Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Brecc stood at the water's edge, watching and listening. The sun had set, and the marshland creatures were in full song. Bullfrogs croaked, their voices low against the lapwings' distinctive peewit calls. Overhead, a hawk cried, and the gentle plop of the wader birds' feet in the shallow water turned to a chorus of flapping wings as they took to the air in unison. Had it simply been the hawk's presence that had disturbed them? Setting his hand on the handle of his dagger, Brecc strained to see through the rapidly fading light.

The sound of murmured voices reached him first, and then he heard the distinctive sucking of a pole being drawn from the mud. He whistled. An echoing whistle floated back, and the fingers on his dagger relaxed. It was Rheged, and he had the king with him on one of the punts they'd acquired from Hocca's brother.

As the flat-bottomed boat appeared, Brecc knelt on the damp grass, waiting for the punt's squared end to reach him. The wood grazed the turf, and Brecc seized it.

"I have the punt, Sire."

The small craft swayed violently, and the king stepped onto the ground beside him. "I thank you, Brecc."

Rheged stepped off after him and then turned to help Brecc drag the punt out of the water. They pulled it under a nearby tree, and Rheged set the pole against the trunk.

"I trust your time at the church was uninterrupted," Brecc said.

"Not another soul in sight," Rheged said. It was a good thing, but Brecc received the distinct impression that keeping watch outside while the king communed with God inside the small church was not one of Rheged's most highly rated activities.

"It was a most fulfilling experience." King Alfred was already walking toward the woodland where the stone cottage that now served as the monarch's safe haven and the gathering spot for his most loyal men was located. "Come," he called. "You both must hear what I have to say."

Offering Rheged an inquiring look, Brecc started after the king.

Rheged quickly joined him. "Before you ask," he said, "I know nothing more than you do." He cocked his head to one side as though contemplating something deep. "Well, that is not entirely true. Having stood outside the Aller church for going on three hours, I can now unequivocally tell you that there are twenty-three paving stones leading up to the church's door, the current molehill count on the east side of the building is fifteen, and on the left side, it is twelve. Oh, and there is a very aggressive magpie who takes exception to anyone standing within its sphere of influence for that length of time."

Brecc chuckled. "You obviously used your time at Aller most productively."

"I hope you can say the same for your afternoon at Athelney."

"Enough wood cut to fuel our fire for a week, and three moorhens caught and prepared for supper."

Rheged grinned. "I approve. Although, before you think too highly of yourself and your accomplishments, I would remind you that with only three moorhens under your belt, I counted far higher than you did this day."

Chopping wood had helped release some of Brecc's frustration over the continued lack of information reaching Athelney—whether it be regarding the king's missing thegns, the Vikings' whereabouts, or Aisley's well-being. But Rheged's humor had already done far more. It had lifted his spirits. With a laugh, he placed his hand on Rheged's shoulder. "I am glad you are here, even if you are only truly good for punting and counting."

The fire was blazing inside the king's temporary abode. He and the queen were already seated on rustic stools. The eleven thegns who had arrived in ones and twos during the days and weeks following Rheged's arrival with the queen sat on the floor around the fire.

Rheged and the queen had taken a longer route to reach Athelney than the one the king and Brecc had chosen. Brecc had used the time to clear the vacant building of refuse and make some basic repairs to one shutter and a corner of the roof. While the king had hunted for game and sequestered himself in prayer, Brecc had cut firewood and gathered sufficient fir tree boughs to create makeshift pallets. When he'd delivered the promised venison to Edris the fisherman and Hocca the swineherd's wife, he'd also managed to acquire their first punt. At the time, he'd not known how many people would come or how often the king would wish to visit the church at Aller, but it was obvious that they could not be wholly dependent upon Edris for transportation to and from the island.

Thankfully, Rheged had used his circuitous route to pass along word of the king's place of refuge to as many of the king's surviving thegns as he could contact. Those who had relocated to Athelney were a small group, but they were devoted to the king and to Wessex. They were the warriors King Alfred most needed.

"Sit, gentlemen," the king demanded.

Brecc and Rheged took their places between the king's stool and Ealdorman Odda. Odda gave them both an acknowledging nod and passed them a basket of bread. Hocca had obviously made her weekly delivery.

"As you all know," the king began, "ever since my arrival at Athelney, I have repeatedly petitioned God to provide me with a way forward, a way to take Wessex back from a Godless leader, and to ease the suffering of my people." He cleared his throat. "Today, at the Aller church, I believe He finally made His will known to me."

Brecc lowered the piece of bread in his hand from his mouth, his attention fully on the king.

"Whilst I was in prayer, a passage of scripture shared with me by Saint Neot came forcibly to my mind," the king continued. "It is from the book of Hebrews and says: For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth." He gazed around the room. "Do you understand? It is not my place to despise the chastening I have received. Instead, I must rejoice in having been received by the Lord. I must learn from my mistakes and use this humbling experience for good."

