Warrior Princess

I remember the moment I first saw him, in the Great Hall of Morden Castle — a tall, striking figure, dressed in the black habit of the Benedictines — head slightly bowed, standing calmly before my father’s throne. It was the way he held himself — straight backed, square shouldered — not a hint of nervousness — as the gossip of the court swirled around him.

“Too young to be a monk,” they whispered.

“Must be a novice.”

“How old is he?”

“His hair is untonsured.”

“From the Abbey at Chertsey, apparently.”

“And he scared off a longship?”

“I heard it was five.”

I sat to my father’s left side, aloof and impassive as the spectacle was prepared. How I despised the court and its participants — the pompous loudmouths who jostled for position — the spineless snitches who’d do anything to get ahead. They were the reason the kingdom was so imperilled — long on talk, little on action — a council paralysed by indecision.

The prisoners were being brought in now — the long-haired Vikings, stripped of their armour, hands tied tightly behind their backs. There must have been forty or more, each one shoved roughly to his knees on the cold stone floor. The murmuring of the crowd was getting louder, eyes wide, fingers pointing, as the captives slumped wretched in defeat. This was a rare victory for the Kingdom of Surrey — unprecedented — few had seen the raiders humbled in this way. The castle jail would be full tonight.

My gaze rested again on the tall figure in the black habit. He looked a little older than me, but still in his early twenties. There was no denying he was attractive — his jet-black hair cascaded over his forehead in thick curls, half-concealing his deep blue eyes. There was something mysterious about him — compelling even. My heart beat a fraction faster.

The young man glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for a split second. Hurriedly I looked away, my cheeks reddening — he’d caught me watching him. I cursed my self-consciousness — why on earth should I feel embarrassed? A royal princess could look at whomsoever she chose — especially one so humble as him. Why should he be any different?

The heavy oak doors at the far end of the hall clanged shut, rescuing me from my awkwardness. A hush descended as Sigweard, Thane of Chertsey, strode forwards, swaggering towards my father’s throne. His son Sigbehrt followed behind, smirking at the courtiers on either side. I stared forwards disinterestedly, trying to avoid his eyes.

“Lord Sigweard, you bring us report?” King Frithwald asked in a clear, authoritative tone.

“Your majesty,” came the reply, his voice booming around the hall. “I beg leave to present news of a great victory…” The showman bowed low, pausing for dramatic effect. “The capture of five Viking longships.”

A gasp went up from the obsequious courtiers as the thane swept his arm to indicate the captives.

“We bring the prisoners to receive your justice,” he proclaimed. He gave another low, theatrical bow. Sigweard always revelled in the spotlight.

“Then tell how you accomplished this heroic feat,” commanded the king.

“Your majesty,” the thane continued, “my men were patrolling the banks of the Great River, when we espied in midstream the longships in great distress. Two small boats had been set on fire and were drifting in the wind towards them.

“The crews were panicking. They tried to row away from the flames, but the longships foundered on the shoals and my men waded out to them easily. We arrested them all.”

Another sweep of his arm to indicate the wretched Vikings.

“And the fireboats?” my father asked, letting a note of excitement colour his voice. “Who set them against the raiders?”

“Your Majesty, that was me,” said the tall young man, his voice bold and clear.

Astonished gasps sounded around the court as all heads turned to the tall figure in the habit. Who would dare to speak uninvited before the king? A stern rebuke would surely follow — the novice might even be expelled from the court. The thane’s brow knotted in frustration.

“Step forward. Tell us your name!” King Frithwald commanded, ignoring the breach of protocol.

“I am Cedric,” the young man began, “novice of the Abbey of Chertsey, your majesty. My lord abbot sends his most loyal greeting.”

He spoke calmly and clearly, completely oblivious to the stunned reaction of the court. Sigweard looked on, more than a little peeved, his thunder stolen by the newcomer.

“Then pray tell us, Cedric of Chertsey — how did you set these boats of fire on our foe?”

“Your majesty, I was making my way across the town bridge, the night before last,” Cedric began. “I looked out across the Great River and saw a longship coming upstream. But the wind and the current were against it and the oarsmen were struggling.”

“Your majesty…” Sigweard interrupted, trying to regain my father’s attention.

My father held up his hand to silence him. The thane shrank back, his face a picture of injured pride.

“Indeed,” said the king thoughtfully, turning back to Cedric, “there was a full moon that night and from Chertsey Bridge one can see a long way down the river.”

There was a pause. The courtiers waited with bated breath.

“Pray, continue,” nodded my father.

“I saw two rowing boats filled with rags — the type the local fishermen use. They were tied beneath the arches. I climbed down and set the rags aflame with the oil from my lamp,” said Cedric. “Then I cut the moorings and let the current take the boats towards the longship.”

My eyes darted across to Sigbehrt. I’d expected him to be purple with envy as Cedric’s tale of heroism unfolded. But no, he was looking up at the hammer-beam roof of the hall, that same smirk still written broad across his face. A man, only a few years his junior, was stealing the limelight — surely he was hating every moment?

“The oarsmen panicked,” continued Cedric. “And a gust of wind took hold of the longship and pushed it to the bank.”

“And your men were waiting there?” asked my father, turning away from the Benedictine and directing his question to Sigweard.

A wave of relief passed across the thane’s face. He was back in control.

“Yes, your majesty — a cohort of my finest men had been tracking the longships from Kingston. We were ready to confront the Vikings when they came ashore. They crumbled when they saw the strength of our force.”

“And these are the prisoners from the longships?”

“From the first longship, your majesty,” Sigweard bowed low — an unnecessary gesture. “We could not bring all five crews, for they number almost two hundred. The others languish in Chertsey Jail and await your pleasure.”

My father placed his hand on his beard and stroked it thoughtfully, knotting his brow as he contemplated the accounts. He rose to his feet.

“Guards!” he called. “Take the prisoners to our dungeons!”

Dozens of soldiers, dressed in the dark blue uniforms of the Surrey army, ran forwards and manhandled the unresisting Vikings away. The great oak doors slammed shut behind them and silence descended on the court.

The king turned to the young man in the black habit. “Cedric of Chertsey, we thank you for your loyal service. You will stay in Morden Castle as our guest tonight and tomorrow you shall return to the abbey, with our thanks and a gift for the lord abbot.”

The novice bowed.

“I thank you, your majesty,” he said humbly. “I live only to serve.”

My eyes fixed on the young man. His words were clever, but the double meaning would not be lost on anyone — as a Benedictine, his allegiance was to a higher power.

“Step forward Sigweard, Thane of Chertsey,” commanded my father.

I watched as he reached for his ceremonial sword — a reward was coming, a new status would be conferred.

“My Lord Sigweard,” declared the king. “You have served me honourably for many years. For your loyalty, I elevate you to the Earldom of Guildown.”

Lightly he tapped the new earl on each shoulder with the sword.

“Arise Sigweard, Earl of Guildown!”

Around me the courtiers burst into applause, cheering their approval. Dutifully I smiled, but inside a numbness gripped me — this was either a master strategy or a demonstration of abject weakness. Sigweard would now control the western half of the kingdom — it was only a matter of time before he set his sights on the rest.

I looked across at Cedric as the cheers sounded around us. Our eyes met, but this time I held his gaze. His expression betrayed his concern — he shared my fears.

My father held his hand for silence and spoke again, “Step forward Sigbehrt.”

My heart sank — I knew what was coming.

“For your loyalty and service, I declare you Thane of Chertsey.”

Again the applause thundered around the hall. I forced another smile onto my face, but the panic was rising in my chest. Sigbehrt now had a title of his own — and a powerful one at that. There’d be no stopping him — he’d made no secret of his intentions –undoubtedly he’d seek my hand.

The new earl and thane bowed low before the throne. My mother stood and together the king and queen made their way to the doors at the back of the dais.

Dutifully I followed behind, playing my part — Princess Elspeth — the younger daughter of King Frithwald of Surrey. I glanced back towards Cedric — I could have sworn he gave a gentle smile as he caught my eye for a third time.

Quickly I turned my head away, looking down at the floor as I followed my parents through the entrance to the royal residence. What was I doing? What was I thinking? A princess could not marry a monk. But as my eyes had met with his, perhaps I’d felt something I’d never felt before.

I took a deep breath as the door shut behind me, relieved to be hidden from public view. In the morning the novice would be back in Chertsey — I would never see him again. The next day I’d have forgotten all about him — or so I told myself.

—

There was a feast that night. The Great Hall was full. Long tables were laid with sumptuous food. The wealthy and powerful were assembled. This was a celebration the kingdom could ill afford, but one it needed to have. A victory over the Vikings was all too rare.

I tried very hard to enjoy myself on these occasions, but I hated each one more than the last. Sitting there demurely like a doll, the dry make up plastered on my face, black hair plaited and pinned in painfully tight curls — my job was to look pretty and listen in awe as the self-important bores debated politics, religion and the law.

Still the old men were better than the women — the gaggle of opinionated harpies who spent their time gossiping about my suitors. But even they were preferable to the young bachelors of the kingdom – they were the ones competing for my favour, jostling in position as they waited to dance with me. Their elder brothers had done the same for my sister — she’d loved every minute, revelling in the attention they gave. I’d always find an excuse to take the air or retire to my bedchamber, to get away from their clammy hands and stinking breath. But the time was coming when I could avoid them no longer.

I looked to the other end of the table, expecting to see Cedric of Chertsey sitting quietly — a lonely figure, overwhelmed by the cacophony of the feasting. But no — there he was, talking animatedly to his neighbour, laughing and joking with the man next to him. I frowned — were my eyes deceiving me? Was that really my father’s finance minister? The treasurer was the most boring man in the kingdom, jealously guarding the dwindling gold reserves from any spending he considered frivolous. He hated these occasions even more than I did — he’d sit morosely, ignoring those around him — watching suspiciously as each platter of food was brought in. But there he was — bantering with the novice as if he had not a care in the world. What had Cedric done to him?

The lower tables were being cleared away now, making space for the dancing to come. Up in the gallery, the minstrels were reorganising themselves, getting ready to change the pace. This was the part I’d been dreading the most.

A hand grasped me by the shoulder, pinning me sharply, making sure I couldn’t escape. I knew immediately who it was.

“My lady,” crowed an oily voice, “might I have the honour of the first dance?”

I looked up at him as he leaned over me. The new thane was drunk – his breath smelt even worse than usual.

“Lord Sigbehrt,” I replied as disinterestedly as I could. “I must congratulate you on your elevation.”

