Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The encampment was quiet, and the number of Vikings seated around the campfire had dwindled to two. The assigned watchmen. Having monitored the Vikings' movements around the clock for the last two days, Brecc knew what to expect. The two Vikings assigned to night duty would stay near the fire, playing bones and tossing an occasional log on the flames so the fire remained burning until morning. Approximately every hour, they would stand and do a brief circuit of their encampment before returning to their positions beside the fire. It was a token effort at defending their position, which played into the Saxon warriors' hands perfectly.

One week ago, this particular group of Vikings had ransacked the nearby village of Dinton before the local residents had even known the invaders were about. Brecc and his companions were ready to return the favor.

An owl hooted. Lufian and Bertwin were in position. Brecc turned to his right. The whites of Rheged's eyes glistened in the darkness.

"They've released the horses," Rheged whispered.

"Aye. As soon as the guards rise, we move."

They waited. A horse neighed. One of the Vikings looked over his shoulder to the area where the invaders' stolen mounts were tied for the night. Or, where they had been tied. If Lufian and Bertwin had done their jobs, most of the horses were now scattering throughout the nearby woodland. The Saxons needed only two of them to complete their work this night.

An owl hooted again. The men were on their way back.

"It's time," Brecc murmured, willing the guards to move.

As though the tallest had heard the prompt, he muttered something, gathered the bones, and slipped them into the purse at his belt. He rose to his feet. With a grunt, the shorter one joined him. Moments later, they started toward the outer edges of the camp.

Brecc waited only until their backs were turned. "Now!" he hissed. Keeping their heads low, he and Rheged raced across the open area to a large, dark shadow on the fringes of the firelight. "First the flour," he said. "Then the vegetables."

Rheged pulled back the blanket that covered the mound of supplies the Vikings had seized from the local people and reached for a sack of flour. "Bertwin better get those horses to us," he said, hoisting it over his shoulder. "We're not going to get far without them."

Brecc lifted one of the other sacks, his feet shifting as he adjusted the weight. Rheged was right. These sacks were even heavier than he'd anticipated. But this was Brecc's third time conducting a raid with Bertwin in as many weeks, and the fellow had yet to fail him. "He'll be there," Brecc said and took off for their appointed meeting spot.

He heard the swish of a horse's tail hitting a tree trunk before he saw the gleam of their eyes.

"Over here." Bertwin's whisper reached him as he drew closer.

"Start tying them on," Brecc urged, moving the sack on his shoulder to the horse's back. "We're going for more."

Not waiting for Rheged, Brecc raced back to the pile of provisions and reached for another sack. The Vikings had stripped the nearby mill of its flour. The miller had barely enough grain left to feed his own family, let alone those in the village who would need flour to survive.

Another bird call. This time, a nightingale. That meant Lufian had spotted the guards approaching from his position near the woodpile. Brecc's heart rate increased. The Vikings were making quick work of this circuit. He and Rheged needed to move faster.

"They're on their way back," he panted, lifting a sack of vegetables under his free arm while the other steadied the sack of flour on his shoulder.

"I heard." Rheged reached for two lumpy sacks and tucked one under each arm. "Time to go."

They ran for the woods. Bertwin already had the first flour sacks strapped to one horse. Brecc set the lumpy sack on top of them and lowered the other flour sack onto the second horse's back. "Get them secured as fast as you can, Bertwin," he said. "Rheged has two more."

"Devil take it!" Rheged dropped his load. "One of the horses Bertwin and Lufian released has wandered back into camp."

Brecc swiveled. Sure enough, a white horse was idly grazing within the light of the fire. If one of the guards spotted it, he would take it back to join the others. And discover that they were all gone. There was no telling what he would do at that point, but it most assuredly would not work in Brecc and his men's favor.

"Take these horses to the road, Bertwin," Brecc urged. "I'm going after the wanderer. Rheged, go with Bertwin. As soon as you reach the road, signal Lufian to start the blaze."

Brecc did not wait for a response from either man. Keeping to the shadows of the tree line, he worked his way around the edge of the camp until he was directly behind the horse. A quick glance across the campfire showed no sign of other movement. If the guards were returning, they were doing it more quietly than usual. Weaving between a handful of woolen tents, Brecc approached the wayward horse. It looked up and sniffed the air.

"Steady, boy," Brecc whispered.

The horse turned its head, and the straps that had been used to tie it to a tree rattled across the ground. It nickered nervously.

"Steady," Brecc repeated, stepping closer.