Brecc pondered the king's insight. It was a rare thing to be led by a monarch so willing to learn and to teach. Indeed, had King Alfred not been born to the crown, Brecc thought it likely that he would have become a priest, for there was no denying the strength he drew from studying God's word or his burning desire to share that enlightenment with others.

Odda was the first to speak. "Have you ascertained the direction the Lord wishes you to take, Sire?"

"I have."

A new, higher level of anticipation hummed through the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Brecc noted Rheged's anxious glance, but he kept his gaze upon the king.

"First," the king said, "we shall go from here—alone and in pairs—to seek out those thegns who are loyal to the crown. Those who wish to join us at Athelney shall be welcomed. We shall also turn our attention to creating chaos within our enemy's ranks. As our numbers increase, so, too, will the number of sorties we embark upon. We shall seek out all Viking strongholds and encampments, learn what we can of their methods and plans, and then lay them waste.

"News of the successful raids made on our foes shall quickly spread. Our surprise attacks will feed the heathens' superstitious temperaments, fueling unease. Those who harbor Viking sympathies will also grow increasingly discomfited, whilst others will be inspired to do their part to resist the Viking trespassers. Their brave efforts will join ours." Conviction rang through his voice. "I wish to offer a poignant reminder to the people of Wessex that their king will soon return, whilst simultaneously issuing a firm message to Guthrum and those who follow him that I have not and will not abandon this nation."

The king's impassioned words had barely left his mouth before the room erupted with cheers. All the thegns were on their feet, clapping and shouting their approval. With a pleased smile, King Alfred raised his hand, and silence descended on the room once more.

"At least two thegns will remain at Athelney to protect the queen and welcome new arrivals. This assignment will be rotated." He paused. "Rheged and Odda, I would that you should be the first."

Brecc caught the flash of disappointment in Rheged's eyes, but it was quickly masked by his bow.

"As you wish, Sire," Rheged said.

"The honor is ours." Odda inclined his head.

"Not only is it an honor, but it carries with it the greatest responsibility of all," the king said. "I am entrusting you with the safety of the person dearest to my heart."

The queen blushed and lowered her head in an effort to hide it.

Rheged, however, stood a little taller. "The queen shall be protected, Sire, you have my word."

"And mine," Odda echoed.

"I thank you." The king looked at Brecc. "And you, Brecc, where would you have me send you?"

"To Trowbridge," Brecc responded without hesitation. "I have heard rumor that Ealdorman Wulfhere may not be the most reliable of men. With access to the entire fyrd of Wiltshire at stake, I believe it worth our while to discover his true leanings."

"A wise choice," Odda said. "I would be most interested to know why Wulfhere removed himself from the great hall in Chippenham before the fighting had truly commenced."

King Alfred frowned, this report on Wulfhere's actions during the Viking attack obviously new to him. "I would wish to know the same. I shall anxiously await your report."

Aisley had been foolish to go into town alone. She knew that now. But an hour ago, when she'd been desperate to escape the four walls of the longhouse and Diera had refused to go out until the puddles formed by all the earlier rain had dried, it had seemed practicable. The maids had been helping prepare the evening meal and could not be spared. Even Taber had been unavailable. It would likely take him and the other stableboy working together to clean off the mud currently caked all over Wulfhere's horse. Where Wulfhere had gone to render his mount so dirty, Aisley could not tell, but she was as anxious as he must have been to leave the confines of the house.

And so, she had determined to make the short walk without a companion. It would give her the fresh air she craved and enable her to interact with other locals, albeit briefly. For years, she had wandered the fields and woodlands near the longhouse, gathering healing plants. There really should have been nothing to fear about this excursion, had not three Vikings chosen to enter the square just as she reached Mistress Udela's cart.

The older lady's gasp had been enough to cause Aisley to turn. Now, all around, people scattered, leaving an open path for the newcomers to follow into the center of the market. The tallest man led the others. His light-brown hair was plaited into two long ropes. His beard was thick and matted, and he wore a sheepskin across his shoulders. A long knife hung from his belt. The two who followed were lankier in build and appeared younger. They each carried axes and sacks, and where one had a scar running across his chin, the other had a nose that had surely been broken at least once. They were obviously men who had experienced violence and likely did not shy away from it.

Only this morning, Taber had told Aisley of the latest rumor regarding the invading horde. Word was that they'd had their fill of pillaging, looting, and raping in Chippenham and were now working their way farther into Wiltshire, setting up camps along the way. A recent traveler passing through Trowbridge had reported smelling the smoke of a campfire coming from an area beside the river not more than twenty furlongs from town. He'd not seen anyone, but many feared that such an encampment could belong only to Vikings. If the three men currently sauntering across the square were any indication, those people had been correct.

Like a breathy gust of wind, a ripple of fear spread across the uneasy spectators.

"'Eaven 'elp us." Mistress Udela's voice was more of a moan. "They 'ave come."

Aisley moved to stand beside her. The cart offered little protection, but it served as a barrier, at least. "It shall be well," she whispered, more to herself than to the farmer's wife. "A moment longer and they shall pass by."