I turned to face him, but he kept his tight grip on me. There was that smirk again — even broader than before.

“His majesty is gracious to recognise my faithful service,” he answered, his voice dripping with sycophancy.

“But my lord, ’tis reward for the greatest act of bravery,” I persisted, unsure why I was trying to flatter him. “So many Vikings taken on a single night!”

Sigbehrt smiled again, preparing to launch into a boastful retelling of his role, but he stopped himself short.

“Were it not for the young Benedictine, the longships would have sailed through Chertsey Bridge and on to Wessex,” he replied, indicating Cedric with a nod.

I turned and looked across at the novice. There he was, listening intently as the usually tight-lipped treasurer poured gossip and indiscretions into his ear.

Sigbehrt prickled and gripped my shoulder more tightly.

“Now we shall dance,” he demanded.

I sighed inwardly. It was better to give him what he wanted — the first dance was always formal, with minimal contact with the partners. If I was civil to him, he’d be civil back. I could make an escape thereafter.

“The honour is mine,” I replied, forcing a smile.

And so we danced — or at least I tried to. Sigbehrt stepped on my feet twice in the first minute and several times after that. But he neither noticed nor cared. He was too busy making sure that everyone knew, that everyone saw — I was his prize that night.

Except I wasn’t. The music ended, I feigned exhaustion and fled the Great Hall, leaving him jilted and shaking with rage. Not that it mattered — he’d be back in Chertsey the next day — with any luck I wouldn’t see him for months.

I pretended to withdraw to my bedchamber, but gave the ladies-in-waiting the slip and instead headed out into the cold night air. It was already dark outside. I lifted the hood of my cloak over my head, completing my transformation to anonymity — it was a disguise I used so often – no one would give me a second glance.

Past the castle dungeon I crept, glancing down at the metal grating that let minimal air into the cells below. I imagined the prisoners, huddled together, listening to the sounds of celebration as they lay in their misery on the damp, earthen floor. Perhaps there’d be a noble or even a prince among their number — my father would extract a hefty ransom if there was. The rest would die — there was no doubt about it. They’d hang in towns across the realm — a warning to those who’d challenge King Frithwald.

Slowly I climbed the steps to the castle walls. I loved gazing out from the ramparts, watching as the world retired for the night, wondering what it would be like to be free of the shackles of royal life. The moon was hidden and the lights of the town below me burned brightly. The streets were empty, the common folk were already asleep — just a handful of guardsmen keeping watch in the market square.

Silently I crept behind the turret at the north-western corner of the battlements. The sounds of celebrating soldiers reached my ears. I frowned — they were not supposed to drink on duty. But what was the harm? The tide of war had run against us for so long — who would begrudge them this moment?

Who was that — standing alone on the western wall, holding aloft a flaming torch, staring down into the forest beyond the river? That silhouette was unmistakeable! But what was he doing here?

Cautiously, I moved towards him, doing my best to hide the sound of my footsteps. He heard my approach and turned towards me. It took a second for him to recognise me in the flickering light, but then he bowed low.

“My lady,” the young Benedictine mumbled deferentially. Perhaps he expected admonishment.

I glanced over the battlements. Was that another light I saw at the edge of the forest? Rapidly it disappeared. Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks — doubtless a peasant securing his animals for the night.

“The hero of the kingdom!” I replied wryly.

“I am no hero, my lady,” Cedric said quietly – it was the sort of self-deprecating answer I’d expect of a novice.

“But you are!” I insisted teasingly. “You made the Vikings panic — you pushed them ashore when they were ill-prepared for a landing, right into the hands of our soldiers.”

He shook his head. His expression was one of seriousness.

“I set two fire boats — the simple rowing boats the peasants use — barely big enough for two grown men. How could they panic two hundred raiders? Surrender five longships – for that?” he asked incredulously.

His tone alarmed me, pouring cold water over the euphoria of victory. I’d been so caught up in the humbling of the Vikings and the likely consequences of Sigbehrt’s promotion, that I’d never stopped to ask if the story made sense.

“Doubtless there were others, but without your actions, they could not have played their part.” I was attempting to flatter him, more for my sake than his — but I could hear my words ringing hollow.

Cedric made as if to speak again but thought better of it.

“And now,” I continued, “there are forty prisoners here in our jail and eight score more at Chertsey. The Viking king will pay a heavy ransom for their lives.”

Cedric frowned, hesitating for a moment.

“Your father is a skilled negotiator,” he said slowly. “If anyone can make peace with the raiders, it is he.”

I nodded. Surrey was poor and weak, but the cunning of my father’s diplomacy had preserved the kingdom from attack by our neighbours several times.

“But the Vikings — they will not be satisfied,” Cedric continued. “Maybe they will leave their attacks on this kingdom for a few years, but they will turn their fight to others. Already they harry the coast of Sussex. Mercia will be next – they sense its weakness.”

I looked at him incredulously. Who was this novice monk who dared to predict the enemy’s next move?

“And how do you presume to know the mind of the Vikings?” I challenged him sternly.

“You hear much talk when you wait on the abbot’s table,” he replied, a little superciliously.

That was probably true, I reasoned. Chertsey was in the far northwest of the kingdom, close to the borders of Mercia and Wessex, on one of the few bridges over the Great River. High-status travellers passed through the town every day and would seek a bed at the abbey. An attentive novice would learn much from their stories.

“The idle talk of common merchants and travellers is of no concern to a wise ruler,” I countered dismissively. “Mercia has little to fear. King Beohred is wise, he will see off the raiders. They will not trouble his lands.”

Cedric let out a snort of derision and threw his head back in mirth.

“Beohred is a fool!” he cried. “What has he done these past three years? He should have been building forts, training men, repairing the stone walls of Londinium — but nothing — he has done nothing! His men lounge around in Lundenwick, watching as the raiders attack your father’s lands. If the enemy turns north, they will be crushed.”

“Hold your tongue novice!” I snapped. “You speak of things you do not know. King Beohred is my brother-in-law. He is a brave warrior, he will defend his people. Mercia has nothing to fear from the Vikings!”

Cedric bowed his head. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said apologetically. “I spoke in haste. Your father has made a good match for your sister.”

I stared at the novice in disbelief, dumbstruck by his confidence. The insult to my brother-in-law was verging on treason — I should shout for the guard – have him carted away for his slander.

But in my heart, I knew he was right. Beohred was a fool. He’d picked a pointless fight with King Aethelwulf of Wessex and lost the prize Dukedom of Berkshire as a result. No one said that within these walls — but many thought it — actually everyone thought it. But dissenting voices were few and far between – no one dared criticise our Mercian allies.

I furrowed my brow and stared intently at him.

“You would do well, Cedric of Chertsey, to keep such opinions to yourself,” I muttered reproachfully.

He smiled back at me — a broad, disarming smile.

“Forgive me my lady,” he said quietly. He bowed deferentially.

The two of us stood side-by-side looking out over the walls. Part of me demanded that I turn on my heel and stride away from, never to look back. Perhaps he was simply a fool — a naïve novice repeating half-truths and gossip, not knowing when to shut his mouth. But maybe there was more to him — a voice I’d never heard before, with knowledge of the world beyond the castle walls. There was something compelling about him — everyone here was always so deferential, but Cedric was unfazed by the fact that I was a princess — he spoke as if I were any other eighteen-year-old woman — and that was refreshing. I waited, hoping to hear more.

“So if your sister has married the King of Mercia, will you marry a Prince of Wessex?” he asked mischievously, breaking the silence.

I stared coldly back at him. Was he trying to push me too far? Surely not another of my father’s subjects speculating about my marriage prospects? Did the citizens of Surrey really talk of nothing else?

“Prince Aethelstan has been married these past five years, maybe more,” I replied sternly. “And his father has made him King of Kent. I will not marry him.”

How could Cedric not know that?

“But Aethelwulf has another son, does he not? Prince Alfred — he is not yet married.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. I shook my head.

“No one has seen Alfred for a year, maybe two,” I smiled. “They say he is sickly — maybe mad. They say he is kept in Winchester — hidden from all eyes to spare his father’s shame.” I paused. “Some even say that he is dead. No, I will not marry Alfred either.”

The novice frowned.

“They say the prince is dead?” he shook his head quietly. “Perhaps he does not want to be found.”

That was too much. I took a deep breath, preparing to admonish him for his presumption, to challenge him and then to storm away. But as I opened my mouth to object, there was a shout from behind me.

“My lady!”

I turned – it was my maidservant.

“My lady, I have been searching for your everywhere,” she sounded agitated. “Your mother is asking for you.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Send word to the queen – I will come,” I replied, dismissing her with a wave of my hand.

The maidservant curtseyed and disappeared back along the castle wall.

I looked up at the novice. It was time to say goodbye – and not a moment too soon. I would never see him again — good riddance.

“Farewell Cedric of Chertsey. I thank you for your service to my father and to this realm. May God protect you.”

He held out his hand towards me, to stay my retreat.

“Stay watchful, my lady. I fear great danger this night,” he said quietly.

“Danger?” I mocked incredulously. “In Morden Castle? Now you have gone too far – you would insult the king’s protection?”

“Forty Vikings languish in the dungeons — they are cold, they are hungry, they are angry – and they would have their revenge.”

“You doubt the finest guardsmen in the kingdom?” I demanded furiously.

“My lady,” he replied, fixing me with a cold stare. “The guards are drunk.”

—

“Where have you been?” My mother jabbed an accusatory finger at me as I entered my bedchamber.

“Forgive me, your majesty,” I curtsied deferentially. “I was taking the night air.”

“Your father was most displeased that you vanished without seeking his leave,” she snapped.

My father would not have noticed, but there was no point arguing.

“Forgive me, dear mother – I felt faint after the dance,” I replied weakly, resting my hand on my stomach.

That did the trick.

“Come Elspeth. Sit,” the queen purred soothingly, attempting a smile and motioning to the seat in front of my dressing table. “Let me brush your hair before you retire to bed.”

I sat, as bidden, and my mother began to remove the pins that held my long black tresses clear of my neck. I swallowed and braced myself for a lecture.

“Your father was very pleased to see the captives brought in,” she began.

Where was this going, I wondered. It was probably best to humour her.

“I rejoice at the victory,” I agreed. “Father will claim a fair ransom for the Viking nobles.”

My mother picked up the comb from my dressing table and began to run it through my hair, teasing the intertwined strands apart.

“He will send word to Winchester,” she continued, “to inform King Aethelwulf of his success…”

I pricked up my ears.

“King Aethelwulf of Wessex!” I echoed quietly. “Surely he will receive the news with interest.”