The horse danced away, and Brecc released a tense breath. Men's voices sounded. The horse snorted, and Brecc lunged for the straps. With a neigh, the animal reared back. Brecc pulled on the reins, drawing the creature out of the campfire's circle of light. But he wasn't fast enough.

"Oy!" It was one of the guards.

Footsteps pounded toward him. Brecc released the straps and swiveled. Both guards had him in their sights, and both were armed. Brecc eyed the glinting ax blades and darted into the shadows.

"I have the one on the right." Rheged's low voice came out of the darkness behind him. "You take the one on the left."

Not questioning his friend's directive, Brecc stepped left. The ax-wielding Viking raised his arm, and with a grunt of exertion, he tossed his weapon. Brecc dropped to the ground, the whoosh of air catching his cheek as the blade whistled past and landed with a thud in the trunk of the tree immediately behind him. Leaping to his feet, he pulled his dagger from his belt and charged at the Viking. His opponent crouched low and withdrew the knife strapped to his leg.

Vaguely aware of grunts and the clash of blades at his right, Brecc circled the Viking before him. Cruelty was etched in the man's face. His lips turned up in a sneer, and he pounced. Brecc anticipated the move and dodged left. The Viking lost his footing. Brecc lowered his shoulder and shoved it against his opponent's chest. With a cry of frustration, the Viking reeled and backed into the campfire. Sparks flew, and with a shriek, the Viking dove for the ground and rolled across his burning sleeve.

More shouts filled the air, and all around them, men began pouring out of tents. An owl hooted yet again. It was Bertwin's signal. Within moments, Lufian would have the Vikings' stack of fuel and several of their tents alight.

A man cried out in agony. Brecc whirled. Rheged was standing over his fallen foe, breathing heavily. But before either of them could do anything more, a sudden movement at Brecc's left had him spinning around once more. His assailant's blade slashed downward, slicing through Brecc's hose. He felt the sting and knew it had pierced his leg. Lunging forward on his uninjured leg, he thrust his blade into the Viking's side. With a scream, his enemy doubled over.

"Leaving now would be good," Rheged panted.

"Agreed." Gritting his teeth against the shooting pain in his leg, Brecc ran for the trees with Rheged right beside him.

"This way!" Rheged said, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him to the right. "I had Bertwin take our mounts with the pack horses. They'll be waiting for us at the road."

Brecc grunted. It was all he could do to keep moving. The smoke was thickening, impeding his vision and tightening his chest. "You lead," he gasped.

Tree limbs snagged his cloak, roots tripped him, and his leg pulsed with pain, but Rheged kept moving, and Brecc followed.

"Up ahead." Rheged slowed long enough to point to a gap in the trees. "I see movement."

Brecc stopped and leaned against a tree. "Make sure it is Bertwin and Lufian," he said. "I don't want any unpleasant surprises."

Rheged whistled and then continued forward. He disappeared into the darkness. Brecc waited, breathing through his pain.

Moments later, Rheged reappeared. "Come quickly. It is them, and the Vikings have started after us."

With a grimace, Brecc pushed away from the tree trunk. Rheged had stolen up on him unawares, and Brecc had not even thought to listen for the sounds of pursuit. He was in worse shape than he'd feared.

They broke through the trees and onto the road. Bertwin and Lufian were already mounted, and each held the reins of two other horses—Brecc's and Rheged's and the pack horses. Brecc eyed his charger grimly. Mounting would be a challenge.

Rheged glanced at him. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough." Brecc did not bother asking how he knew. They understood each other too well for that. "But I'll manage."

The crack of branches and angry shouts were becoming louder. Their pursuers were dangerously close. Brecc placed the foot of his uninjured leg in the stirrup and prepared to swing himself up. They were two days' ride from Athelney, which meant he was in for a torturous journey. But it was a better option than walking or being captured by the Vikings.

Rheged hurried over to his mount and was in the saddle before Brecc had finished breathing through the agony of lifting his wounded leg over the horse's back.

"To the miller's straightway," Brecc called. "Once the delivery is made, we ride for Athelney."

Aisley poured the last of the dried chickweed into the crock on the wooden table. With April less than a fortnight away, new plants would be making their appearance in the hedgerows again. She needed to gather more and hang them to dry before her current supply dwindled to nothing. She frowned. It wasn't only the chickweed crock running low. Almost all her containers of dried medicinal plants needed to be replenished.

It was the same at the end of every winter, but this time, restocking her supplies was proving to be more challenging. Over the last fortnight, the Vikings had gone from keeping to themselves at their encampment by the river to loitering in the town, stealing from the merchants, and threatening anyone who did not do exactly as they said. Aisley's fear that Rangvald would find her again had yet to fully abate. He knew her name, and anyone in town could tell him where she lived. Since her return with Taber over three weeks before, she'd not dared go any farther from the longhouse than the stables and the cold storage room off the kitchen.

