Chapter 33

Chapter 33

The siege of Guthrum's fortress at Chippenham was in its fourteenth day. Brecc sat before the campfire eating pottage, thinking of Aisley and their departure from Bratton Camp. He had ridden with the two wagons and the wounded men until they'd reached the royal estate in Edington. Leaving her there in the care of Rheged and Lufian, both wounded themselves, had been difficult, but knowing that any Vikings who had survived the battle had relocated to Chippenham had helped. He sighed and scraped the last of his food from his bowl. Surely this waiting could not go on much longer.

He rose to rinse his bowl in a barrel of water, grateful that the townspeople had responded to King Alfred and his men's return by supplying them with sufficient food to keep them fed and in good spirits for a long sojourn. Brecc doubted the same could be said for the Vikings. They had returned to Chippenham vastly depleted in numbers and with many wounded. Their winter stores would be running low at this time of year, and with the Saxons blocking all means of entering or exiting the fortress, their chances for survival were slim.

King Alfred exited the closest tent and looked around. "Our numbers are few this morning."

Brecc bowed. "I believe it is an illusion, Sire. Our numbers are great, but most men are not so slow to eat as I and have relieved the night guards of their duties. Those who watched during the night are already abed."

"Just so." He looked toward the fortress. "Still no word."

"No, Sire."

The king frowned. "Guthrum is a proud man, but he has lost too much to recover this time. He knows it. It is merely a matter of time before he is willing to admit it."

"I pray for all our sakes that he chooses to end the siege soon."

"As do I." The king studied Brecc a little too carefully. "Is there another reason—other than wishing to sleep in a more comfortable bed and don a fresh tunic—that you are particularly anxious to have this portion of the conflict behind us?"

"There is, Sire." Brecc had been reluctant to broach the subject when the monarch's thoughts were understandably consumed with weightier matters, but the king had offered him a direct invitation to share what was on his mind. "When the siege is over, I wish to take Aisley to wife."

"I see. And how does the young lady feel about that?"

"I believe she will be more enthusiastic about the notion than she was about Rangvald's proposal," he said.

King Alfred laughed. "I should certainly hope so. There are few men more despicable than he. You have my blessing. Both of you. Not that you need it, mind you, but a king can offer it regardless."

The clatter of horses' hooves moving at a rapid clip interrupted any further conversation. King Alfred and Brecc turned to see Odda accompanied by half a dozen guards gallop into the campsite.

"I have news, Sire." Odda was out of breath. He leaped from his horse and strode toward them. Pausing only long enough to bow, he continued. "Guthrum wishes to abandon the fortress in Chippenham. He is offering any number of hostages in exchange for safe passage for him and his men out of Wessex."

"He is surrendering without requesting Saxon hostages for safe passage?" Brecc asked. It had never been done before.

"I believe he is driven by desperation," Odda replied. "His men are starving. They have no fuel for fires, and many are still nursing wounds."

If Guthrum was desperate, King Alfred could exact almost any price—even to the loss of Guthrum's and his chieftains' lives—in exchange for the lives of his men. So costly a reprisal for losing at battle was not unheard of. Indeed, during Viking conquests, it was common. But King Alfred's Christian convictions had set him on a higher, nobler path, and he had yet to exhibit the vindictiveness necessary for such a penalty.

Brecc and Odda waited, watching the king as he studied the distant fortress pensively.

"I shall accept Guthrum's surrender," King Alfred said. "He and his men are to leave Wessex and are to take an oath that they shall never return." He paused. "I do have one further stipulation, however: Guthrum's oath may not be made in the name of one of the Vikings' pagan gods. Such an agreement is worthless. That has been proven time and time again."

"Do you have a suggestion for how you might obtain a more binding contract with the Viking, Sire?" Odda asked.

"I do." King Alfred straightened his shoulders. "Guthrum must swear to honor our treaty before the one true God. Not as a pagan but as a baptized Christian. If Guthrum agrees that three weeks hence, he and his chieftains will willingly be christened and that Guthrum himself will accept me as his godfather, then—and only then—shall he and his men leave unharmed."

Odda appeared as dumbfounded as Brecc felt. He cleared his throat, but presumably could find no words.

"That is it, Odda," King Alfred said. "There can be no other way. Give Guthrum my message. If he is willing to accept my conditions, the siege ends today. If not, we shall remain here until he and his men are dead."

Odda bowed. "I shall return forthwith, Sire." Returning to his horse, he mounted swiftly, and with the guards riding behind him, he took off down the road as quickly as he had come. The king and Brecc watched him go until he disappeared beyond the trees.

