Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The stables were unnaturally quiet. Aisley stood just within the doorway, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The rustle of straw, thud of hooves against the hard-packed ground, and gentle nickers she associated with the building were absent. She missed them. The emptiness did not feel right. Or good.

Drawing her shawl more closely around her shoulders, she moved inside.

"Taber?" she called softly. "Are you here?"

"Aye." The clatter of a pail being set down on the other side of the stables was followed by hurried footsteps. Moments later, a boy of about nine years of age appeared, brushing his hands down his straw-covered tunic. "'Ow can I 'elp you, mistress?"

"I saw you out in the fields yesterday," she said. "With Daisy."

Taber shifted his feet anxiously. "Tryin' t' 'elp, I were. Mildritha in th' kitchen were tellin' me that Cook's right worried 'bout the peas and beans in the fields." He shrugged. "With all th' men gone, the weeds are takin' 'old, and there's been no one scarin' off th' birds."

"Are the peas close enough to harvest that the birds have started their pilfering?" Aisley asked.

"Aye. An' Cook's that worried 'bout it, she's plannin' t' send th' maids t' start harvestin' soon."

Aisley frowned. When she'd spotted their old plow horse in the field with Taber, it had been a welcome reminder that not every single horse had left with her father and the fyrd, and the realization had drawn her to the stables. She'd known this morning's visit would not be like the ones she usually made when she stopped to greet each of the horses in their stalls, but she'd determined that any time spent in the stables with Daisy translated to less time for needlework. Her visit had been intended as an escape rather than a reminder of their current difficulties.

"What must be done?" she asked.

Taber shrugged helplessly. "I don' rightly know, mistress. I've been walkin' Daisy twice a day, jus' t' keep 'er old legs movin', so I thought I might as well take 'er up an' down th' rows t' see if she couldn't scare off some of them vexin' birds while she were takin' th' air. Problem is, th' weeds are comin' on strong without anyone t' tend to 'em. The paths between th' rows are gettin' choked up. But I don' know 'nough 'bout such things t' start pullin' at plants."

Aisley stared at him, her thoughts whirling. Their stableboy might not know much about plants, but she did. Would her mother allow her to labor in the fields if it meant saving their crops?

"I'm glad you told me, Taber," she said. "I will speak to my mother about the crops and the weeds and the birds."

"I don' know what it is 'bout them birds. It's not like anyone 'ere told 'em that th' peas are ripe or th' men are gone. Wiley they are." He scratched his head. "With all the easy pickin's and freedom they 'ave flyin' all over, I'm thinkin' it wouldn't be so bad t' be a bird."

"If you were a duck, you might end up on someone's table," Aisley warned.

Taber grinned, erasing the worry that had shown on his face only moments before. "Nah. A hawk's what I'd be."

Aisley suppressed a giggle. It probably wouldn't do to tell Taber that he seemed far more like a sparrow than a hawk.

"I'd best go speak to my mother about the crops," she said. "Tell Daisy that I shall visit her soon."

"Aye, mistress."

Aisley hurried out of the stables and into the courtyard. Clouds filled the sky, and she paused to look up. Would they have rain by evening? A large black bird flew over the longhouse and landed on the rooftop. It cawed. Three more crows appeared, settling beside the first. The cawing intensified, and Aisley shuddered at the ugly sound. Birds—ducks, hawks, and sparrows included—certainly had their place. But surely the world could survive without crows. No one wished those harbingers of death close by.

The hillside was littered with bodies. Moans of the injured punctuated the gusts of wind that prefaced the storm that was assuredly coming. Brecc turned his face to the sky and closed his eyes, shutting out the devastating destruction before him. It was finished. The conflict at Wilton would be forever remembered as the battle the Saxons won and then allowed to slip through their fingers.

They'd had no time to regroup. No time for the shield wall to function as it should. The Vikings had surged back over the ridge to tear through the unprepared men of Wessex, hacking them down indiscriminately until thousands lay dead and dying.