She'd felt the loss of Brecc's presence the moment she and Taber had entered the courtyard that day. It had left a void that no amount of distractions had fully removed. She thought on him daily—wondering where he was and what he was doing—but her own world had become very narrow.

With a sigh, she sealed the crock and set it beside the others. A small pile of linen bags lay beside them. Her newly required time indoors had forced her to take up a needle more than ever before, and creating little sacks for transporting the dried plants had seemed a more productive use of her time than embroidering linens. Over the last few days, however, she had accumulated so many of them, it might be time to contrive a new project. Brushing the lingering flakes of chickweed off her fingers, she moved to the door. The sun was reaching its zenith; she had been away from the longhouse all morning.

Voices reached her from outside. Curious, she tilted her head to better hear. One speaker was most certainly Wulfhere. The other was a man, but his voice was more indistinct. Lifting the latch, she pulled open the door just wide enough to see across the courtyard. Wulfhere was facing her, speaking to a broad-shouldered man wearing a sheepskin. His brown hair hung long and limp down his back, but it did not need to be in plaits for Aisley to recognize him. Her fingers froze on the doorlatch. What was Rangvald doing here? And why had Wulfhere not sent him away?

Wulfhere laughed, and the Viking joined in. The sound sent a shudder down Aisley's spine. This was not the interaction expected of men from opposing forces. Pressing her shoulder against the wall, she leaned forward to peer around the doorjamb. Another Viking stood waiting near the stables, holding the straps of two horses. He shifted his feet as though he'd been standing there for some time. How long had Rangvald been here? Had he been invited into the longhouse? The questions swirled through her head in a never-ending eddy, leaving her feeling more and more nauseated.

At last, Wulfhere slapped Rangvald on the back, and the men grasped each other's hands in an unmistakable sign of solidarity. The language barrier between them, it seemed, had been successfully crossed. Rangvald left Wulfhere's side and walked briskly to his waiting horse. With a brief word to his companion, they both mounted.

"Two," Rangvald said, holding up two fingers. "Two days."

"Aye." Wulfhere acknowledged the directive with a nod. "Return then."

Return? Horror clawed at Aisley's throat. Not only had Wulfhere received the Viking warmly, but he had also invited him back. She leaned against the wall, attempting to calm her racing thoughts. She did not know what Wulfhere was about, but she meant to find out. And the best place to start was with their mother.

She waited until the sound of hooves had faded and then peeked outside again. The courtyard was empty. Slipping out of the cold storage room, she closed the door behind her and ran directly to the longhouse. In the great hall, two chairs were positioned beside the fire, and a couple of goblets sat on a nearby table. No one was in the room, but the evidence of recent occupancy was clear.

Crossing the great hall, Aisley made for her mother's chamber. The door was ajar, so she knocked once and then pushed it open. Her mother was sitting beside the fire, a new needlework project upon her lap. Across from her, Diera was sewing something that looked suspiciously like yet another gown.

"Good day, Mother," Aisley said.

"Aisley! Where have you been this entire morning?"

"I was in the cold storage room." Her response should not have been a surprise, especially now.

"Then you'd best come in and warm up," her mother said. "I cannot imagine what kept you there so long."

Her desire to avoid any type of needlework would not be a welcomed response, so Aisley opted to change the subject. "There was a Viking in the courtyard."

"So, I believe." Her mother picked up her needle and kept her eyes on her fabric.

Aisley stared at her. "He was talking to Wulfhere. Congenially. As if they were friends."

"Mayhap they have found common ground."

"Common ground?" Aisley fought to maintain her composure. "Have you so soon forgotten what the Vikings did at the royal estate? What they are now doing across Wessex?"

Her mother released an exasperated sigh. "We left the royal estate far too quickly to know exactly what occurred there. Hearsay is always exaggerated."

"Thegns died! Ealdorman Ormod was murdered before we left the great hall. There is nothing hearsay about that."

There was another rap on the door, and Wulfhere walked in. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Aisley said. "As a matter of fact, I am very glad you are come. Mayhap you would be willing to explain to me—since mother appears unable to do so—why you were speaking so amiably to a Viking chieftain in the courtyard and even went as far as to invite him back to our home."

"First." Wulfhere took on a steely expression. "I would remind you that this is not our home, but my home. I am the one who determines who is welcome and who is not."