"What think you of those terms, Brecc?"

"They are bold, Sire."

"And foolish?"

"Unprecedented, most certainly. But I would find fault with anyone who claimed them foolish until they have been proven so."

"Having given the matter a great deal of thought," the king said, "I believe Wessex shall never know lasting peace until Guthrum and his chieftains accept that there is a higher power to whom they must answer for their actions. It may be that they are never willing to truly believe in the God we know, but unless we give them the opportunity to discover Him, we shall never know."

"It is a generous offer," Brecc said. "And an astute observation."

"Wisdom is a painfully hard-earned attribute for a young king," he admitted. "Ormod knew as much, but he stood by me regardless."

"I believe we have all missed his steadying presence, Sire."

"Just so. It is rare to find a thegn whose sound judgment is offered without overbearance or a desire for personal advancement. But it is a quality that you and Ormod share. And for that reason, I wish you to take on his former role—that of my special adviser."

Brecc stared at him. "I am honored, Sire, but you and I are of a similar age. I cannot offer you the wisdom that comes with experience or years of hindsight."

"That may be true, but I trust your judgment, Brecc, and decades of experience is worthless if it comes from an unreliable source."

There was no refuting the truthfulness of that statement. "If all you require of me is my thoughtful consideration of issues that face the kingdom and crown, followed by my honest opinion, then I humbly acc—"

"Wait!" King Alfred raised his hand. "There is more." The warmth in his eyes belied his stern expression. "Friendship. That is not a condition every monarch would set, but in this case, I must insist upon it."

Brecc's thoughts could have turned to the experiences he and the king had shared since their perilous flight from Chippenham on Twelfth Night, but instead, they flew back to his childhood, and the many hours he and the young prince Alfred had spent in play together. "In that case," he said, "I believe I am well qualified for the assignment. That requirement was met many years ago."

This time, King Alfred allowed himself a genuine smile. "I am glad to hear it. In truth, there are times when a king needs an adviser to help guide him, and there are other times when he simply needs a friend to sit with him whilst he awaits the response to a message of significant import."

With an understanding look, Brecc gestured toward the two wooden chairs positioned at the opening of the king's tent. "At the pace Odda set when he left, this time, at least, I do not suppose we shall have to wait very long."

Aisley sat beside the queen on the front pew of the Aller church, awaiting the arrival of the men. Sunlight filtered in through the narrow windows, painting the wooden seats a golden brown and warming the flagstone floor. Before them was the christening font filled with water. Behind them, the priest stood beside the door to the church, a basket of salt in his hand.

The latch clicked, and the door creaked open. The queen and Aisley rose, and the king, followed by Brecc and Odda, entered the building. The priest inclined his head and stood aside so that the men might make their way up the short aisle. Brecc's eyes met hers, the warmth in their dark depths bringing a shy smile to her face. He took his place beside the king on the row across from Aisley's, and then Guthrum entered the church.

The fearsome Viking chieftain was dressed in white. He stopped opposite the priest, and as a candidate for baptism, he opened his mouth for a portion of salt. The priest placed it under his tongue, and then Guthrum walked to the front of the church. Thirty of his closest associates—also dressed in white—followed. Each took their portion of salt before filing into the pews.

The king's most loyal thegns came next. Upon entering the church, they positioned themselves shoulder to shoulder along the walls. Guthrum's men watched them sullenly. Aisley studied the Vikings' faces. Their skin was weathered, and most had drawn their long beards into a single plait similar to the two hanging from their heads. Their blue eyes were alert, and their expressions ranged from puzzled to curious to defeated.

Many of the thegns appeared wary, and even though they were in a church, the knives at their waists were ever present. Rheged and Lufian stood closest to her. Their wounds had healed well, and that knowledge was a balm to her heart whenever she thought of the many men Wessex had lost in battle at Bratton Camp. Of the nineteen men she had treated, she had lost only four. Taber's death haunted her still, but Brecc had fulfilled his promise and had seen to it that the young man was buried in the churchyard at Edington with all the religious rites offered to a man of means.

She returned her gaze to Brecc, unable to contain the flutter of excitement she experienced whenever she set eyes upon him. Ever since his return from the siege at Chippenham, he and the king had worked tirelessly to bring about this event. But he had ensured that any time available to him between royal assignments had been hers. He'd sought her out every day. Sometimes they'd taken a walk or ride together. Other times, they'd sat side by side in the gardens at the royal estate and talked. Occasionally, when time had been truly limited, he'd brought her a flower and had kissed her soundly before hastening back to the king's chambers.