So – my father had finally come to his senses and seen what everyone else had known for at least two years. Beohred was useless — the Mercians would not protect us from the Vikings — a new alliance was our only hope.

“…and he will propose your hand for Prince Alfred,” my mother added as casually as she could.

Subtlety was not her strong point.

“Alfred?!” I yelped in horror, turning around sharply to face her. “But Mother, everyone knows he is weak and sickly — Aethelwulf is too embarrassed to let the people see him. I cannot marry him — I will not!”

I glared defiantly at her, receiving a sharp slap as I did so.

“You will do your duty!” she hissed, bringing her face close to mine. “If you cared about this land and our people, you would obey without question!” she snarled.

“My duty?” I snapped. “So you would condemn me to a miserable marriage like my sister? And for what? Every week the Vikings raid this land — and what has Beohred done to help us? Nothing! My brother-in-law lifts not a finger for his own people — let alone this kingdom. A Prince of Wessex will be the same — he will take my dowry and turn his back! No, I will not. I shall not marry Alfred!”

Another slap delivered a stinging pain to my cheek.

“Then you will marry Sigbehrt instead!” my mother snapped back.

“Sigbehrt?!!!!”

“He is Thane of Chertsey and son of the most powerful earl in the kingdom,” she growled. “If we cannot look to other lands, we must bind the great Surrey families together!”

“Sigbehrt?!!!!” I repeated in disbelief.

“I saw you dancing with him, this evening,” she answered — more softly now. She was trying to soothe me, trying to cajole me. “I thought you were liking him more.”

“Liking him?” I hissed. “I only danced to stop his pestering. I got away as soon as I could. He is nothing but a slimy toad.”

“You would malign the son of the Earl of Guildown?” my mother shrieked, pushing me forwards and raking the comb painfully over my scalp. “A man your father honoured today for his most loyal service?”

I glared back at her. My father was weak and Sigweard was his greatest threat. He’d had no choice but to reward the schemer and his ambitious son — but he was only delaying the inevitable.

I took a deep breath but bit my tongue – insulting the king would be a step too far.

“I will not marry Sigbehrt or Alfred or anyone else you choose for me!” I shouted back, shaking with rage. “I will marry a man I love.”

My mother hurled the comb across the room and grabbed my jaw.

“You shall go to bed and think on your own selfishness,” she growled. “Tomorrow had better find you more obedient!”

She stalked out of my bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.

I flung myself on my bed and sobbed myself to sleep.

—

I woke with a start. A bright light was shining in my face. Loud shouts and heavy footsteps echoed down the stairwell outside.

“W-w-what is happening? Who is that?” I cried out, confused and disorientated. I clutched at the sides of the bed as I attempted to haul myself upright.

The intruder’s face loomed out of the darkness.

“It is I, Sigbehrt, Thane of Chertsey!” he leered, bringing his face close to mine.

He reeked of alcohol. He was quite clearly drunk.

“H-h-how did you get in here?” I asked in horror, struggling to push myself away from him.

“I bring you good news, my lady – my love,” his words chilled me to the bone. I felt sick.

He placed the lamp on the table beside my bed, then lifted his hand to stroke my cheek.

I shuddered.

“Please go away,” I begged, “or I will shout for the guards!”

Sigbehrt threw back his head and laughed contemptuously.

“I bring you good news, my lady. For we shall be married!” he said slowly. He brought his lips forwards to kiss me.

I placed my hand on his chest and tried to shove him away, but I was too weak. He was leaning over me now, placing more weight on top of me, pinning my legs with his.

“Get off!” I cried.

“We shall be married,” he leered, his face hovering over mine.

“No please Sigbehrt, you are drunk. Don’t make me shout for the guards. You will be disgraced if they find you here.”

Another leering laugh. He was fully on top of me now, forcing my shoulders down, crushing me with his body.

“We shall be married,” he said for a third time.

“Sigbehrt, we will not be married,” I replied firmly. I was thinking quickly — he was beginning to hurt me and provoking him further would only make him angry — what could I do to get him off me?

“I am betrothed to another,” I blurted out, clutching at the first straw that came to mind.

“Betrothed to another?” he snarled, pushing away a little from me in surprise. “And who is the lucky man?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Prince Alfred of Wessex.”

Sigbehrt leant back and a deep, mocking laugh. “Prince Alfred of Wessex — the sickly Prince Alfred of Wessex!” he guffawed.

That was my chance — I took a deep breath and let out a piercing scream, but instantly a heavy hand was clamped tightly over my mouth.

“Prince Alfred can neither walk nor talk, my lady — he cannot even fuck a whore!” he cackled, bringing his face down close to mine again. “His father hides him to spare his shame. No, no my lady – you will not marry him!”

He threw back his head and laughed in contempt.

I was beginning to struggle now, fearful of what Sigbehrt might do, I tried to wriggle from his grasp, but he was too strong and too heavy.

“No Princess Elspeth — there is much you do not know. For now your father is signing his kingdom over to mine. It is my family that will rule Surrey — we have the power now — your little cunt will seal the deal. I will be the one to take you!”

Suddenly, there was a shout from behind him.

“Get off her!”

A dark heavy object caught Sigbehrt on the side of the head and knocked him onto the floor. Suddenly free, I slipped over the side of the bed and cowered behind it.

A new face appeared in the yellow lamplight.

“Princess Elspeth, it is I, Cedric of Chertsey!”

“Cedric?!” I gasped in surprise. The novice monk had come to rescue me?

“The castle is under attack. The Vikings are freed. They are killing the guards. We must get to the king. You must get dressed.” The urgency in his voice shocked me to action.

Unquestioningly, I ran to my closet. Hands shaking, I found my tunic and began to pull it over my head. I looked across at Cedric. He was kneeling over Sigbehrt, removing his sword and his dagger.

“Is he dead?” I asked. I could hear the trembling in my voice.

“I think so,” Cedric replied.

My rescuer sounded calm – that reassured me. I took some deep breaths. A second oil lamp was sitting by my dressing table — I lit it and handed it to him.

“How did you know he was here?” I asked, pointing to Sigbehrt’s body.

“We must get to the king,” Cedric replied, ignoring my question. “You are ready?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He fastened Sigbehrt’s sword around his waist and looked up.

“You have your bow and your arrows? You will need them. We will need to fight.”

I picked up my bow and slung a quiver of bolts over my shoulder.

Cedric picked up the lamp and made towards the door.

“No, this way,” I said, pointing to the other side of the room. “There is a secret stairway.”

I felt along the wooden panels that lined the walls and pressed lightly. The hidden door creaked open, revealing the stone steps behind.

I pressed my finger to my lips and pointed upwards to the room above.

Cedric nodded and ducked his head, following me into the passageway. He turned and closed the secret door behind us.

An argument was raging in the bedchamber above us; furious voices were echoing down the spiral staircase as we climbed. I strained to listen — I felt a twinge of pride — my father was fighting back — this was not a weak, old man, begging for his life — this was a king standing up for his kingdom!

Cedric followed behind me, the yellow light from the oil lamps casting shadows on the rough-hewn stones. Tightly I gripped my bow in my hand — we would have the element of surprise — but it would not be ours for long.

“So you would have me sign away Southwark and Battersea?” my father was shouting. “The Vikings will not be satisfied — next spring they will be back — Croyden, Kingston, then Chertsey. In two years they will be laying siege to Guildown, Reygatte and Godhelming. You have been tricked Lord Sigweard — you have sold your soul — piece by piece they will take this land — until there is nothing left.”

The earl gave a loud cackle. “Your majesty,” he crowed sarcastically. “The Vikings will not deal with you — they see your weakness – they smell your fear! You are the failed king — the other Anglo-Saxon rulers will not help you — they laugh at you behind your back — even your son-in-law despises you!”

Cedric and I had reached the top of the stairwell. There was a crack at the top of the door that the two of us could peek through. I pressed my nose against the wood and surveyed the scene.

“Sigweard is stalling for time — he thought there would be more with him,” whispered Cedric in my ear.

I nodded. My father was at his writing desk, dressed in his nightclothes, a scroll of parchment in front of him. Sigweard was leaning over him, sword drawn, furiously shouting into his ear. The main door to the room was open, but to my surprise there were only three soldiers — dressed in the dark blue livery of the Surrey army — doubtless men of Sigweard’s personal retinue.

“The guards are nervous,” I whispered to Cedric. “Their treason rests uneasily on their minds.”

He nodded.

“We should take them first,” he replied quietly.

“Agreed,” I responded. “I can shoot the two by the door, you take the third.”

Cedric gave a look of surprise, but nodded. I fitted an arrow to my bow.

“Ready?” he asked. “1… 2… 3…”

In a flash we had burst through the secret door. My first bolt hit the furthest guard in the neck and he fell immediately to the ground. As quickly as I could, I let fly the second — it found its mark, and the screaming soldier fled out of the open door, clutching his eye. I turned around — the third man was lying dead at Cedric’s feet.

“Lord Sigweard,” said my father rising to his feet, an obvious satisfaction in his voice, “how quickly the tables turn.”

The king picked up the parchment from his writing desk and ripped it lengthwise in two. Sigweard stared at us dumbfounded — suddenly he was the one alone.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cedric moving towards the main door, ready to block off the escape. Instinctively I drew another arrow and set it to my bow.

“Have you nothing to say?” taunted my father, reaching for his sword. “Where are your Viking comrades now, Lord Sigweard? Why do they not stand with you? Do they mock you behind your back?”

But the traitor had not heard him. He was standing, white as a sheet, finger pointing to the weapon that Cedric brandished.

“My son’s sword — that is my son’s sword! What have you done with him? Where is he? He is dead? You have killed my son?” His voice trembled with shock and rage.

There was a split-second pause. Sigweard charged, flying towards Cedric, his weapon raised. The traitor was quick, but my father was quicker. In a flash, the king leapt forwards, striking upward with the point of his blade and driving it into the the earl’s flank.

For a moment it seemed as if he hovered, frozen in time, then with a final howl of anguish the traitor’s lifeless body crashed to the ground in front of Cedric.

Silence rang out across the bedchamber.

“Your majesty,” said Cedric, bowing low, “you have saved my life!”

“And you, Cedric of Chertsey, have saved mine,” replied the king.

The two men stood, looking at one another. A moment of respect passed between the two.

“Father, the Vikings control the castle,” I said quickly. “Your guards are dead or captured — we must leave, make good our escape — there is no time to lose!”

My father was staring intensely at Cedric; it was as if he had not heard me.

