Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Brecc pulled Aisley from the table before the initial screams subsided. This was his nightmare. He had relived it too many times already.

"Run, Aisley! I beg of you. Whilst you yet can. Once they enter the great hall, you will be trapped." The Vikings were brutal opponents on the battlefield; he did not want to contemplate what they would do to the women in their midst.

"But what of you?" She was already moving toward the end of the table.

"I must stay with the king." Never before had the choice been so difficult. "Go to the stables. Find a mount. Any mount. And ride as far from here as you can."

The main doors slammed against the wall, and with a terrifying roar, a dozen Vikings raced into the great hall. The women's screams redoubled. Tables and benches thudded to the floor as the guests scrambled to escape.

Wielding axes and spears, the warriors made directly for the head table. A quick glance told Brecc that Aisley was gone, but the king and queen remained obvious targets.

"Rheged!" Brecc yelled, sidestepping Ormod to reach the king. "Protect the queen!"

His friend seized the queen's arm and drew her back as the Viking in the center of the pack raised his arm. "Death to the king of Wessex!" he shouted in heavily accented Saxon, and then he let his spear fly.

Lowering his head, Brecc barreled into the king, knocking him sideways as the weapon shot across the head table and hit its target with a thud. Ormod cried out, the wooden circlet he'd been wearing on his head dropping to the floor as he staggered backward, clutching the shaft of the spear that had pierced his chest.

"Ormod!" The king pushed back against Brecc.

"Forgive me, sire," Brecc said, fighting to keep the king from going to his adviser even as he was assailed with horror over the blood now staining Ormod's tunic. "There is nothing you can do for Ormod, but there is a great deal you can do—must yet do—for your people."

More spears flew. A few of the thegns were already engaged in combat. Armed with nothing more than the daggers they had used for their meal, the Saxons had little chance against the heavily armed Vikings, but they were doing what was needed. They were offering the king a chance to escape.

"Find me a sword!" King Alfred bellowed.

"There are none to be had here." Brecc had his dagger in one hand, and with the other, he continued to hold the king back. "You must flee, Sire. An opportunity for you to escape this ambush is what your thegns are fighting for. Your time to avenge Ormod's death will come only if you survive long enough to see it done."

Those of the feast's attendees who had somehow avoided the Vikings' attention were now pressing toward the main doors. In their eagerness to escape, they likely had not considered how many more warriors were awaiting them elsewhere in the estate. Based on their past behavior, Brecc thought it likely that there were men ransacking every building. He could only pray that Aisley would be gone from the stables before the Vikings turned their attention to it.

The head table toppled over, the platters, trenchers, and goblets landing on the floor with a crash. Food littered the ground. With a cry of agony, another thegn fell less than four paces away.

Brecc pivoted, his dagger ready. Rangvald. Guthrum's chieftain had reappeared in all too many of Brecc's nightmares of the Battle of Wilton. The large Viking raised a double-headed ax above his head, and with a terrifying howl, he swung. Brecc leaped to the right. The king anticipated the move, circling Brecc and letting his dagger fly. The blade entered the warrior's upper arm, and with a roar of rage, the monster of a man lunged for his ax. Unable to reach it before the Viking, Brecc thrust his leg wide, catching the handle and sending it skidding over the floor. Rangvald scrambled after it.

"Brecc!" Rheged's voice reached him over the melee.

He swung around. His friend was leading the queen behind a curtain that covered a door. Most likely one that led to the barn on the other side of the great hall. How Rheged had discovered the hidden exit in the midst of this chaos was beyond him. But he had, and he had guided Brecc to it.

"This way, Sire!" Brecc yelled.

A spear flew overhead, landing on the floor not more than three paces from where Rheged had been standing moments before. Brecc reached it first, yanking the tip out of the wooden floor and hurling it toward an oncoming warrior.

The king glanced at the devastation behind him. Bodies littered the room, and the roars of anger, moans of pain, and sobs of despair melded into a cacophony of suffering. "Dear heaven! What has my neglect of your warning done?"

"This is the Viking chief's doing, not yours." Another warrior was heading their way, ax in hand. Brecc grabbed the two large platters at his feet and sent them spinning toward him. "You must go after the queen," Brecc urged. "It is the only way to foil Guthrum's plan."

Brecc's words appeared to have their effect. A mask of resolution fell over the king's grief-filled face, and he slipped behind the curtain.

Brecc hesitated one moment more. Another thegn had taken on the approaching Viking. If Brecc stayed to fight, he might lessen the number of warriors by two or three, but that was nothing when compared to how many were undoubtedly involved in this attack. If he went with the king, he could feasibly facilitate the monarch's escape before Guthrum realized that the man they had so brutally murdered was not in actuality the king of Wessex.

He backed toward the curtain, his eyes drawn to Ormod's bloodied, lifeless body. The agony of loss burned in his chest. This defeat might be the most crushing yet, but it could not be the end of Saxon rule in Wessex. "You were the very best of men, Ormod," he said. "You will not be forgotten." And then he pulled back the curtain and followed after the king.

Aisley grabbed her sister's arm and pulled her up against the wall of the kitchen, praying her mother would follow. Pounding footsteps approached in the darkness. She pressed herself against the cold stone as a glint of moonlight reflected off the blades in the hands of the approaching Vikings. Brecc had been right. The heathens who had entered the great hall were merely the vanguard. The entire royal estate was now swarming with the enemy.

She'd reached her mother and sister within moments of leaving the head table. Shaking them from their shock had been her first priority. Urging them to leave immediately had been her second. They'd been sitting close enough to the main doors that they'd been able to slip out before most of the guests had gathered their wits. But reaching safety was another matter entirely.