Her cheeks warmed at the memories of those favorite moments, and as she watched him standing beside the king, she offered a silent prayer of gratitude for the series of miracles that had brought her to this point.

"Please be seated." The priest's voice filled the small church, and with a rustle of fabric, all but the thegns lining the walls lowered themselves onto the pews. "Would Guthrum of Denmark and his sponsor please come forward."

Guthrum and King Alfred rose. Keeping his face forward, Guthrum followed the king to stand beside the priest at the font.

"Do you, Guthrum, renounce your previous pagan beliefs and embrace your newfound faith in Jesus Christ?" the priest asked.

"Aye." The Viking had yet to look away from the priest, so when the older man gestured toward the font, he obediently moved closer.

After a few quiet words were spoken between them, the priest anointed Guthrum's head and then plunged it into the font. King Alfred stepped up, and grasping Guthrum by the shoulders, he lifted him up from the water and embraced him.

Aisley was unprepared for the rush of emotion that accompanied King Alfred's unexpected act of fellowship, and it seemed that many of the thegns felt similarly. Their countenances reflected their wonder at what they were witnessing. And although others in the room appeared more skeptical, the atmosphere in the church had changed from one of suspicion to one of acceptance.

"Be it known to all assembled here and those far from this church," King Alfred said, standing beside Guthrum, "that from this day forth, my godson shall be known by the Christian name Aethelstan."

"Aethelstan," Guthrum repeated, and then with a dazed nod to the priest, he and King Alfred resumed their seats, and the first of his men walked to the front to repeat the ceremony.

One by one, the Vikings were baptized. The priest waited until the last one returned to his pew and then invited all to kneel. Everyone, including the thegns lining the wall, lowered themselves to their knees, and the priest offered a prayer over the congregation. When the last amens had been spoken, the king approached the aisle where the queen and Aisley sat and extended his arm to his wife. Smiling, she took it, and as they began their walk to the back of the church, the Vikings filtered into the aisle behind them, exiting the rustic building with a reverence rarely found outside a church of much greater size and splendor.

Aisley turned to watch the exodus, waiting until the last of the thegns had followed after the Vikings before moving.

"I wondered if you would ever choose to leave."

With a start, Aisley swung around. Brecc was standing at the end of the pew, an understanding smile on his face.

"Forgive me." She moved toward him. "I did not mean to keep you waiting. I thought you had gone ahead with the king."

He reached for her hand. "I told him I would likely be a little late in joining him."

"We can hasten." She wove her fingers between his, expecting him to draw her into the aisle. But he did not move. "Brecc?"

"I know you have an attachment to this old church," he said.

"I do, but we need not stay any longer."

He tightened his grip on her hand but still did not move. "This morning, it struck me that since we would be here together and the priest would be available, along with those on whom we could call to witness a private ceremony ..."

Aisley's heart was suddenly beating so loudly she could barely hear what Brecc was saying.

The door at the rear of the church opened, and Rheged appeared. "Lufian, Odda, and I are still waiting. Is there to be a wedding or not?"

Brecc released a weary sigh. "Why do I even associate with him?"

Aisley laughed softly. "One moment, Rheged," she said, and then she took Brecc's other hand in hers. "Please continue."

Turning his back on the three thegns who were now standing at the rear of the room, he looked at her with such tenderness that tears pricked Aisley's eyes.

"I believe you know how deeply I love you and how desperately I wish to marry you. I have spoken to the priest who officiated at the baptisms, and if it pleases you, he is willing to also perform our wedding ceremony this day." He smiled uncertainly. "The king has decreed that the grand banquet he has planned at Wedmore to celebrate the Vikings' baptisms may also serve to celebrate our union."

"Brecc," she said, barely able to contain her happiness. "I can think of nothing that would bring me greater joy than to wed to you at the Aller church this day."

His smile was immediate. He released her hands to cup her face, and before she could so much as catch her breath, he was kissing her—filling her heart with his ardent love and sweet promises for their future.

"Well, men," Rheged said. "I have yet to hear from Brecc himself, but I think it is safe to summon the priest. All signs are that the wedding will take place."

The door creaked open again, and Brecc drew back just far enough to set his forehead against hers.

"When the wedding is over, would you like me to lead him to the shore so that you may dunk his head in the swamp?" Aisley whispered.

He laughed softly. "Other than the realization that I could marry you this day, that is the best notion I have heard for a very long time."

And then, because the thegns had gone in search of the priest and Brecc and Aisley were finally alone, he kissed her again.