Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Something was different. Aisley glanced around the marketplace. She'd visited this square in Trowbridge at least a dozen times in the seven weeks since she'd returned from Chippenham, but this morning, there was a new energy. A buzzing of whispered words. The heavy fear that had infiltrated the country after word spread that the king was gone and the Vikings were roaming the land unchecked seemed to have lightened.

"What could possibly be so exciting at the fishmonger's stall that Mistress Udela would leave her butter and eggs to join in the conversation?" Diera asked.

Aisley's gaze moved from the farmer's wife's empty seat behind her cart to the fishmonger's stall, where several of the locals had gathered. "I cannot say."

"Nor can I," Diera said. "But I should very much like to find out."

"Then, mayhap we should." Aisley tucked her arm beneath her sister's and drew her forward.

They approached from behind the small crowd, and before long, they were close enough to hear the fishmonger's voice.

"I tell ya, if me cousin weren't such a trusty fellow, I wouldn't believe a word o' it." He shrugged. "They're on an island 'ere in Wessex, the king an' 'is men are. That's what 'e 'eard."

Aisley's breath caught. Did they finally have news? She took a step closer, straining to hear more.

"Sounds 'bout right t' me." It was the tanner. "There's no reason fer King Alfred t' go abroad. 'Is 'ome and land are 'ere, aren't they?"

"You'd think 'e'd feel that way. But if 'e did, why did 'e run the moment them Vikings caught 'im unawares?" Mistress Udela chimed in.

The fishmonger frowned at her disapprovingly. "Not all stories are as sound as this one."

"Is that so?" Mistress Udela huffed. "And what makes you the most trustworthy person in town?"

"There's interest in any news o' the king," the blacksmith said, "but an eyewitness sayin' that 'e remains in Wessex an' is plannin' a return t' power, well, that's certainly worth sharin'."

"Aye," the fishmonger said. "Even if our own ealdorman won't want t' 'ear it."

Aisley squeezed Diera's arm, willing her not to make a sound. Diera's eyes had widened, but thankfully, her mouth remained closed.

"Our ealdorman." Mistress Udela's disdain was obvious. "Ealdorman Wulfhere's no more ours than is that proud hawk that sits atop the church roof lookin' down its beak at the other birds one minute and swoopin' in t' steal their food the next."

The fishmonger sighed. "'E's not the man 'is father was, that's fer certain."

"God rest Ealdorman Kendryek's soul," Mistress Udela said.

"Aye." The tanner looked grim. "And may God 'elp the king fight back against the heathens stealin' our land."

"'E'll need men," the blacksmith warned. "'E'll need the fyrd."

"An' so we wait fer further word," the fishmonger said. "If they 'ear in Hilperton afore we 'ear in Trowbridge, me cousin'll tell me."

"More waitin'," Mistress Udela grumbled. "Always more waitin'."

"We're used t' it," the fishmonger said, waving his hand over a large piece of fish lying on his stall. A swarm of flies took to the air. "It's the king 'oo'll be frettin' over all the time passin'. With no one t' stop 'em, there's no sayin' what them Vikin's'll do."

A tremor coursed through Aisley as the memory of the Vikings' maniacal howls when they'd burst into the great hall at the royal estate filled her mind. They'd been fully focused on killing the king, set on reaching the head table and targeting the man wearing the crown. She clutched her throat as the vision of Ealdorman Ormod crumpling to the ground floated before her eyes. She took an unsteady breath, desperately pushing the memory away. If the fishmonger's tale was true, it meant the king had escaped. And if he had escaped, it was possible that Brecc and others had escaped with him.

"I beg your pardon." Pulling her arm from Diera's, she moved forward. Diera gasped, and those gathered around the fishmonger's stall swung around, their expressions ranging from shock to alarm. "Did I overhear you say that the king may be fretting over the recent actions of the Vikings?" There was no point in them knowing she'd heard far more than the last few lines spoken among them.

The fishmonger cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes, Mistress Aisley."

"Is there news, then? Are King Alfred and his associates safe?"

"I cannot say fer certain, mistress. Word from Chippenham is that there were a great many 'oo died."

The merchant was evading her question. She needed no confirmation that the loss at the royal estate had been devastating. She had lived through it. What she desired was the names of the survivors.

"But the king? He is safe?"

His gaze darted across the street and then shifted to the tanner beside him. The tanner immediately looked away. The blacksmith had yet to raise his eyes from the horse's bit in his hand that suddenly seemed to require significant polishing, and sometime during the last few moments, Mistress Udela had slipped back to her cart. Aisley frowned. She had always maintained good relations with the townspeople and visiting merchants. Why was no one willing to tell her what they knew?

"Forgive me," she said, "but is something amiss?"

The fishmonger looked over her shoulder and swallowed. Aisley swung around in time to see Wulfhere approaching on horseback.

"Good day, sisters," he said. "I did not know you were in town this afternoon."

