Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Twilight was painting the clouds a dusky gray, and the daytime temperatures were dropping. Brecc urged his mount to the top of the peak and then reined it to a halt. Below him, the county of Somerset stretched out like a green blanket embroidered with blue rivers and decorated with patches of woodland. "It has been many years since I've climbed Burrow Mump," he said. "I had forgotten how unparalleled the prospect is from here."

"Aye." King Alfred guided his palfrey into a position to the right of Brecc's horse. "Ormod thought it would serve well as a lookout spot."

"A lookout spot?"

The king pointed to a piece of land below them. It rose above the marsh but was cut off by the River Tone on one side and a swamp and a flooded lake on the others. "That is Athelney," he said. "As you can see, it is surrounded by water. An island, if you will. It boasts two acres of woodland replete with stags, goats, and other wild beasts. There is fuel for fires and ample water, and it is accessible only by boat."

Brecc nodded slowly. "The best possible situation for an exiled king and a small group of devoted followers."

"That was Ormod's thought. Athelney is remote enough to slow a Viking horde's attack and yet close enough to settlements for Saxon warriors to get word out to those loyal to the crown."

Brecc looked at him then. "You and Ormod already considered this contingency."

"We did." The king sighed, and it was as if the weight of the deaths of Ormod and an as-yet-unknown number of other thegns suddenly pressed upon him. His shoulders drooped. "I prayed it would never come to this, but Ormod insisted that we have a plan in place. The queen knows to come here. She will tell Rheged."

Brecc was unprepared for the measure of relief he felt at that news. He and the king had been traveling alone for the best part of three days. Dressed in Fitch's ill-fitting but serviceable clothing and riding worn saddles, they had dropped the ealdormen titles they'd offered the innkeeper days ago and had successfully passed as commoners at the handful of stops they'd made along their way. To know that Rheged and other surviving thegns would join them when they learned of this place of refuge brought new hope.

"We have made good time," Brecc said. "I daresay we will be the first to reach Athelney."

"That is for the best." The king gazed down at the isolated island. "I would wish to know the lay of the land before making further plans."

Brecc glanced at the sky. The last rays of the sun were disappearing beyond the horizon. "It might be best to wait until daybreak to cross the river," he said.

"Agreed." King Alfred pointed to a small stone building at the base of Burrow Mump. Smoke was escaping through the thatched roof. "There appears to be some kind of dwelling between us and the water. We shall apply there for shelter for the night."

Brecc wheeled his horse around. Up until now, they had been fortunate to have clear skies and moonlit nights, but this evening's clouds would block any such illumination. If they wished to avoid riding the path downhill in darkness, they had no time to lose.

"I pray Rheged was able to find the queen suitable shelter along her path," the king said, his gaze lingering on the untamed marshland below.

"As do I," Brecc said, and it was true. There had been multiple times the last few days when he had entreated God to protect the king, the queen, Rheged, and his other comrades. But during those prayers, inevitably, his thoughts had lingered longest on Aisley, and he had quickly come to realize that not knowing her situation was the heaviest burden of all.

Morning had broken, but the longhouse was quiet. Aisley raised herself onto her elbow and looked over at Diera. Her sister's deep breathing indicated that she was yet asleep. Wool blankets were pulled up to her chin, but there was just enough light for Aisley to see the faint pink in Diera's cheeks. Wulfhere's disgruntlement at being housed with a flock of smelly sheep notwithstanding, the shepherd's kind ministrations four days ago had worked miracles. Diera had recovered well enough to travel the next day and had shown no lingering effects from her harrowing experience since arriving back at Trowbridge.

Pulling herself into a sitting position beneath the covers of her pallet, Aisley gazed sightlessly at the shutters. Was Brecc out there somewhere, welcoming the new day with as heavy a heart and as many unanswered questions as she had? She would not wish it upon him, but the alternative was far worse, so she clung to hope as tightly as she'd clung to her mount's reins during their escape.

"Please, Father God," she whispered into the quiet room. "Let Brecc be safe. Let him be unharmed. And if it be Thy will, let me see him again."

She took a deep breath and dropped her head. How would she survive another day of awaiting news? Ever since their return to Trowbridge, her mother had hovered anxiously over Diera, scarcely allowing her to lift a finger even though Diera was more than capable of her usual needlework. Wulfhere had alternated between pacing the longhouse like a caged animal and standing statuesque while studying Aisley with unnatural intensity. Of the two, Aisley preferred the former. Her brother's narrow-eyed gaze sent shivers of alarm coursing through her, and not even exiting the room fully quelled her apprehension at his silent appraisal. He'd said nothing more to her about marriage, but it was not difficult to guess the direction of his thoughts. Ever since their altercation at Chippenham, Wulfhere had wished her gone.

