arms so easily with him yet stepped forward anyway. Something changed in King Hemming's eye as he looked into Ubbe's and sensed he was telling the truth. He clapped his hand onto Ubbe's forearm. "Let us go and drink. I will explain."
Stationed behind the Kings was a large tent already set with food and drinks, as though it had been prepared for them when the scouts reported her survey earlier this morning. Lhyrie trailed behind the men as they went inside and began talking. She took in the sights of the camp around her as she meandered.
The men who had journeyed up from the boats started to dissipate, though some stayed eager to still catch a glimmer of Ubbe speaking with their King. Other than the different shields and flags adorning the tents up and down in neat rows, the camp looked very much like any other camp, Viking or Saxon: fires were smoking, meat cooking over them, lines of hungry men waiting to devour it once ready. Her own stomach rumbling from the smell, she turned to lean against a post of the tent, listening to the negotiations inside.
"I don't understand," King Angantyr said. "You're leading a Saxon army on behalf of the King of Wessex?"
"Yes." Ubbe answered simply before taking a sip of ale. "We made an alliance with him before you and your people even got here."
"But they are are our enemies," King Frodo said, in a different kind of simple as he stuffed a piece of venison into his mouth. "Why did you make an alliance with our enemies?"
"Men love to die in battle," Lhyrie piped up, crossing into the tent. She had been lingering on the outskirts, as it was Ubbe they were enamored with, and he was the one to speak to. There was something about King Frodo's statement, whether it was the feeling that he felt wronged by an action that was determined well before the Danes were in England or just the fact she didn't like the look in his eye, but she felt the need to speak up.
"They fight and kill each other and only afterward realize they didn't need to." She grabbed a horn of ale and sat down at the table across from King Angantyr. "Sometimes it is sensible to make deals to plan for the future. Perhaps women understand that more than men. We have childbirth… and battle."
There was silence between the four men as she sipped her ale. "Who is this woman?" King Frodo asked bluntly after a time, licking his fingers of venison.
"Lhyrie." Ubbe answered, looking at him squarely. "She was vital in plans to secure York. And my wife. Is there much more you need to know, King Frodo?" Frodo's lips pulled down as he stared openly at Lhyrie as she took another sip of ale. He shook his head slightly.
"What is the fruit of the alliance?" King Hemming asked, pulling Frodo's stare from her unto him and then to Ubbe as he answered.
"King Alfred of Wessex," Ubbe started, excitement in his voice at providing the pitch he had prepared. He pulled out a stool next to her and sat, leaning his arms on the table as he spoke. "Has granted us a large area of land in his kingdom. It was always my father's dream to set up a permanent, working settlement here." His hand cut down on the table and the dull thud rocked the glasses upon it.
"What does that mean to us?" Angantyr asked.
"If your armies are willing to give up the sword, you can move into the lands of East Anglia at once." The three men on the opposite side of the table exchanged glances. "Instead of dying uselessly on the battlefield, your warriors and your shield maidens can take up the plow and the loom and they can make a life here. There is nothing to stop you, and yet you have everything to gain."
Hemming cleared his throat and nodded, letting Ubbe's words absorb. He looked over at his comrades again. "We shall discuss your offer."
"Of course," Ubbe nodded and rose as Hemming and Angantyr did. The three kings turned and grouped near a large tree outside the tent, several paces from it, out of ear shot. She was surprised they did not take the tent and remove Ubbe and Lhyrie from it for their discussion – she had forgotten Viking hospitality was more accommodating than Saxon greetings were.
"We may need to fight our way out of here," Ubbe whispered as the three men were still huddled together. He pulled his stool closer and brushed shoulders with her. Her own shoulders had been tense since she turned her horse back from the Saxon army. Now, in a few minutes, the tension would either ease or grow.
"If we do, we will do it together," she reassured him, trying to will away her nerves. She clapped her hand in his. "It will make me happy to die with you."
The corner of his mouth twitched up and his eyes narrowed. If this was a different circumstance he would have thrown her on the table. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers briefly before King Hemming called his name. They both stood as the three kings were walking back toward the tent, their discussion finished. By his expression she couldn't tell what the decision had been and her nerves skyrocketed. Her hand gripped her sword, her other still laced with Ubbe's.
"Two of us want to avail ourselves and our warriors with your offer. But…" Hemming gulped and looked toward Frodo who had fallen back a pace from the other two. He remained outside the tent while Hemming and Angantyr had stepped back inside. "King Frodo refuses to agree." Frodo grunted at the response, firm in his choice. "He wants to continue the raid."
Fight it was then. Her body tensed, though she tried not to let her face show it. They didn't need to fight Hemming and Angantyr, just Frodo. Just the single man. Single combat… She squeezed Ubbe's hand, a sign that it was the right choice and that she was here, standing by his side, no matter the decision; no matter if he took the sword from his belt swinging right now, without another word to her. He squeezed back.
"There is only one thing left to do," he glared, his eyes unblinking. He dug his feet into the sandy ground. "I take your refusal as insult," he spat, the barest twitch of his head noticeable as he said the words, "and I challenge you to single combat."
"Good," Frodo nodded, glee in his eye. No wonder he didn't want to stop the raid, he enjoyed killing too much. "This makes me very happy, Ubbe Ragnarsson."
The challenge hung heavy in the air and she held her breath, ready for the ring to form, the weapons to be assembled directly next to the tent at which they stood, but nobody moved. The only people who knew of the challenge were the five of them standing in the six-by-six block of canvas, the fallen timber of a wood table pressed between the fighters.
"Very well, very well," Hemming broke apart the silence. "Ubbe, son of Ragnar, and Frodo of Hirse, it will soon be decided."
Soon? Her heart raced and the nerves caused her hand to twitch in Ubbe's. He looked down at their fingers still clasped together and squeezed again.
"We will have food and more drink brought," Angantyr added. "Though I do not believe we have an additional sleeping tent, you are welcome to use this one. We will arrange for furs to be brought to you."
Sleeping tent, furs… A night spent then, the battle delayed until tomorrow then. The battle delayed, she echoed again. Would it be better to let her torture end and her nerves die with either man? She couldn't decide, instead letting her anxiety tear the decision apart while she gave a weak smile as Hemming and Angantyr parted from the tent.
Frodo did not step from his spot just outside the rug of the tent, instead keeping the same blood thirsty glare he had given Ubbe as he accepted the challenge. Her nerves turned to hatred for a moment, wanting to pull her sword from her hip and ram it through his chest right then. After an agonizing second, he took a step forward and extended his arm out to Ubbe across the table that separated them. Ubbe dropped her hand in his and clasped it onto Frodo's bracer.
"To death," Frodo said with a smile.
"To death," Ubbe echoed back, no smile in his eye, no dread in his voice. He was not intimidated by Frodo despite needing to raise his chin to him and he would not give him the satisfaction of any hint of regret of challenging him to single combat.
"Rest easy," Frodo peered down at Lhyrie as he let go of Ubbe's arm. Lhyrie did have to crane her head up to Frodo – he had to be at least two heads taller than her. He laughed and she refrained from grimacing, bile kicking up in the back of her throat. Frodo turned, and Lhyrie's hand that was still gripping her sword relaxed as she breathed deeply, the first time in minutes.