Brecc took a deep breath and released it slowly. He'd walked through hell today. By some miraculous means, he had emerged on the other side still whole. But far too many others could not say the same. Arthw was gone. As were a goodly portion of the other thegns. Brecc lowered his head. He was not sure how the young king would fare without his experienced warriors. By God's grace, Ormod had survived. He would be King Alfred's anchor through the maelstrom ahead. Even now, he was assisting the king with the distasteful task of brokering an agreement with the Viking chieftain, Guthrum. Danegeld would be required. The churches would be stripped of their wealth, and the Saxon people would suffer.

Swallowing against the bitterness in his mouth, Brecc crossed the short distance to the river and dropped to his knees at its bank. He lowered one hand, allowing the water to trickle through his fingers before scooping it up to his lips. He drank and then repeated the process. A persistent stinging on his right cheek reminded him that a Viking blade had very nearly reached his throat. He rinsed his cheek with another scoopful of water, grateful that the water ran clear when he lowered his hand. His byrnie had saved him more than once this afternoon. Had he been dressed as so many of the laborers and farmers had been, he would not have been so fortunate.

A wagon rolled toward him, a man on horseback riding alongside it. Brecc rose to his feet. Drying his hand on his tunic, he studied the approaching rider. Hair so blond it was almost white. A blue tunic stained with blood and dirt but recognizable nonetheless.

He stepped forward. "Greetings, Wulfhere."

The ealdorman's son raised his hand, and the wagon driver reined the horse to a stop.

"Ealdorman Brecc," Wulfhere said, guiding his horse a little closer. "I had not thought to see you again."

"Nor I you," Brecc replied. "I am grateful to know that your life has been spared."

"Aye." Wulfhere's eyes flashed. "Although the same cannot be said for my father."

Brecc's heart sank. It should not have come as a surprise, given the older man's weakened state, but the news was a blow. A vision of the ealdorman's daughter, Aisley, flashed before him. Her desperate desire to spare her father from unduly suffering was a meaningful indication of how difficult his death would be for her.

"I am truly sorry. Although I did not know him well, it was readily apparent that your father was a good man."

"He was." Wulfhere's jaw moved as though he were working to contain his emotions. "I shall return his body to Trowbridge, where he shall be given a burial befitting a gentleman of his station."

Brecc's gaze darted to the wagon, its presence on the battlefield now clear. The serviceable vehicle had come from Trowbridge bearing weapons; it would return carrying its master. And all Wiltshire would mourn the loss.

"Your mother and sisters—"

"They shall be well cared for," Wulfhere interrupted before he could finish. "Upon learning of my father's death in battle, the king granted me the position of Ealdorman of Wiltshire in my father's stead."

The depth of Brecc's relief that Aisley would not be forced to relocate from her home and that she would continue to have her needs met was both unexpected and startling. He had only spoken to the girl twice, and yet her welfare mattered to him.

"I am glad to hear it." This news would alleviate the loss for every member of the ealdorman's family. Mustering a strained smile, Brecc took a step back. "Godspeed to you. I shall slow your journey no longer."

Aisley pressed her thumb against the edge of the peapod. It popped open, exposing a row of perfectly round green peas within. She ran her finger along the inside, watching with satisfaction as the peas dropped one by one into the large bowl on her knee. There was something wonderfully satisfying about the simple activity, and Aisley was glad to be productive.

Her mother had been aghast at Aisley's request that she work in the fields, pulling weeds. But upon learning that the crops were suffering due to the men's absence, she had reassigned a few of the household servants to the fields. Unfortunately, that had left Cook shorthanded. It hadn't taken Aisley long to convince her mother that she was perfectly capable of shelling peas and that she could complete the assignment in a manner worthy of an ealdorman's daughter.

"How are the peas coming along, Aisley?"

Aisley started. She hadn't heard her mother enter the kitchen. Straightening her spine, she held out the bowl for her mother's inspection. "I have only a handful left."

"She's been doin' marvelously, mistress." Cook wiped her wet hands on a rag and moved away from a large pot of water to bob a curtsy.