“We will go north to Mercia,” interrupted my mother, emerging from her hiding place behind the bed. “King Beohred will offer us protection.”

I turned towards her — I had not even seen her.

Cedric shook his head.

“The Vikings are along the Great River, your majesty,” he replied. “By now they will have Southwark, maybe Kingston — certainly Chertsey. We cannot make it to Lundenwick — and if we do, there will be no sanctuary there.”

The queen shot the Benedictine a look of distain and turned to me, rage welling up in her eyes.

“This is all your fault,” she barked, jabbing an accusatory finger at me. “If you had agreed to marry Alfred of Wessex, none of this would never have happened.”

I stared back at her — truly she had gone mad. But this was typical of her — when events ran out of her control, she would instantly turn to pin the blame.

“Hold your tongue woman!” snapped Cedric, a look of utter contempt in his eyes. He turned back to my father. “Your majesty — we must flee.”

“How dare he speak to me like that,” my mother shrieked. “Will you stand for this?” she demanded of my father. “No Queen of Surrey will be treated in this way. Call the guards — have him arrested!”

“We will go south,” the king said firmly, ignoring his wife. “We will go south to Bonham Castle. We shall take the Roman Road to the Misty River. We will destroy the bridge behind us — it will buy us the time to gather our forces.”

“We will ride?” Cedric asked quickly.

My father pointed to the secret door. “There is a hidden passage, we will follow it to the river. The horses are stabled there.”

There was shouting coming from the main stairwell – first one or two, but then five or more — Viking voices bellowing for Sigweard and Sigbehrt. Cedric turned and slammed the door shut.

“We should barricade it,” I said to Cedric as my parents turned to dress. He nodded and together we dragged the furniture against the door — it would hold for long enough for us to make our escape.

In the dim light of three oil lamps, we made our way down the secret stairs, the sounds of Viking fury echoing around us. We passed the entrance to my bedchamber — the attackers were clearly inside, screaming and yelling as they ripped my room apart, trying to find my hiding place.

I wanted to reach out to take Cedric’s hand for reassurance, but I did not dare. I kept my head lowered, focused on one step at a time, letting the angry tongues fly over my head. Down we climbed, into the bowels of the earth, to the secret passageways beneath the castle courtyard. This was where my sister and I had played our childhood games of hide-and-seek — such innocent times, now so long ago.

I’m not sure when it was decided that Cedric would accompany us to Bonham Castle. Perhaps it was always assumed that he would ride with us, from the moment the king decided to flee. There was nothing surprising about the sight of him mounted on a horse beside mine. His smile reassured me as we set off and clattered southwards along the old Roman Road. The ride would be long, but with Cedric beside me, I had nothing to fear.

—

“You are well rested Elspeth?” King Frithwald enquired when I attended him after breakfast the following morning.

“I am, Father,” I lied. We had ridden hard through the night and by the time we had hailed the astonished guards of Bonham Castle, the sky was beginning to lighten. At best I’d had three hours’ sleep.

“I am ready for the battle ahead,” I said boldly. “I shall fight by your side to the last!”

My father smiled gently.

“My daughter, my beloved daughter,” he began. “I thank you for your service and your loyalty is greater than a hundred of my finest men — but…” he paused, “this fight is not for you.”

“But Father,” I protested, shaking my head. “I cannot leave you – surely you can use me in your company of archers? I will not fail you!”

He smiled.

“Elspeth,” he said calmly, “no man is more skilled with bow-and-arrow than you. And it pains me more than you can know that my army will be without you. But to you I have given the most important task of all – for it is you who will guard your mother and protect her until we are reunited once more.”

“But Father…”

“The two of you will follow the Bright Stream upriver,” he continued, ignoring my objections. “You will seek the place where the waters rise from the earth. A hermit lives there – by the spring. There you will remain until I send for you.”

“Please Father…” I begged.

He held up his hand to silence me.

“This is my command — a loyal soldier obeys without question.”

“But when will I see you again?” I whined.

“I will send for you within three weeks,” he said. “Of that you can be sure.”

I looked up at him, doubting his words, but his smile was warm and reassuring.

“Cedric will accompany you,” he said quietly.

“He will?” My shoulders felt a fraction lighter.

“He will stay with you for a time,” the king continued. “Then he will make his return to Chertsey.”

“And if his abbey is destroyed by the Vikings?” I asked.

“I have given him a letter of introduction to the Abbot of Hyde, so he may resume his training there.”

I nodded.

“There are few men in this world like him,” my father said quietly. “This morning I offered money, land and titles in abundance — but he declined them all. He wishes only to take his vows — I could not persuade him — he is set on his course.”

“And is Cedric waiting for us now?” I asked.

My father shook his head.

“I have given him leave to visit the church in the town,” he replied. “He will return in one hour and then you will be ready. I will say farewell before you leave.”

—

“Why is he here?” My mother jabbed a finger at Cedric as the three of us prepared to depart. “Where are the soldiers?”

“My beloved wife,” my father replied calmly, kissing her on each cheek. “A cohort of my men will attract attention — the three of you together will pass unnoticed.”

“There must be someone better,” the queen hissed.

I stared at my mother with contempt — without Cedric all three of us would most likely be dead.

“He will guide you,” my father said simply.

“Can we not ride?” the queen demanded, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“No, the way is narrow — you must go on foot.”

And so we set off, carrying a few clothes and some food, but little else. The small town of Bonham was deserted — already the inhabitants had fled, taking their families south into the sprawling, impenetrable forest of the Holmwood. An army could hide in there and never be found. It was the domain of the ancient peoples, who’d lived in these islands before the Romans — the ragged peasants who’d emerge from the trees on market day to sell their lumber and their charcoal. It was a place where honest men feared to tread – a forest best avoided.

We found the path beside the Bright Stream and followed it westwards. My mother grumbled for the first part of the journey — still insisting that we should have sought shelter in Mercia. Cedric simply ignored her, turning his back on her whenever we paused, leaving me with her unmeetable demands.

The queen fell silent as we continued. Beside us, the waters burbled cheerfully, taunting me with their merriment as the sheer magnitude of my family’s predicament sank in. My father had been optimistic, confident that he would win the fight ahead; I wanted to believe, but I knew in my heart we would never see him again.

Defeat to the invaders seemed inevitable — the north was lost, the battle for the south was at most weeks away — perhaps only days. My father would send out requests for urgent support from all the Anglo-Saxon kings — but how many would respond, send even a token force? Most would just shrug their shoulders and laugh — turn their backs and hope they were not next.

And what of my mother and I? Would we live out our lives at the hermit’s cottage, waiting for a message that would never arrive? Could we try to reach Mercia the long way round — head west to Basing then north to Oxford? Cedric would disappear in days — there would be no stopping him. Once he had gone who would be with us?

I looked up at the novice, walking in front of me. He had discarded his Benedictine habit and was wearing an unremarkable peasant’s tunic and trousers. The voluminous black fabric had hidden his figure, but the lighter linen revealed the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his arms. I wondered if I could convince him to stay for longer — perhaps persuade him to abandon his calling — for the two of us to flee, far to the west, maybe set up a small holding — raise pigs, keep fowl, grow a little wheat or barley… I shook my head. No — my father would win his battle and then he would send for us — I had to believe.

Our progress was slowing as the woodland closed in around us. The stream was narrowing and the way becoming steeper as we began to turn southwards, climbing the lower slopes of the Green Mountain. Increasingly we were forced into the water, so thick was the vegetation around us. Repeatedly Cedric slashed at the tangled undergrowth, using the sword he had taken from Sigbehrt to clear a path. Around us the air hung heavy – even the birds had stopped singing. It felt like the journey would never end.

Suddenly the forest opened into a large clearing. There was a small stone cottage to one side and in front of us a large pool, from which the Bright Stream flowed.

“So this is it,” Cedric said quietly. “This will be your home for a time.”

A tall figure rose from the bank — a grey-haired old man with a long, straggly beard, dressed in dark, flowing robes. He came slowly towards us, carrying a tall wooden staff.

“Oh wise Hermit of Meriden,” called Cedric, raising his hand in greeting. “We seek refuge with you here.”

The old man bowed but said nothing. We followed him towards the building, skirting the deep blue waters of the pool. The man opened the door and gestured us inside.

The cottage was modest — a single storey with only three rooms — a central area with simple benches, a low table and entrances to two bedrooms on each side. Silently the hermit indicated the room with two beds for my mother and I. He gave another low bow and was gone.

“So what now?” I asked Cedric.

The young man frowned as if I had uttered the most idiotic question in the world.

“We eat.”

—

I was grateful that my mother had decided to retire to bed. The hermit had disappeared without saying a word and was nowhere to be seen. Would he would return? I had no idea — perhaps at that moment he was betraying us.

Cedric was sitting beside the pool, staring out into the deep blue waters. I watched him for a few moments from the cottage door, wondering at the thoughts running through his mind. I took a deep breath, plucking up the courage to speak to him.

“Thank you,” I said simply as I sat beside him.

“My lady,” replied the Benedictine, his voice flat, almost sorrowful “you have no need to thank me — it is an honour to serve the king and his family.”

I wanted to gently argue back, to persuade him to accept my gratitude — words poured through my head, but none came to my lips.

And so the two of us sat, side-by-side, staring at the pool.

“They say the waters tell of the things to come,” I said almost hopefully, desperate to break the silence of my despair.

Cedric gave a hollow laugh. “Then they are wrong,” he said simply. It was that same directness with which he’d spoken before.

“I have met so many who claim they see the future – but they are either deluded or they do it to swindle the foolish. The men who sound the wisest often know the least.”

I smiled softly to myself — I hardly knew the novice Benedictine, but already that reply seemed so typical of him. The previous evening I’d viewed his scepticism as perverse, even insulting, but now I knew he’d been right — what Cedric saw, few men could see — I had a lot to learn from him.

“Tell me what happened on Chertsey Bridge,” I asked quietly.

“You know it already,” he said, a little evasively, turning his head to look at me. “I was returning from delivering a message for my lord abbot. I saw the Vikings approaching and when I looked over the side of the bridge, I saw two boats moored with old linen rags and barrels of pitch and oil. So I climbed down, struck a light and set the boats towards the longship.”

I nodded. That was the story he’d told before — I’d been thinking it over on the walk from Bonham Castle — there was more, I was certain.

“And were you on your own – or were there others with you?”

“I was on my own,” he said – a little too quickly, a little too emphatically. He turned his head sharply back to the pool.