Wulfhere's statement did not come as a surprise; they rarely interacted. But he should know that given a choice, Aisley would be outdoors.

"We come as often as we can," she said. "There is always something new to see." For a small market, that was stretching the truth somewhat, but Aisley would prefer that Wulfhere think her interested in the fishmonger's wares than in any news he might bear from other towns. She pointed at the large fish that was once more gathering flies. "Do you see the enormous pike the fishmonger has today?"

Wulfhere gave the fishmonger's stall a calculating look before turning his attention to the merchant. "Did you catch the fish yourself?"

"I did, sire. Early this morning. On the River Biss."

Wulfhere grunted. "I hope you sell it for a good price and that your good fortune continues." He smirked. "Your increased income will be an asset when it comes time to pay taxes."

Aisley stared at him, a pit forming in her stomach as the fishmonger inclined his head politely. "As you say, sire."

Wulfhere brushed a speck of lint off his warm cloak. He had somehow procured a new one after their escape, even though Aisley and Diera were wearing ones they'd outgrown but had reclaimed from trunks upon their return. "I am glad we have spoken. It is always advantageous to be prepared for such things."

"Wulfhere! Surely you do not mean to penalize this gentleman for one day's good catch."

"Penalize? Not at all. I am simply enabling him to share his good fortune with others."

The pit in Aisley's stomach was rapidly developing into a severe case of nausea. This was her doing. Had she not pointed out the pike to Wulfhere, mayhap it would not have caught his notice. And the fishmonger would be no worse off for his encounter with the ealdorman. "Forgive me," she whispered.

The fishmonger offered her a resigned look. It suggested that he was unsurprised by Wulfhere's response to his catch. How long had Wulfhere been excessively taxing the people of Wiltshire? Was this the source of discontent the merchants had been alluding to? It would explain Wulfhere's ability to purchase extravagant clothing while those over whom he had stewardship struggled to eat. Memory of another conversation flooded her mind. When she'd entered the stable soon after their flight from Chippenham, the stableboys had been talking about a new level of impoverishment among the commoners. They'd also been discussing King Alfred's whereabouts.

A new determination settled upon Aisley. The moment Wulfhere was about his own business and Diera was happily situated near the fire inside the longhouse, Aisley would go to the stable. Over the last seven weeks, her need to escape her thoughts had taken her there more often than not, and she had developed a friendship with the stablehands. With Taber in particular. Her association with Wulfhere might prevent the locals in town from sharing information about King Alfred and his men, but she had a feeling that Taber might be persuaded to talk.

An hour later, she slipped through the stable doors. There was something wonderfully calming about the rustle of hooves, soft nickers, and the murmur of the boys' voices as they went about their work. Aisley closed her eyes and took a breath. It smelled of straw and horses, and it was blissfully free of her brother's discomforting presence. The muscles across her shoulders released a fraction, and she opened her eyes. She must find Taber.

"Taber." Keeping her voice low so as not to startle the horses, she walked down the aisle between the stalls. "Are you within the stables?"

"Over 'ere!" His head appeared around a gate, and he grinned. "Afternoon, Mistress Aisley."

"Good afternoon." Aisley joined him at the stall where the mare she'd ridden back from Chippenham was eating from the bucket Taber had just placed on the floor. "How is this young lady behaving?"

"Ah, she's a grand one." Taber patted the mare's rump. "I wish all the 'orses in 'ere were so well behaved."

"I wish I knew who she belongs to."

He looked at her. "D'ya think ya'll ever find out?"

"That likely depends upon how many of King Alfred's thegns survived the attack at Chippenham." She paused. "Have you heard anything?"

He took his time closing the gate. Aisley waited, feeling her heart pound harder with each passing moment.

"There was somethin' new goin' around yesterday." He faced her, his eyes sparkling. "I 'ope it's the truth. I really do."

"What was it?"

"They say the king's 'idin' away on an island, bidin' 'is time till 'is men 'ave all gathered together again afore goin' after them heathen Vikin's."

The fishmonger had spoken of an island. But where was it? A goodly portion of Wessex was coastal. There were any number of islands he could have chosen as his place of retreat.

"That is all you know? That the king is alive and has retreated to an island?"

"Yes, mistress."

"What of those who may have already joined him?" Her heart had yet to resume its normal rhythm. "Did you hear the names of any of his followers?"

He scrunched his forehead as though deep in thought. "Not that I can remember. 'Course, word of the king bein' alive and preparin' t' fight back is all anyone really wants t' 'ear."

"Of course." Aisley swallowed her disappointment. If Brecc had survived, he would be with the king. Of that, she had no doubt. "Will you inform me if you learn anything more?"

The creases on Taber's brow had yet to fully disappear, but he nodded obediently. "Aye, mistress."

Somehow, Aisley managed a smile. Fresh news would come. It had to if King Alfred wished for his support to grow. Until then, she could do nothing but feign patience and pray that the name she most wished to hear would be mentioned by the next messenger.