A blackbird sang. It was close by. On the roof immediately above the shutter, most likely. Aisley tossed back her blanket, and as the chill of early morning touched her skin, she reached for her gown. She dressed soundlessly, and then she slipped out of the bedchamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

The cockerel greeted her arrival in the courtyard with a loud cry. The blackbird that had been singing moments before took off in a flurry of feathers, and a horse in the stables neighed. Aisley paused. Her burning desire to escape her thoughts had driven her to leave the longhouse with no fixed destination in mind. She was not dressed warmly enough for a walk. Cook was undoubtedly already about her early-morning tasks in the kitchen, and she would not wish for Aisley to interrupt her work. A second horse neighed, and with few other options available to her, Aisley started toward the stables. The stablehands would likely tolerate an unexpected visitor better than most.

Cracking the stable door open a fraction, Aisley slipped inside. The smell of horses, leather, and straw assailed her, instantly transporting her to another stable. Memories of her family's frantic escape from the royal estate flooded her mind. She shuddered, recalling the cries of fleeing Saxons mingled with the roars of the attacking Vikings. Rubbing her hands down her arms, she willed those memories to make room for others: standing in the stables with Brecc, a pungent horse blanket over his shoulders; the compassion in his voice and eyes as he spoke to her; the feel of his strong hand about hers. She released an unsteady breath. Where are you, Brecc?

"Someone 'as t' know."

Aisley gasped, turning to peer into the shadowy stable. A tuft of blond hair appeared over the top of a nearby stall. It was Garren, the youngest stableboy.

"Well, it's not like anyone's goin' to send word of 'is whereabouts to the likes of us." This voice came from the neighboring enclosure, along with the clang of a pail that echoed the pounding of Aisley's heart.

These stableboys were not talking to her but to each other.

"I know that. But the king runnin' off when the Vikin's attacked is all people 're talkin' about in town," Garren said. "It's likely the same all over Wessex."

Understanding dawned. The boys were discussing King Alfred.

"I daresay." Aisley recognized the voice now. It was Taber. He was older than Garren, but since he was half a head shorter, he remained invisible in the stall. "But if the king wants t' stay 'idden, 'e will. An' them Vikin's 'll 'ave a job findin' 'im."

"Unless someone 'appens t' see 'im and gives 'im away."

"Why would a Saxon do that?"

"I dunno." Garren's voice had become disconsolate. "The Vikin's 'ave gold. Most Saxons 'ave nothin'. People'll do all sorts of things t' put food on th' table."

"True enough," Taber said. "But not everyone's so bad off as us. Me older brother says things were better in all of Wiltshire when Ealdorman Kendryek wus alive."

Aisley's throat went dry. What had Wulfhere been doing—or not doing—to cause his people to suffer so greatly?

"It's 'ard to imagine it gettin' much worse, but I've 'eard terrible things 'bout the Vikin's."

"Aye." Taber was firm. "Don't wish them on us, whatever ya do. No food on th' table would be the least of our worries."

Garren was silent for a moment. "I 'ope King Alfred fights back soon."

"'E will."

"'Ow can you be so sure? They're sayin' 'e didn't even lift a sword afore 'e ran."

"First off," Taber said. "Don' be believin' everythin' you 'ear. Second off, Wessex is worth fightin' for."

Aisley's heavy heart lifted a fraction. If Taber's attitude was any indication of the mind-set of others, notwithstanding the Vikings' capture of the king's estate in Chippenham and their ever-increasing presence throughout Wessex, mayhap there was hope for the country and crown after all.

A latch lifted. One of the boys was exiting a stall. If he turned toward the stable doors, he would see her and would know that she'd been eavesdropping. Taking a tentative step backward, she reached for the door handle. Escape without detection would be impossible. While she'd been standing there, the sun had risen. The moment she opened the door, daylight would spill inside. Making a snap decision, she took hold of the door handle, pushed the door open a crack, and slipped outside. Without hesitation, she then pivoted, pulled the door open wider, and walked back inside.

"Good day," she called. "Is anyone about?"

A pail clanked to the floor, and a stall door opened. Aisley held her breath. Would the boys assume she was only now arriving?

"Good day, Mistress Aisley." It was Taber. "'Ow can I 'elp ya?"

With a blend of relief and appreciation for the loyal young man, Aisley smiled. "I awoke early and thought I might visit the horses. Is there one that needs a little extra attention?"

Taber smiled. "There's always plenty o' those, mistress. I reckon ya can take yer pick."

"Mayhap I should work my way down the stalls, then."

"Ya do that, mistress. These 'orses will be all the 'appier fer it."

Aisley approached the closest stall. The mount she'd ridden from Chippenham appeared at the gate. The mare sniffed the air, and then it lowered its nose to rub Aisley's arm.