He was lying, I knew it — but why? Because he wanted to claim sole credit? That seemed unlikely — that was just not his style. Because he wanted to protect others? That was possible. A few novices were where they should not have been — the rest had made it back to the abbey, but Cedric had been caught? But who was going to punish his fellow miscreants now? What was the point of keeping things secret?

An uneasy silence descended between us. Cedric could sense my suspicion. He stared silently over the deep blue water, as if waiting for my next move.

“Chertsey Bridge is locked at night, is it not?” I said pointedly.

He smiled.

“Indeed, but the guards are lazy and it is easy to slip past them. Climbing the gate is not difficult.”

“You have done it many times?” I asked, perhaps a little disapprovingly.

He looked down, still avoiding my gaze, but said nothing.

“There is one thing I do not understand,” I said slowly. “Why did Sigweard bring you to Morden — to my father’s castle?”

Cedric took a deep breath.

“I am not sure,” he said slowly. “Sigbehrt and his men apprehended me on the bridge…”

“Sigbehrt was already on the bridge?” I interjected in surprise.

“I think he was,” Cedric said slowly.

“Was he waiting for the longships?”

The young man shrugged. “He must have been.”

“So what happened when he caught you?”

“He was angry — very angry — his men dragged me off the bridge to his father.”

“But Sigweard decided to bring you to Morden?” I pressed.

“I think… I think…” Cedric struggled for the right words. “I think Sigweard realised I could be useful,” he said slowly. “The plan was always to take the Vikings to your father’s castle, but what would have happened if the guards had managed to resist or something else went wrong? I was a useful scapegoat — I could be blamed. They would have made out that I was the one in league with the enemy — Sigweard and Sigbehrt would say I’d deceived them — I’d have been quick to hang, but they would have kept their heads at least.”

I nodded. Sigweard was a cunning schemer, but he was also an opportunist. The fireboats had done nothing to scare the longships ashore — they were always going to land anyway — it had all been planned in advance. Cedric’s appearance had been a stroke of luck — or least that’s what Sigweard had thought at the time — no one would suspect a novice monk of plotting with the invaders.

But the plan had gone wrong — very wrong. True, the Vikings were now in charge of Morden Castle, but Sigweard and Sigbehrt were dead and my father, mother and I had escaped. Cedric had ruined the traitors’ scheme.

“But how did you know the prisoners had been released?” I asked, still perplexed.

“Because someone tried to lock me in my room,” he replied, turning to me and smiling for the first time.

“But you got out!” I exclaimed.

“I stole a key,” he said quietly.

“So you followed Sigbehrt to my bedchamber?” I asked.

Cedric nodded.

“He was supposed to join his father in your parents’ room. But he did not — he went to your bedchamber first. I followed him — a black Benedictine habit is good for hiding in the shadows.”

“So you listened outside the door and you realised I needed help?” I asked.

Cedric nodded.

“Yes, that’s how it happened,” he agreed — again, just a little too quickly.

I stared out into the blue crystal waters of the spring. A soft mist was beginning to rise, enveloping the two of us in its mysterious embrace.

“What will you do, when all this is over?” I asked.

“I would like to return to Chertsey,” Cedric said thoughtfully, “but your father has suggested I journey to Oxford, to study with the learned men. I am not sure. Tomorrow I will climb the Green Mountain — I will ask for guidance.”

I looked anxiously up at him. My father had not mentioned Oxford to me. But if he did decide to go, he might accompany my mother and me to Mercia.

“I will return, I promise,” he added, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You must stay here — the spring will protect you.”

I frowned. Minutes earlier he’d denied that the waters could tell the future, but now he was trying to persuade me that they could keep my mother and me safe. I shook my head. But I would do what he wanted — he obviously did not want to be followed.

The two of us sat side-by-side in silence as the light began to fade.

“I will wish you good night,” I said, beginning to get up. “I will see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” said Cedric.

I walked the short distance to the cottage, but as I reached the doorway, I looked back over my shoulder.

Cedric had turned and was looking back at me, a soft smile on his face, his eyes shining brightly.

He waved and I disappeared inside.

—

The next four days passed slowly — very slowly. Frankly they were torture. To say my mother was struggling with our situation was a gross understatement. She moaned, ranted and grumbled — from dawn until dusk — nothing was ever right for her.

To my disappointment, I didn’t see much of Cedric. He’d disappear each morning after breakfast to climb the steep slopes of the Green Mountain, returning in the evening, often late, always refusing the offer of food. For the most part he ignored my mother as she sat complaining — but sometimes he’d laugh, which infuriated her even further. Even I was surprised — shocked even — by the lack of respect he showed. But she was the queen of a peasant’s cottage — and nothing else.

I was trying to find out more about Cedric, but he was always very guarded when I questioned him. I hadn’t learned much — but I knew he’d been born in Wantage — a frontier town between Wessex and Mercia. He talked about his mother a little, but all he’d say about his father was that he’d fought in the war between the two kingdoms. I presumed that meant his father was dead — perhaps killed in battle at Mercian hands — maybe that explained his hatred of King Beohred.

The hermit was no company. He’d sit motionless, not saying a word, staring into the pool. Then, he’d disappear for a couple of hours, before reappearing as suddenly as he’d left. I knew not where he ate or slept, but his movements were so unpredictable, he was impossible to follow.

I spent my days trying to escape the tedium. I’d improvised an archery target and was trying to practise making my own arrows, but the uncertainty of our future hovered over me like a dark cloud. The solitude was not helping. I dreamt of slipping away and back to Bonham Castle, joining my father’s army in disguise as we faced the Viking hordes — but obediently I stayed put, prepared to defend my mother from an invisible enemy that might discover us at any moment.

It was late on the morning of the fifth day, when the hermit left. I’d been hunting for our midday meal and was walking slowly back up the hill towards the cottage, bow slung over my shoulder, clutching the two rabbits that I’d managed to bag.

The old man was outside, standing by the spring, fixing a saddlebag to a mule. I felt my stomach turn over — was he abandoning us? I stared in surprise — I’d never seen or heard a mule in the vicinity of the cottage — where had the animal come from?

“You are leaving?” I asked, not expecting a response.

“Indeed, my lady,” the hermit replied. “I must return to my people — they have need of me now.”

I looked at him in astonishment, thinking perhaps I’d imagined his answer. After four full days of silence, had he finally spoken to me?

“W-when will you return?” I ventured cautiously.

“I know not. Perhaps in weeks, maybe months…” his voice trailed off as he turned back to finish securing the load.

I walked past him to the pool and stared deep into its waters — hoping to see something, anything that might reassure me of the future. Soon Cedric would leave as well — I would be alone with the queen.

“You are safe here, my lady,” the hermit said softly. “The angels watch over you — the young man has made sure of that.”

“Cedric has?” I asked confused, turning to face him. Was the old man mad?

The hermit nodded and came and stood beside me.

“What do you see?” I asked, nodding towards the crystal blue waters.

He extended his arm over the spring, as if conjuring forth a watery spirit.

“A mighty prince has come to this land,” he said slowly. “He will bring war and suffering and strife.

“A great betrayal is upon us; evil stalks this realm. Lives will be lost; dwellings will burn; much blood will be shed – the traitors have chosen their path.”

I looked up in alarm.

“I see a new king – I see him rule – he unites his people. Generations to come will speak in awe of him – they will call him ‘Great’ many centuries from now.”

“And my father?” I asked hoping desperately that the hermit had not seen a victorious Viking leader in the waters.

“He readies his army for war. He will fight for his kingdom.”

“And will he vanquish his enemies?”

“I am sorry, my lady,” the hermit said slowly, shaking his head. “The waters do not tell.”

I felt crushed – he was trying to soften the blow – King Frithwald’s position was hopeless.

He turned away and walked back to the mule.

“And what of me?” I asked meekly. Was there a life for me beyond the battle? Would I live out my days with my mother at the spring? “What do you see of me?”

The hermit turned to face me, eyes twinkling.

“You, my lady, will marry the man you love,” he said without hesitation.

He returned my look of surprise with a reassuring smile.

“And Cedric?” I asked quickly, immediately realising that I had betrayed my feelings for the novice.

The old man took a deep breath and stepped back to the pool. He closed his eyes and again held out his arm. He was silent for several moments.

“I am sorry, my lady,” he said eventually. “But Cedric — I see him not.”

Those words hit me will full force. They could only mean one thing — Cedric would die — and soon. My world was collapsing, I felt crushed. Numbly I stared into the pool.

The mule grunted as the hermit began to lead it away. I watched as they neared the edge of the clearing.

The old man turned to me one final time.

“Farewell my lady. I will see you again – but I know not where or when.”

—

I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning as the hermit’s words echoed around my brain, repeating themselves over-and-over.

“I am sorry, my lady. But Cedric — I see him not.”

By the time the meagre light of the grey dawn had begun to seep into my bedchamber, I had made up my mind. I would go to Cedric and wake him — tell him his life was in danger and that he should flee — persuade him to leave us and get as far from Surrey as he could. I’d press a gold coin into his palm, promise him my prayers — tell him we’d meet again when the war was over.

I rose from my bed and crept to the front of the house, pushing aside the curtain which lay across the doorway to Cedric’s room. For a moment or two, I stood still, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slumbered beneath the thin linen sheet, certain that this would be the last time I ever saw him.

Tentatively I took a step towards him – he looked so peaceful, so blissfully unaware of the fate that the hermit had foretold.

“Cedric, Cedric!” I whispered.

He murmured a little and adjusted his position, but his eyes remained closed. My head was fighting my heart — I didn’t want him to go — perhaps in another life we’d be together.

I took a step closer and reached towards him. Tenderly I touched his forehead, stroking the dark curls clear of his eyes, hoping to gently rouse him.

There was a flash of gold before my eyes.

I recoiled in surprise. Surely, I was mistaken? A trick of the light – nothing more.

Nervously I advanced my hand again and brushed my fingers across the top of his head. Horror flashed through me, shaking me clear of my sleep fog — for the tiniest length of the base of each hair was bright yellow. Cedric’s hair was not black – he was blond!

I recoiled abruptly, hastily backing away from the bed.

“I see him not.”

Again the hermit’s words echoed through my mind, but now their true meaning was clear. Cedric wasn’t about to die — far from it. Cedric had never existed – that’s what the old man had meant. The young man sleeping in front of me was an imposter, a swindler, a cheat. Cedric wasn’t Cedric!

But who was he? What reason would he have to trick his way into my father’s confidence?