"I'm glad to hear it. But you've been here long enough for one day."

Aisley glanced at the small pile of unshelled peapods. She was so close to finishing; it seemed a terrible shame to walk away now. "It would not take me—" She stopped as the clatter of hooves reached them. Far more hooves than Daisy could claim.

Her mother's gaze darted to the window, and the next moment, Diera flew through the door.

"They're back," she gasped. "Father, Wulfhere, all the men, and their horses."

"You've seen Father?" Aisley had already set down the bowl of peas and was making for the door.

"Well, no. Not yet. But his men would not return without him, would they?"

With her mother and Diera close at her heels, Aisley ran into the courtyard. Already the large square was filling with men and horses. The wagon rolled slowly up to the main door of the longhouse, and the man riding beside it turned to speak to the driver.

"It's Wulfhere," Diera cried, waving.

Aisley glanced at her mother. She was exhibiting none of Diera's enthusiasm. Her face had paled, and her gaze had yet to leave the wagon. Aisley turned her attention to the back of the vehicle. Swords and shields lined one side. A gray blanket covered whatever lay on the other.

Wulfhere dismounted. He must have seen them standing outside the kitchen, because he started toward them, his gait stiff and his face grave.

"Dear God." Her mother's murmured words were barely audible. "Let it not be so."

"Mother." Wulfhere reached them and bowed politely to their mother.

"Tell me," she demanded.

"He is gone," Wulfhere said. "Killed by a Viking spear on the battlefield."

Aisley stared at Wulfhere, attempting to comprehend his words. No. It could not be. Not her father. She swung back to face the blanketed object in the wagon, understanding and tears releasing simultaneously. "Father is dead?" she whispered.

Wulfhere offered her a curt nod. Diera looked from him to their mother and started to sniffle.

Their mother stood stiffly, her hands clasped tightly at her sides. "I warned him." Her voice wavered. "I told him not to go."

"You did," Wulfhere said. "It would have served him well to listen."

"What good is that knowledge now?"

He looked away. "I should have supported you when you spoke to him of your concerns."

Their mother released a short breath. "This is no more your fault than mine."

"Agreed." Something flashed in Wulfhere's eyes. "If the blame is to fall anywhere, it should be placed firmly upon King Alfred's head."

"But you said it was a Viking who took Father's life." Aisley swiped at her tears.

"Aye. In a massacre that never should have happened." Bitterness filled his voice. "Thousands of men killed—and for what? Nothing. Worse than nothing. Wessex has lost its men and its gold."

"The king agreed to pay the Danegeld," her mother said.

"Aye." Wulfhere snorted. "If he was willing to barter our gold for peace, he should have done it before the slaughter."

"I do not understand." Aisley looked from her mother to Wulfhere, desperate for clarity. Nothing made sense. Her father was gone, and yet they appeared more anxious to place blame than to grieve his loss.

"You are too young to apprehend what has happened," Wulfhere said.

"I am old enough." Aisley raised her chin. "Father would have explained if he were here."

Wulfhere released a frustrated grunt. "The king has agreed to pay the Viking chieftain a great deal of gold on condition that the chieftain and his men leave Wessex. Churches will be stripped of their treasures, and taxes on the citizens of Wessex will increase to pay the debt."

"We are ruined," their mother said, the first hint of fear entering her voice. "Without your father, we can pay nothing. We have nothing."

"The danegeld will make life more difficult, but we shall manage," Wulfhere said. "I am the Ealdorman of Wiltshire now."

Their mother gasped. "The king has given the position to you?"

"He has."

She smiled. It was her first real smile since Aisley's father had ridden out of the courtyard. Aisley looked away, emotion churning within her. Wulfhere's appointment may have allayed her mother's anxiety, but it had done nothing to alleviate the aching emptiness in Aisley's chest. She stifled a sob. Her father was gone. Even if the Vikings were no longer an imminent threat, from this moment on, nothing in her life would ever be the same.