"We must go to the stables," Aisley whispered, repeating Brecc's admonition. "Attaining mounts is our only hope for escape."

"Dressed like this, we shall freeze to death before we reach safety." Her mother's anxious voice reached her from the shadows.

"The stable has blankets." How many or how distasteful they were, Aisley did not know, but with their cloaks still in the great hall, any covering they could acquire would be a godsend.

Shouts and screams coming from the great hall punctuated the frigid air. Shadowy figures flitted past, most of them running in unbridled panic. Those, she attempted to ignore. It was the silhouettes moving with heavy, purposeful strides that filled her with fear. And every moment that passed seemed to produce more of them. A clash of metal sounded from somewhere nearby. A string of unintelligible words was followed by pounding feet and a cry of agony. More shouts and more running. Beside her, Diera tensed, digging her fingers into Aisley's arm. The fight in the great hall was expanding to include those outside.

Aisley could see the outline of the stable roof against the star-studded sky, but to reach it, they would be required to cross a wide-open space. "We must cross the square quickly," she whispered.

"The Vikings will see us." Diera's words ended in a sob.

"If we remain here, we shall doubtless be found," Aisley said. "I would rather take a chance at escaping."

"What of Wulfhere?" their mother asked. "He will not know what has become of us."

Aisley was quite sure that Wulfhere's focus would be on securing his own safety. "I have no doubt he will leave for Wiltshire at the first opportunity. We shall meet him there."

"But if he is injured, he will need our assistance."

Aisley fought back her irritation. Ealdorman Ormod was dead. There were indubitably more dead and injured littering the floor of the great hall. Was Wulfhere truly her mother's only concern? She swallowed the lump in her throat. Brecc had begged her to leave. It was what he had wanted. But if she thought on what was occurring in the building behind her, on what might already have happened to him ... She pushed the thought away. He was protecting the king. God willing, he, too, would be protected.

"As you told me yourself, Mother, the king surely has healers he can call on."

"Yes, but—"

"Hush!" Aisley stopped her mother's argument midsentence. "Someone is coming." They waited, barely daring to breathe as the thud of more heavy footsteps came closer. A man's voice called out something in Norse, and the direction of the footsteps changed. Aisley waited only until the thuds faded behind them, then she moved away from the wall. "Now," she whispered. "We go now!"

They crossed the open area at a run. The icy air cut through Aisley's clothing, numbing her skin.

Diera faltered. "I cannot. It is too far in this cold."

"You can and you must." Aisley could now see the stable door. "We are almost there."

As they approached, the sizable door swung open, and a large silhouette slipped inside.

"Vikings!" Diera gasped, stumbling to a halt.

"No." Their mother tugged her forward. "He did not move like an invader."

It was true. Despite their good start, it seemed that they were not the first of the king's guests to reach the stables.

Aisley grabbed the door latch and pulled. "I pray the stablehands are ready for the number of people who will undoubtedly come."

A male voice, low and urgent, echoed through the stables. "Make haste, boy! I have no time to waste."

A stableboy entered the circle of candlelight, drawing a large horse behind him. "I'll 'ave 'im saddled right away, sire."

The man stepped out of the shadows. "This is taking too long," he said. "Give me the saddle. You take care of the bridle."

"Wulfhere!" Aisley's mother gasped.

Wulfhere swung around. "Mother! And you have Aisley and Diera with you." He placed his hand on his chest. "My relief knows no bounds. When I could not find you in the great hall, I did not know what had become of you."

"What are you doing here?" Aisley asked.

"Acquiring mounts so that we may escape this madness, of course." He took the saddle from the stableboy and began threading the straps through the buckle. "I am glad you were wise enough to come directly to the stable."

Aisley glanced at the horse before her, her indignation rising. "One mount, Wulfhere? If we had not come at this precise moment, were you planning on leaving without us?"

"That is quite enough, Aisley," their mother interrupted. "We should be immensely grateful that in all the commotion, we have found each other."

Aisley could barely speak. Was her mother truly so blind to Wulfhere's selfishness?

"Three more mounts, boy!" Wulfhere yelled. "And blankets."

The boy scurried off into the darkness, and Wulfhere went back to buckling the saddle. Diera was standing beside their mother, her arms wrapped around herself. Aisley could not tell if it was the cold or fear that brought about her sister's quiet whimpers, but whatever amount of those things Aisley may have experienced over the last little while had now been replaced by a burning fury.

"Tell me, Wulfhere," she said, "how is it that of all the king's thegns, you are the only one not battling the Vikings in the great hall?"

Wulfhere snorted. "If you believe I am the only nobleman to escape that madness, you are delusional."

"You kissed the goblet. You accepted the ring-giver's gift, and by so doing, you pledged your devotion. It is your duty to protect the king."

"Really, Aisley." Their mother's voice rang with disapproval. "Your understanding of such things is far too limited for you to judge Wulfhere's actions. He is fulfilling his duty to protect his mother and sisters. That is quite enough."

No, it was not. But at this moment, arguing was counterproductive. The boy hurried into the light, drawing three mares behind him. Aisley reached for the blanket on the closest horse and set it across Diera's shoulders. Her sister drew the malodorous covering closer—a sure sign that she had yet to recover from the chill outside.

"I thank you," Aisley told the boy.

He bobbed his head. "Of course, mistress."

The door flew open, and half a dozen people entered on the run.

"Mounts, lad!" The first man was out of breath. "As quickly as you can!"

"Aye, sire." The boy disappeared.

Keeping his back to the newcomers, Wulfhere helped himself to another of the saddles lining the wall. "Assist Mother and Diera onto the mares, Aisley," he said. "We are quitting this place directly."