The answer hit me in flash. Cedric was a Viking! How else would he have known about Sigweard’s conspiracy? Why else would he have found a way into my bedchamber? Had he been intending to kill me, when he found that Sigbehrt had got there first?

Was that why the hermit had gone? Cedric had been so unconcerned the previous night when I’d told him – perhaps he’d even bribed the old man to leave. Now my mother and I were his prisoners — would he extract a ransom from my father? Had that been his plan all along?

I panicked. I had to get out, to get away from this place, to get help, get to safety. As I turned to run out of the room, I saw Sigbehrt’s sword lying on top of his clothes. I reached down and picked it up — it was best to be armed — who knew what dangers lay between the spring and Bonham Castle.

I crept back to my room and dressed quietly. For a second I hesitated, debating whether to wake my mother. But it was pointless — her protesting would wake Cedric and he would surely kill us both if he found us escaping.

Heart in my mouth, I creaked open the front door of the cottage. Cautiously I looked around the clearing. The spring was deserted. I looked back one more time to check he was not following me – there was no one there.

I took a deep breath and ran. Ran, as fast as my legs could take me, crashing through the undergrowth, following the stream downhill into the deepest part of the forest, retracing the route we’d followed less than a week before.

Brambles and thorns tore at my clothes; I pushed myself harder, running faster and faster, leaping over tree trunks and boulders. Shouts were coming from behind me — was that Cedric following me? It sounded like more than one voice — calling my name, begging me to stop. Was there a whole cohort of with him, hiding out in the woods, watching our every move? Was that why he left us every day?

The woodland was beginning to thin out now, more light was reaching the ground. In a few moments I’d be able to see Bonham Castle. With a final surge of effort I broke free of the trees, immediately tripping over a root. I fell forwards, flat on my face.

I pushed myself up on my hands. Standing in front of me, was a soldier — a corporal — dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Surrey army.

A wave of relief washed over me.

“I am Princess Elspeth,” I panted. “Help me please. The monk in the cottage, he has the queen — he means to kill her!” I pointed upstream towards the hermit’s pool.

For a few moments, the officer stared at me in amazement, incredulous at the sight before him. A broad smile broke over his face.

“My lady, we have been searching for you. It will be our pleasure to escort you to your father.” He bowed low.

“The monk!” I pointed, still breathless. “He has the queen! He has the queen!”

The corporal reached into his pocket for a whistle, which he put to his lips and blew. Immediately a dozen men appeared from all around, half of whom he despatched in search of Cedric. He turned back to me.

“And now,” he said with a bow, “I shall take you to your father.”

Perhaps I should have spotted the warning signs earlier, but I was so relieved to have found a safe escort that I did not notice that we were turning south, away from Bonham, making our way along the narrow plain that squeezed between the Green Mountain and the dark, brooding forest of the Holmwood. It was only as we approached a small village, that I realised we were many miles from where we should have been.

“Where are we going?” I asked alarmed. “This is not Bonham!”

“My lady,” the lead guard replied. “I am sorry to tell you – Bonham Castle has been sacked by the Vikings. Your father has set up camp here, this is Aclea.”

“Aclea?” I asked, confused. I knew of the village and the low, flat plain that surrounded it. It was hardly the best defensive site. “Would he not choose the higher ground at Anstieburgh?”

The guard laughed. “He means to draw the Vikings south from Bonham. Aclea is where he will make his stand.”

We had reached the row of timber buildings that lined the main street. It was now obvious that something was very wrong. The place was deserted — there were no signs of life anywhere. Army camps were full of activity — even I knew that — soldiers on patrol, blacksmiths hammering, horses being exercised — but there was nothing — no one at all. Aclea was a ghost village.

“Where are we going?” I demanded, beginning to panic. “Take me to the king!”

“My lady,” the guard replied, catching hold of my wrist “your father is inspecting his troops. He will see you on his return.”

“Get off me,” I cried, trying to wrest myself free from his grasp. “I order you to take me to the king!”

The corporal laughed and gripped me more tightly, digging his fingers painfully into my flesh. His soldiers had their swords drawn now — they were packing close around me – there could be no escape. I cursed my hot-headed stupidity.

“Who are you? Where are you taking me?” I demanded.

We turned a corner. A sentry was standing guard outside a low stone building with a thatched roof. He saw us approach and opened the thick oak door. Roughly the sword was stripped from my waist and I was shoved through the opening.

“Once we have your mother in irons and that troublesome Benedictine is dead, your father will pay a pretty penny for your lives!” snarled the officer.

He turned and slammed the door behind him.

I blinked. In the dim light, I could see the room was almost empty — just a single straw mattress on the bare earthen floor. The narrow window was barred with an iron grille. This was my prison.

I sat down on the bed and wept.

—

“Princess Elspeth, what a pleasant surprise! I must thank you for returning my sword — how kind of you!”

An all-too-familiar silhouette filled the doorway.

“Sigbehrt?!” I gasped in horror.

“How nice of you to come and visit us,” he smirked. “I do hope you are comfortable.”

“You’re alive?!” My blood ran cold.

The Thane of Chertsey gave a short laugh as he stepped into the room. The side of his face was badly bruised and there was a bandage over his ear.

“I am sure you are pleased to see me, my lady,” he crowed.

“Let me go! Let me go!” I screamed, springing forwards towards the open door.

“Leaving so soon?” he mocked, catching me easily by the waist and throwing me backwards onto the bed.

I tried to claw at his face, but he held my wrists and forced me down against the mattress.

“Oh you can struggle, my lady. But there is no one here to save you — not even your little Benedictine!”

“Cedric is twice the man you’ll ever be!” I yelled.

Sigbehrt gave a twisted chuckle.

“I should have run him through in Chertsey Jail when I had the chance. My father thought it sporting to bring him with us to Morden Castle. My father was weak — he paid the price — I will not make the same mistakes. My men will find the meddling monk. They will hunt him down. They will bring him to me. And you will watch me drain the lifeblood from his body!”

He turned and spat onto the floor.

“It was such as shame we were so rudely interrupted,” Sigbehrt continued. “I was telling you that if you married me, your father’s life would be spared.”

“Never!” I screamed. “You have betrayed this kingdom to the Vikings. I will never marry you!”

Sigbehrt clapped one hand over my mouth and began to slide the other up my leg, beneath my tunic.

“My lord!” A shout came from the door.

Sigbehrt twisted round and glared at the intruder.

“Be gone — I am busy – I cannot be disturbed!” he snarled.

“My lord, the Viking king requests your presence most urgently at Bonham Castle.”

“The Viking king will wait.”

“My lord, King Aethelstan of Kent has moved against us. He has captured Morden Castle. You must go to Bonham now!”

Sigbehrt leapt from the bed with a roar of anger.

“I told them, I warned them they must prepare for an attack!” he ranted, shaking a finger at the messenger. “Those idiots — they think they are invincible — they know nothing of fighting on land.”

He stalked towards the doorway.

“Bind her!” he demanded, pointing to where I lay on the bed. “See that no one gets in.”

He turned back to the exit.

“And find that novice and kill him!” he bellowed.

I lay quietly in the darkness, unable to move. My arms were tied, my legs were bound, a greasy rag had been stuffed in my mouth. The rope around my wrists cut sharply into my skin and my head throbbed with pain.

King Aethelstan of Kent — was that my father’s doing? Had he sent messengers to Canterburgh, asking for assistance? Or had the young king seized his moment — attacked the northern half of Surrey while my father desperately defended the south? If Aethelstan had attacked from the east, his father, Aethelwulf of Wessex would do likewise from the west — it was only a matter of time. And what of King Oslac of Sussex? Surely he would seize his chance? Together the three would beat the Vikings and divide my father’s lands between them. It was inevitable — Surrey was finished.

And yet in the darkest corner of my thoughts, a tiny flame of hope was flickering, driving the cold despair from my heart. For now I knew that Cedric was not dead — the novice monk still lived. Whoever he was, he was on my side. Cedric had escaped!

—

I woke with a start. Shouts of “Fire!” were ringing through the village. Outside the prison door was chaos and confusion — thundering hooves, clashing steel — Aclea was under attack!

The jailhouse was filling with smoke — the thatch was on fire. I needed to get out quickly – it wouldn’t be long before the roof collapsed. I struggled to free myself, but the ropes around my wrists were tight, I could not move.

Suddenly there was an almighty crash. The door burst open. A tall figure dressed in black was coming towards me — a flaming torch in one hand, a dagger in the other.

This was it — my final moment — the intruder was going to kill me — I was going to die. I tried one more time to free myself, but already my lungs was filling with smoke. I choked, spluttered and slumped sideways onto the bed. Then there was blackness.

—

It was the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer that woke me — a distant tinking of metal-on-metal, ringing through my dreams, rousing me from slumber like a calling bell. I blinked my eyes open and looked around. I was in a tent — a large tent, with maybe a dozen or so beds — all empty, except mine. In the far corner, a woman, dressed in a nurse’s uniform, was arranging a pile of blankets. Where on earth was I?

I gripped the side of my bed and tried to sit up, but it was no use — I was too weak. Frustrated, I collapsed in a fit of coughing.

The nurse turned around and came towards me.

“Princess Elspeth!” she exclaimed, relief etched over her face. She gave a deep curtsey. “You have awakened!”

Her voice was soft and caring, her smile reassuring. Gently she brushed her hand over my forehead.

“W-where am I?” I asked bewildered.

“You are safe,” she replied softly, turning to pick up a bowl of water and a cloth. “This is the Wessex camp.”

“The Wessex camp?” I sat bolt upright. What Wessex camp? Was I no longer in Surrey?

She nodded. “Prince Alfred brought you here last night — he rescued you.”

“Prince Alfred?” I asked in disbelief. “Prince Alfred? Alfred son of Aethelwulf? Alfred of Wessex?”

“The very same,” the nurse replied, smiling gently. She dipped the cloth into the bowl.

“But I thought he was… Isn’t he…?” my voice faded as she gently wiped my brow.

“He stayed with you for an hour last night and came again this morning hoping you would wake.”

“Prince Alfred stayed with me last night and came again this morning?” I echoed bewildered, pushing away the blanket.

“My lady — you must rest, you are confused,” she said softly.

“But I must go to him,” I replied, determined. “I must go to the prince. I must thank him for his courage and his bravery!” I swung my legs across the side of the bed to get up, but immediately broke into another fit of coughing.

The nurse placed a hand on my shoulder to restrain me.

“Hush my lady,” she soothed. “The prince has gone to meet with King Frithwald — he will be away for many hours — perhaps he will not return until nightfall. He will come to see you when he can.”