"But they're comin' this way," Mistress Udela sobbed.

"Hush," Aisley warned. "Look upon your wares rather than upon them. You need not watch their progress. I shall tell you when they are gone."

With trembling fingers, the older woman reached for a pat of butter wrapped in cloth. She lifted it, only to set it down again in the same spot. "It's no good." Her voice wavered, though she had yet to look up. "It's like I'm a field mouse an' they're 'awks ready to pounce. I can sense 'em nearby, but there's no place fer me t' run."

Aisley pulled her overly small cloak around herself more tightly. This was likely not the time to tell Mistress Udela that the Vikings did indeed appear to be walking directly toward her cart. The fishmonger who ran the stall beside this one had disappeared. One of the shorter Vikings picked up a perch and lifted it to his nose. He said something, laughed, and then dropped it into the other man's sack. The second man grumbled a complaint, but he didn't remove the stolen fish. Instead, he followed after the taller one to Mistress Udela's cart.

"This!" The taller man pointed at the basket of eggs.

Mistress Udela was trembling so much Aisley feared the older lady's legs might give way beneath her.

"This!" the Viking repeated.

The farmer's wife opened her mouth, but only a squeak emerged.

Aisley reached for her hand beneath the cart and squeezed it. "How many would you like?" Aisley asked.

The Viking's attention moved from the eggs to Aisley. Slowly, his gaze trailed down her long hair to her ill-fitting cloak to her shoes. A shudder coursed through her, bringing with it an overwhelming urge to flee. Without dropping his assessing look, the leader of the trio gave the young man who'd taken the fish a curt order. The younger Viking reached for the entire basket of eggs and set it in the crook of his arm.

"Rangvald," the leader said, jabbing his broad chest with his thick thumb. Then he pointed to Aisley. "You?"

Mustering her courage, Aisley raised her chin and pointed to the basket of eggs. "You must pay for those."

Something that looked remarkably like shock flickered across the Viking's face, and then with a smug smile, he withdrew a coin purse from his belt. Swinging the purse over the cart with one hand, he pointed to her with the other. "You. Name."

"Give 'im yer name," Mistress Udela said. "Then mayhap 'e'll pay me fer all them eggs."

"He has no right to demand my name."

"'E 'as no right to steal me eggs neither," Mistress Udela retorted, her courage remarkably restored now that she was no longer the focus of the Viking's attention.

The Viking moved closer, leaning so far over the cart that Aisley could smell his putrid breath. She took a stumbling step back. Her heel hit the wall of the smithy behind her. Her breath caught, and she pressed her hands against the stones.

"Rangvald," he repeated, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You. Name."

This was a game to him. A horrible, terrifying game.

"Aisley!" Mistress Udela cried, snatching the purse from the tall man's hand. "'Er name's Aisley."

"Yer a greedy old woman, Udela!" Out of nowhere, the fishmonger appeared, and before Aisley could gather her wits, he was hurling fish from his cart at the Vikings. The three men roared their displeasure, and the one closest to the fishmonger lunged for his arm. But the fishmonger anticipated his move and tossed a fistful of minnows at his face. "Run fer it, Mistress Aisley," he yelled. "I can only 'old 'em off fer so long."

Aisley needed no second bidding. Before the Vikings knew what she was about, she rounded Mistress Udela's cart and bolted across the eerily empty square. Another shout was followed by the sound of pounding feet. At least one of the Vikings had taken up the chase, and she knew full well that if it came down to a race, her short legs would be no match for the Vikings' longer limbs. The maze of back alleys surrounding the square were known to disorient even the locals. Losing her pursuers there was her only hope.

Not daring to take the time to look over her shoulder, she veered left and entered an unfamiliar narrow lane. Stone buildings pressed in on her from both sides. Gasping for breath, she pressed on, desperately seeking another way out. The pounding footsteps had followed her, and they were closer. Up ahead, the lane bent to the right. If no other route manifested itself beyond the corner, her chance for escape was gone. She rounded the bend. The lane continued. Choking back a sob, she scoured the buildings. More running footsteps echoed off the stone walls, this time seemingly coming from the other direction.

A man burst into view ahead of her. She pivoted. On the left, there was an arched doorway, larger than the others on the lane. It might be wide enough to hide her but only if she reached it in time. She took off, but her toe caught a rock. She stumbled, and suddenly she was lifted off the ground.

"No!" she cried, flailing her legs wildly.

Instantly, a hand pressed against her mouth. "Make no sound, Aisley. The vermin are almost upon us."

Shock stole her breath, and before she knew what he was about, her rescuer had carried her across the few remaining paces to the arched entrance. He had barely set her on her feet when those chasing her turned the corner. Aisley shifted sideways, pressing herself into the narrow corner behind the stones that formed the archway. Then panic struck. There was space enough for her small frame but nothing more. She looked up, searching the shadowy area for her rescuer, but he was gone. She closed her eyes. It had been Brecc. No matter his peasant clothing, she was sure of it.