Aisley clenched her hands. "You are consorting with the enemy."

"Incorrect. I am forging agreements and creating pacts that will protect the people of Wiltshire."

"Protect them from what?" Aisley could scarcely believe this conversation was happening. "The only threat to our people comes from the very invaders with whom you are choosing to associate. Have you seen what they have done in town? How they have robbed and plundered and raped? Do you even care? Even if you have no feelings for the people you are supposed to watch over, you are surely aware of their devastating losses in income. How do you propose to collect your precious taxes when the Vikings have left them with nothing?"

"Aisley! That is quite enough." At her mother's shocked scolding, Aisley turned to her.

"Forgive me, Mother, but I disagree. If Father were here, he would be doing everything in his power to assist those who have been crushed by the Norse marauders, and he would be fully supporting King Alfred in his quest to evict the Vikings from our land."

"Father was a fool," Wulfhere said. "He was killed because he gave blind obedience to an incompetent king."

Tears pricked Aisley's eyes. "Father knew he was dying, and yet he willingly went to serve his king because he wished his last acts to be those of courage, honor, and integrity."

Wulfhere snorted. "You are as big a fool as he was. The Vikings are too strong. Look at what they have accomplished in Mercia and Northumbria. What makes you think Wessex is any different? We shall be living by Danelaw in no time. Our only hope for safety and security is to ally ourselves to the winning side." His expression became smug. "And you, my dear sister, have secured that for each of us."

As far as Aisley was concerned, the self-satisfied gleam in her brother's eyes was far more terrifying than his earlier reddened face and flared nostrils. A frisson of fear shot through her, leaving her heart pounding. Her mother and sister were unnaturally quiet. Ignoring them, Aisley raised her chin a fraction. "I assume you intend to explain what you mean by that."

"I shall spare you the details," Wulfhere said, "but suffice it to say, Rangvald will return two days hence to add a ridiculously heavy purse to the pledge he has already made. I am to retain my position of power in Wiltshire in exchange for offering him my full support and for giving him my redheaded sister to wife."

Aisley grasped the back of the chair Diera was occupying and clung to it with all her might. This could not be happening. It had to be a nightmare. "You ... you would sell your own sister to a plundering heathen? To a man who cares nothing for our God, our people, or our customs?" Her voice broke. "To one who does not even speak our language?"

"In truth, Rangvald has a remarkably good grasp of the Saxon tongue." Wulfhere acted as though he were discussing a toddler who had learned to talk earlier than most.

Two. Days. You. Name. The words echoed through her head in a mocking taunt. She turned to her mother, her grip on Diera's chair so tight that her knuckles hurt. "Mother," she cried. "Surely you will not allow this."

The fabric in her mother's hand trembled slightly, but she met Aisley's pleading look with disturbing calm. "Neither Wulfhere nor I are willing to place our trust in King Alfred again. If it had not been for Wulfhere, you, Diera, and I would have been homeless and penniless after your father died. He is doing this to secure our future."

Aisley stared at her in disbelief. "Do you truly care so little for my happiness?"

"You are strong, Aisley. Stronger than me or Diera. Marrying Rangvald may not have been your choice, but for the sake of your family, you will make the best of it."

The best of it? There was no best—nor anything remotely good—in any of this. She was being sold to feed Wulfhere's overarching desire for wealth and power. She looked to her sister. Diera's face was pale, her eyes brimming with tears. But she said nothing.

"Wulfhere cares nothing about anyone's future but his own," Aisley said. "Do you not see that?"

"Enough!" Wulfhere growled. "The time for discussion is over. The agreement has been made."

"Then unmake it!"

He curled his lip contemptuously. "You tout the virtues of integrity and would have me break my word to a Viking chieftain. I think not. My decision is made and will stand firm. You have two days to prepare for your departure. Be grateful for that. If it had been up to Rangvald, you would have left with him this very morning." And then he offered their mother a token nod of acknowledgment, turned on his heel, and marched out of the chamber.

Complete silence fell upon the room. Aisley stood alone. One part of her heart ached with hurt; the other part was utterly numb. Diera sniffled.

Their mother cleared her throat. "Let us talk on a different subject entirely," she said.

Both crushed and confounded by her mother's emotional detachment, Aisley looked away. "You and Diera may take upon yourselves that task if you wish, but it is currently beyond my supposedly strong capabilities." She walked to the door, keeping her head high even as tears threatened to fall. "Good day, Mother. Good day, Diera."

Closing the door behind her, Aisley took two short steps before her first sob escaped. A second followed. With her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, she pressed one hand to her mouth and ran from the building.