“He is with my father?” I asked, astonished.

Was I truly awake — was I not dreaming?

The nurse nodded, “King Frithwald is camped with his men at Anstieburgh – not five miles from here. The Wessex army will fight alongside his. The Vikings are our enemy too.”

I blinked in amazement.

“Wessex will fight alongside Surrey?” I asked.

The nurse frowned.

“Do not trouble yourself with thoughts of war, my lady. For you must rest and regain your strength. The prince will call on you on his return.”

I lay back down and laid my head on the pillow. The nurse gently wiped my forehead dry with a second cloth.

“You have a bruise developing, my lady,” she said softly. “I will fetch some ointment.”

She rose and turned to go.

“My mother, the queen,” I asked. “Is she safe?”

“Indeed she is,” came the reply. “The prince has made certain of it.”

“There was someone else,” I said, “a novice monk — he was with me when we were hiding — Cedric of Chertsey is his name. Do you know of him — did he escape?”

A smile broke out across the nurse’s face.

“The prince said that you would ask of him,” she answered with a twinkle in her eye. “I am charged to tell you that he is not far from here, you will see him this evening.”

“I will?” My heart leapt.

“Indeed, my lady, but first you must rest. It will be many hours before the prince returns.”

—

Darkness was falling as I slipped out of the hospital tent. Patiently I’d waited until the nurse’s back was turned, then I’d made my escape. She had insisted that I wait, but I was determined to find Prince Alfred before he found me.

All through the afternoon I’d rehearsed my words of gratitude — I’d curtsey low before him, thank him profusely for rescuing me and for fighting alongside my father. I’d pledge to serve him in any way he wanted, ready to play my part, however small it might be.

I’d done my best to make myself look presentable. The only clean clothing that the nurse could find for me was an ill-fitting archer’s uniform, but she’d given me some make-up to cover my bruise and to colour my cheeks. All afternoon I’d sat in front of a polished bronze mirror, trying my best to prepare myself to meet the prince — but every few moments I cast a glance towards the entrance of the tent, hoping in vain to see Cedric striding towards me.

I walked slowly through the Wessex camp, looking around nervously — it was enormous, or so it seemed. Row upon row of identical, dark green tents, stretching endlessly into the fading light. I’d expected the prince’s tent to be easy to spot — to be the largest, the most prominent, but they were all identical. Anxiously I pulled at the archer’s tunic — it was tight across my bust and hips and hung loose everywhere else. I was beginning to regret my decision to go looking for him — perhaps the nurse had been right — it would have been better to wait.

In the distance I could hear voices, there was a smell of cooking in the air — the soldiers would be gathering for their evening meal. Cautiously I walked towards the sounds, hoping perhaps I might see the prince eating with his men. I could scarcely ask for directions to his tent — my head would leave my shoulders the moment I did.

A figure was approaching, a soldier, moving swiftly in my direction. He spotted me and raised his hand in greeting.

“My lady!” he exclaimed, bowing low before me. “It is a relief to see you well — we had not expected you to be on your feet so soon.”

I peered at the young man. He clearly recognised me, but I had not seen his face before.

“Prince Alfred, my lord?” I ventured.

The young man gave an embarrassed laugh.

“My lady,” he replied, “I fear you are mistaken. I am Wilfred of Romsey. I have been proud to serve the prince loyally these past three years.”

I felt my cheeks reddening.

“Forgive me, noble knight of Romsey, for it is the prince I seek,” I said shyly. “Will you take me to him?”

“My lady, the prince is resting,” Wilfred replied, glancing over my shoulder. “He has just returned from your father — you must go back to the infirmary — he will call upon you when he is ready.”

I turned. I could see a faint light shining under the canvas of the tent behind me.

“This is his?” I asked, pointing towards the entrance and starting to walk towards it.

“No, my lady, you cannot,” Wilfred protested, holding out an arm as if to restrain me. “The prince is resting. He must not be disturbed.”

I pushed open the flap and stepped inside.

Sitting at a table, facing the entrance, was a young man with curly blond hair. He was busy writing with a quill, oblivious to my entry.

“My lord,” I dropped into a respectful curtsey and lowered my gaze in humility.

“Forgive me, my lord,” it was Wilfred entering the tent behind me. “I will escort the princess to the infirmary. She may wait for you there.”

The young man looked up. My jaw dropped in astonishment. Those deep blue eyes were unmistakeable, even in the gloom of the tent. It was — it was him!

“I thank you Wilfred,” the young man said with a gentle smile. “The princess and I will talk now. I bid you retire for your meal. I will send word when I need you.”

The lieutenant bowed low and withdrew, leaving me alone with the prince.

“You are well rested, Elspeth?” he asked, rising to his feet to greet me. “I did not expect to see you up and out of bed so soon. I was about to call on you.”

“Cedric?” I gasped in shock.

The prince came forward and grasped my hands in his.

“Cedric?” I repeated.

“I was Cedric,” the young man began, “or Cedric was me. But now it is time for you to know me truly – for I am Alfred, son of Aethelwulf, Prince of Wessex.”

“Prince Alfred?” I asked in amazement.

“The very same.”

“But your hair?!” I pointed to his blond locks.

“It was dyed,” the prince explained, running a hand through his golden curls. “They tell me the blacking has all gone,” he peered closely at his fingers. “But I am not convinced.”

He smiled, but I felt numb and confused — even a little angry. How could I have fallen for his deception? And not just me — my father too?

“Will you sit with me?” he asked, lightly taking my arm and guiding us to a pair of chairs at one side of the tent.

“I feel such a fool — why did I not realise?” I said, half to myself, as I sat beside him.

Thoughts and emotions ran screaming through my brain.

“Believe me Elspeth — you are no fool — this past week has taught me that too well. You must allow me to explain.”

“You mean this time you will tell me the truth about what happened on Chertsey Bridge?” I asked pointedly.

Alfred gave a nervous laugh — he looked a little uncomfortable.

“My father has watched Surrey for a long time,” he began. “When my brother gained the throne of Kent, we knew the Vikings would switch their attacks. And that would bring them closer to our lands.”

I nodded. King Aethelstan had won a great sea battle against the raiders — no longer could they plunder the coast of Kent; they had been forced to seek out other targets along the Great River — and that meant Surrey had become their focus.

“Your family has ruled wisely for many generations,” Alfred continued. “They have built alliances and kept the peace between Mercia and Wessex. Your sons and daughters have married well.

“The Vikings had a different game. They wanted only gold, and silver, and blood. Night after night they would raid these islands’ shores — they would burn what they could not take. They were not to be reasoned with — no land or marriage would buy them off. They would rape and pillage then disappear.”

“But now they crave conquest. They would settle here — they would steal the lands of our peoples. At first they tried with Kent, but my brother repelled them. Surrey was next — we were sure. If they gained a foothold, they would dig in, push ever deeper — Wessex, Sussex, Mercia — they could defeat each one in turn until these islands lie completely under their control.”

“And your father sent you to Chertsey,” I asked, “to watch our kingdom?”

“To learn the stories the ambassadors would not tell,” Alfred replied. “To hear the tales of heartache and loss from real men… Where else would you post your most trusted lieutenant, but at the town on the Great River where a longship would enter Wessex?”

“Where else would you send your insubordinate, teenage son to learn a little humility?” I snapped back, a little churlishly.

Alfred smiled and stroked his chin between his forefinger and thumb. He looked a little embarrassed.

“You do me a disservice, my lady,” he said quietly. “In my youth I was never rebellious.”

“I know you were not alone in Chertsey,” I said accusingly. “Was Wilfred with you?”

“There were a dozen or so,” the prince admitted. “My father did not trust me on my own. They lodged in the town; I lived at the abbey.”

“And on the bridge — the others got away, but you were captured?”

“I sent them away before I lit the fireboats,” he said with a sigh. “I was too busy being the hero — I did not watch my back. Sigbehrt discovered me.”

“And the rest that you told me is true?” I gave him a piercing look.

“It is,” he nodded.

“And when you heard Sigweard talk of you accompanying them to my father’s castle?” I prompted.

“It was a strange decision. But if they had left me in Chertsey Jail, my men would have rescued me easily – we had men on the inside in our pay. Of course, my father would have demanded I return to Wessex – had he found out,” he chuckled.

“But you signalled to them to hold off and to shadow you to Morden Castle?”

Alfred nodded.

“We knew of Sigweard — we had our suspicions. Our spies had been following him for a long time — checking on who he was meeting, the messages he was sending.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Our network runs deep — not just in Surrey,” he said. “But you must be careful of informants — sometimes they tell you what you want to hear and not how the land truly lies.”

“And when did you realise they were in league with the Vikings? Sigweard and Sigbehrt, I mean.”

Alfred frowned, as if thinking hard.

“We did not know for sure — we thought they might be working for King Beohred — but he is too foolish to conceive such intrigue. Sigweard covered his tracks well — Sigbehrt was a little looser in his talk.”

“So that night, when we spoke on the castle walls and you warned me — you did not know what would happen?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I did not know for certain until someone tried to lock me in my room that night. But long before that it did not feel right — the prisoners were too well treated by the Chertsey guards — they were fed better rations than the soldiers.”

“And did you know that Sigbehrt was still alive when we left my bedchamber?” I could hear the seriousness in voice.

The prince hesitated.

“My lord, do not lie to me,” I warned.

“It is true – I knew he was alive,” Alfred admitted. “I thought he might reveal the conspiracy if he survived.”

“Then why did you not tell me?” I snapped, my anger rising. “You could have revealed yourself as soon as we left Bonham Castle. You put my life in danger!”

“I am sorry, Elspeth,” he said, his voice now a little strained. “But I wanted to… I wanted to know you more as Cedric. I knew that you would change if you found out who I truly was.”

“Is this a game to you?” I shouted, exploding with rage. “You’re playing your silly dress-up pantomime while my father fights for his kingdom! Laughing at my family while you put our lives in danger?!”

“Elspeth, I do not mock you,” he said sharply. “This is a time of utmost seriousness — these islands are in grave peril. That is why my brother has marched west from Kent — he has recaptured Morden Castle – the Vikings cannot now escape towards the north. My father, King Aethelwulf, brings his army from Wessex. My family fights side-by-side with yours.”

“My family?” I spat. “And what have you done with my mother?” I demanded. “Where is she?”

Alfred gave a wry smile.

“She is lodged in a swineherd’s cottage in Abinger, with the worst cook in the Wessex army for company. No one will find her. The pigs smell, the beds are hard, the food is inedible — she complains all day — she could not be happier.”