"Good morning, young lady," Aisley said, running her hand down the mare's long neck. The horse nickered approvingly, and Aisley's shoulders relaxed. She had learned more than she'd anticipated by coming to the stable—some of it difficult to hear—but her decision to come had been a good one. If nothing more, she had new information to think on.

Brecc guided his mount along the narrow path that led to the swineherd's cottage. When he'd left this morning, the swineherd and his wife had been rising. Now the man was attending to a fence in the field adjacent to the lowly dwelling. His wife was also outside. It seemed she'd been washing clothing because she was lifting fabric from a tub at her feet and draping it over the bushes growing at the front of the cottage. It was surely a more hopeful than sensible endeavor, for even though the threat of rain had passed with the disappearance of the clouds, the likelihood of anything drying in today's cold temperatures was slim.

"Good day, Mistress Hocca," Brecc called.

The woman looked up from her work. "You're returned sooner than I thought," she said, setting her reddened hands upon her hips. "Did ya find Edris?"

"I did. He was at the small cottage beside the river, just as you said he would be."

She nodded. "And will 'e take ya both t' Athelney on 'is boat?"

"He will." Brecc neglected to add that persuading Edris to leave his nets long enough to row two men across the river had taken significant negotiation since neither he nor the king had coins to offer the fisherman. In the end, it had been the promise of a leg of venison from Brecc's first kill on the island that had swayed the fellow. It seemed that the fisherman was ready for a change from his usual fare of grayling or perch.

The woman grunted, reached for something in the tub at her feet, and then abruptly raised her head again. Sniffing the air, she tossed her husband's wet tunic back into the container, and with a cry of consternation, she ran toward the door of the cottage.

Brecc did not hesitate. In a trice, he was off the horse. Crossing the distance between them in half a dozen long paces, he'd almost reached her when she threw open the door.

"Ya good-fer-nothin' fellow!" she cried, racing inside and grabbing a small wooden utensil. "I allow ya t' sleep beneath me roof, and this is 'ow ya repay me?"

The smell of burning wafted through the door. With mounting alarm, Brecc entered. King Alfred was sitting on a small stool in the corner of the room, staring at the swineherd's wife with a stunned expression. The woman was furiously removing cakes of bread from the griddle above the fire and setting them onto a flat stone beside it. Each one was dark brown and ringed with black.

The king's gaze moved from Hocca to the burned cakes, and he rose to his feet. "Forgive me." He had never appeared so crestfallen. "I was so consumed in my thoughts, I did not notice—"

"'Ow could ya possibly not notice th' smell of burnin'?" Hocca cried. "It's so pungent, I smelt it from outside." She shook her head furiously. "One job. I gave ya one job. Not an 'ard one, mind. Simply watch th' cakes an' call me when they're ready." She tossed her hands in the air as though it would rid her of her uninvited guests. "Well, there'll be no bread for us this week. That was th' last o' me flour."

"I am truly sorry." It was a humble admission for the king of Wessex, but Brecc did not doubt his sincerity for a moment. "I shall ensure you are compensated for my inattentiveness."

"And just 'ow do ya propose to do that?" Hocca was still fuming.

"We cannot offer you bread." Brecc spoke from the doorway. "But I have promised Edris a leg of venison in exchange for transport to Athelney. I can offer you the same as payment for our lodging and the spoiled food."

She swung to face him. "You would do that?"

"I would."

She must have sensed his earnestness for she briefly bowed her head, her anger dissipating like the smoke from the burned cakes. "I thank you," she said, meeting his eyes again. "Venison would be most welcome."

"Consider it done," Brecc said.

"And in the meantime," the king added, "allow me to make up for my mistake by assisting you in some other way before we take our leave."

Without another word, Hocca handed the king a broom. "By the time ya've swept the room, the smell of burnin' should be gone."

King Alfred stared at the simple contrivance in his hand. It was quite possibly the first time the monarch had ever held one.

"I would start brushing the floor in the farthest corner and gradually work toward the door," Brecc suggested as casually as he dared.

"If 'e don't already know that, yer friend is in dire need o' far more than basic bakin' instructions," Hocca said, frowning at the charcoal remains of her bread.

"If the results of my pondering this morning are any indication, I fear that baking and sweeping are only a few of the many areas in which I must show improvement." The king carried the broom to the corner and swished it haphazardly over the dirt floor. "I thank you, Mistress Hocca, for your patience as I learn."

The swineherd's wife sniffed and then wrinkled her nose at the lingering smell in the cottage. "Ya can set the broom against th' wall when yer finished."

Brecc stepped away from the door to allow her passage outside. "Good day, Mistress Hocca," he said.

"Good day to ya both," she replied. "I pray it improves fer each of us."