“So we are both your prisoners,” I said flatly, shooting him a look of utmost contempt.

“Prisoners?”

“You keep us from my father, so he will do your bidding?”

“Elspeth – you are not my prisoner,” Alfred forced a laugh.

“Then I demand you call your man and have him escort me to my father’s camp!” I barked.

“My lady, it is late. Would it not be better to go to your father in the morning?” he protested.

“Call your man now!” I commanded.

Alfred said nothing, but rose and walked across to the table in the centre of the tent. He picked up a small bell, but before he rang it, he turned and looked back at me.

“Tell me Elspeth,” he said slowly. “What will your father do when you arrive at his camp?”

I felt my stomach turn over – I had a very clear idea of what my father would do.

“He will send you immediately to your mother. And that will hardly be a joyous reunion,” Alfred smiled mischievously.

He was right — I was trapped. Remaining here was the lesser of two evils.

I hesitated, unwilling to concede.

“So you wish me to stay here — to do what — to attend to the injured in the infirmary?” I asked.

Alfred turned round to face me fully, a look of surprise on his face.

“If that is your wish,” he said slowly.

He paused.

“You see, I am a careless prince,” he said quietly, raising his hand to his forehead. “I could have sworn this morning that when I went to visit you, I was carrying a quiver of arrows and a bow. And now I cannot find them anywhere — I must have left them under your bed.”

He gave me a meaningful look.

“Perhaps you found our archery range — on the west side of the camp? It is quietest early in the morning, while the men are at their breakfast. But maybe…” Alfred’s voice trailed off.

“You wish me to fight?” I asked, amazed.

“Do you?”

—

I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning – furious at Alfred’s deception and livid at my failure to see through his disguise. But no matter how hard I berated myself, I felt a grudging admiration for him — luck was always on his side.

My thoughts were still churning in my brain as the dawn light began to creep under the canvas. I stared at the bow and quiver of arrows which he had left for me. There was no point trying to sleep any longer and, if I really was to fight for my country, I would need to put in some practice.

There were a few soldiers moving around as I made my way stealthily to the archery range. I passed the fire in the centre of the camp, where the cooks were beginning to prepare breakfast. The range was at the west side, just as Alfred had described it — eight targets set side-by-side at the end of a long shooting alley. I set the quiver on the ground and stared down the painted circles — they seemed a very long way away. Doubts began to creep into my mind — I was very glad I was on my own — no one was watching me — I had visions of my arrows falling short.

I took my stance, lining my shoulders up with one of the targets. I fitted a bolt and lifted the bow, taking aim. I took a deep breath and loosed the shaft. It flew forwards, unwaveringly straight and, to my surprise, it stuck fast at the base of the target.

I fired another and another — each time my aim improving, until the final arrow buried itself in the very centre of the circle.

“So, they were right,” said a voice behind me. “You are the finest archer in Surrey.”

I spun round — it was the prince, leaning against the side wall of the range.

“My lord,” I gave a low curtsey and lowered my eyes.

“Elspeth,” he insisted, “my name is Alfred. And no Princess of Surrey should ever bend her knee before me.”

He looked beyond me to the target.

“Your aim is good,” he said.

“The bow is strong, and the arrows are true,” I replied, my cheeks reddening a little.

I turned back and took aim again. The shaft flew straight and landed beside the others at the centre of the circle.

I looked over my shoulder. Alfred looked impressed.

“Have you come to watch or are you going to shoot?” I snapped.

Alfred laughed.

“I fear I will embarrass myself against a great marksman such as yourself,” he replied.

“I insist,” I said, standing my ground and pointing to the mark next to mine.

The prince gave a gentle shake of his head, but lifted the bow from his shoulder and set an arrow against it. He held the string taut and loosed the bolt towards his target. It flew away from him and landed just outside the edge of the circle. He shook his head.

I smiled in triumph as a wave of euphoria surged through me; but at the back of my mind, a voice was screaming. Wasn’t it obvious? He had deliberately missed.

“I am not as skilled as you, Elspeth,” he said feigning embarrassment. “I could not practise in Chertsey.”

“Have another go,” I said, encouragingly. “You have time now to improve your aim.”

Alfred shook his head.

“We must walk,” he said quietly. “I have something to show you. Will you come with me?”

I slung my bow over my shoulder and followed him out through the main camp gate. We walked down the hill a little way until the woodland opened out to let us view the panorama below.

The two of us sat down on a fallen tree trunk.

“That is where you were,” Alfred said, pointing to a small group of burnt-out buildings at the edge of the plain below us.

“That is Aclea?” I asked, surveying the ruins of the village.

“It was. There is not much left of it now.”

“What happened to them all?” I asked. “The traitors, I mean.”

“Most we killed,” he replied, “but a few escaped.”

“And Sigbehrt?”

Alfred shook his head. “He was not there.”

“He left to join the Vikings at Bonham Castle,” I replied. “He may still be there.”

“Or perhaps he has gone south.” Alfred pointed to the far edge of the plain. “In yonder forest the Earls of Lewes and Portslade are assembling an army. They mean to join with the Vikings against your father.”

“Portslade?” I asked. He was the most powerful of the Sussex earls and his harbour was the largest in the kingdom.

“Yes,” Alfred nodded. “He wants to trade with the Vikings, not to fight them.”

“And Lewes? Surely he is no great supporter of this alliance?”

Alfred gave a wry smile. “The Vikings have stolen his livestock. They have burnt his crops and raped his women. There are many on the Sussex side who hate the raiders — Lewes especially.”

“So can you turn them? Persuade them to switch sides and fight with you.”

Alfred shook his head slowly.

“King Oslac of Sussex rides north,” he replied. “A group of Surrey traitors have attended his court; he has heard their treacherous scheme. He will lead his army into battle against us. Lewes will not turn against him. And Portslade is no friend of Wessex — he eyes our harbour at Portsmouth with jealously.”

“What happens if they defeat my father?” I asked slowly. “I mean obviously the Viking raids on Sussex will stop, but who will take the Surrey throne?”

Alfred laughed.

“That is the question! Sigbehrt thinks it will be him — that he will rule as regent. He plans to make the kingdom independent once more — he thinks he can beat the Vikings and King Oslac each in turn.”

“But he cannot,” I said quietly.

“He thinks that Southwark, Kingston and Chertsey will be enough to satisfy the Vikings — but it will only whet their appetites.”

“And if the King of Sussex sees the invaders moving south, he will be forced to strike again.”

“King Oslac will take your father’s throne himself – he will not give it to Sigbehrt. There will be no reward for the traitor.”

“And Oslac,” I asked slowly. “Does he know you are here? Does he know that the Wessex army marches to join my father?”

Alfred gave an exaggerated shrug.

“If I know where he is, then he knows where I am,” he answered. “The spies are everywhere — most have a foot in both camps — they serve the ones who pay the most.”

“So there will be a battle,” I said quietly. “Four armies will fight for the future of this land.”

He nodded. “Blood will be spilt, men will die, but perhaps in the long run, it will bring us peace.”

“And your father’s army? When will it arrive?”

“This afternoon. They camped last night at Shalford. My father will not force the pace, but it is a march of four hours at most.”

“And you wish me to join the company of archers?” I asked, still staring out over the plain.

Alfred took a deep breath.

“Our archers are young,” he explained. “They are hardly men — fourteen or fifteen years mostly. They have the strength for the bow and their eyesight is keen…” he hesitated. “But they have never fought before. Perhaps they lack a little courage.”

I turned to look at him. “You wish me to mother them?” I asked, feeling perhaps a little insulted.

The prince shook his head. “I wish you to lead them. You will inspire them. You will inspire their confidence and give them faith that we will prevail.”

“You wish me to lead them?” I echoed quietly.

He nodded. “I would not ask you if I felt you could not.”

“Then I shall do what you ask, Alfred,” I said simply.

“You must promise me one thing.”

I nodded.

“You must not leave your post — no matter what unfolds on the field of battle. You must stay at your position unless all is lost, in which case you must lead your men to safety.”

“Then I shall,” I replied boldly. “I shall lead the archers of Wessex, to defend my father’s kingdom!”

—

We were in our places by the time the dawn began to break, watching from the undergrowth as the first rays of the sun’s light began to illuminate the plain and the burnt-out village below us. Beneath us, at the foot of the Green Mountain, Alfred waited with his half of the Wessex army — his ambush set. King Aethelwulf had gone north, with my father’s forces, ready to attack the Vikings at Bonham, to raze the castle to the ground and to force the invaders to flee towards us.

This was the waiting — the worst part — I’d heard old warriors talk of it before — you’d be alert for hours on end, never knowing when the enemy would appear. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my thumping heartbeat – I had to be confident, to hide my fear – the young archers stretched along the hillside were looking to me.

I raised my head to the horizon, peering into the far distance. The Sussex army was hiding there — waiting for the moment to surge north to join their new allies — the Viking aggressors and the Surrey traitors. But our trap was set — we were ready for them — where the Plain of Aclea narrows to squeeze between the brooding forest of the Holmwood and the steep slopes of the Green Mountain — that was where we watched and waited.

The two kings would be starting their attack now — it had to work — they had to drive the Vikings out of Bonham Castle. Aethelstan of Kent had blocked the way northwards — the invaders would have to flee towards us — we would pick them out with our arrows.

I glanced at the young lad crouching next to me. His knuckles were white where he gripped his bow tightly.

“You are fearful?” I asked cautiously.

He shook his head vigorously.

“No, my lady,” he replied emphatically. “I trust Prince Alfred — he will lead us to victory.”

“He will,” I smiled back — I trusted him too. “He will!”

A shout sounded — over to my left, at the far end of the rows of archers. I looked up. Entering the plain at its northernmost point was a group of forty or fifty riders. They were too far away for me to see their faces, but I knew who they were — these were the Surrey traitors, the coterie of minor lords who’d thrown in their lot with Sigbehrt the night that Morden Castle fell.

Instinctively I rose to my feet and fitted an arrow to my bow. Either side of me my company of archers stood also. This was the moment we had been waiting for — it was up to me to fire the first shot.

“Take aim!” I called — a few seconds longer and they would be in range — our timing had to be perfect.

“Fire!” I shouted.

A shower of arrows flew as one towards the traitors. The horses panicked, taken by surprise, some throwing their riders as they broke their formation. We loosed another volley, then another, and another. Screams of confusion reached our ears.

A long loud blast of a trumpet resounded around the hillside.

“Cease!” I called, holding up my hand — although my company well knew what the order meant.