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Brecc scowled. The practice of searching those who’d died in battle for valuables had never sat well with him. To walk away with an associate’s possessions after he’d died in the service of his king and country was abhorrent. “I have no interest in your coins,” he said. “Unless you intend to spend them on my next meal.”

Arthw eyed his blood-soaked sleeve. “I fear my need for a healer may surpass my desire for food at present.”

Brecc’s thoughts instantly turned to Ealdorman Kendryek’s young daughter. Would that she and her mother were close enough to be of assistance.

His eyes scanned those lowering their weapons along the shield line. Had the ealdorman survived the battle despite his weakened state?

“Remain here,” Brecc said. “If there is help available for your wound, I shall find it.”

Arthw’s grudging acceptance of Brecc’s offer was a far greater indication of his level of discomfort than any words could have been. Lowering himself to the ground with a wince, Arthw nodded. “If all you can find is sufficient water to rinse off the blood, it would be welcome.”

The king was standing not far away in deep conversation with Ormod. Three or four other thegns hovered nearby, their attention flitting between the mounting disorder on the battlefield and the king and his adviser’s serious discussion. Brecc started toward them. If anyone knew where help could be had for the wounded, it would surely be these men.

“What is being done for the injured?” Brecc called, caring little that Ormod would consider his question a blatant and ill-mannered interruption.

“My question exactly.” The king offered Brecc an approving look, even as his adviser frowned. “We must seek them out from amongst the dead.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, Sire,” Ormod said. “But we must not act too hastily.”

“If we do not act hastily, more men will die,” Brecc said. “I left Arthw back there. He will not admit to it, but the cut in his arm, caused by a Viking spear, is significant.”

“Arthw, you say?” King Alfred said. “Ormod, enough is enough. Look at the destruction around us. We must assist our injured immediately.”

Ormod glanced at the ridge. It was clear of all invaders. “Very well, Sire.” He inclined his head. “I shall have men locate and gather the injured.”

“Water,” Brecc said. “Where might we find some?”

“We have men filling barrels at the river,” Ormod said. “They will be here shortly.” For the second time, he eyed the ridge anxiously. “I would remind you, Sire, that the Vikings are wont to return to a battlefield if they have not yet tasted victory. It might be wise to assign watchmen whilst our attention is so diverted by those in need of aid.”

“A point well taken,” King Alfred said. “See it done, Brecc.”

Brecc bowed. “Right away, Sire.”

The nearby thegns watched his approach. Dunlap, a broad-shouldered warrior from Dorset, spoke for them all. “What word, Brecc?”

The chaos was magnifying around them. Men’s shouts cut through stunned silence. Running feet raced to assist crippled, dragging limbs. And blood. So much blood.

Brecc attempted to focus on the thegns. “The king wishes watchmen set up around the battlefield until we are sure the Vikings have fully retreated.”

Dunlap nodded his approval. “I shall take the north side and will gather some men to join me.” He jerked his head at the other two landowners. “You two take east and south. Brecc here can watch our backs to the west.”

Grateful that Dunlap had made his assignment easier, Brecc turned to the west and toward the river. Already, men were returning, staggering under the weight of barrels full of sloshing water.

Brecc picked up his pace. “Take it to the last position of the shield wall,” he ordered. “That is where you will find the men who battled the Vikings face-to-face.”

“Very good, sire.” The dark-haired man grasping the barrel with both hands puffed out his response but did not stop.

Satisfied that the water carrier was on course to find Arthw, Brecc scoured the area for more thegns. Few laborers would wish the responsibility of rounding up those of higher status to stand watch. Particularly if those ceorls were intent upon lining their pockets with the wealth of others.

Not more than thirty paces distant, a man rose from a crouched position on the ground. Another remained sitting at his feet. The many warriors milling between them made identifying the gentlemen difficult, but the byrnies they wore spoke of wealth, and Brecc started toward them. He was almost close enough to hear their voices when the standing gentleman turned, and Brecc recognized him.

“Wulfhere,” Brecc called. “How do you and your father fare?”

“Uninjured, praise the heavens.” Wulfhere ran the portion of his sleeve protruding from beneath his byrnie across his forehead. The chain mail rattled. “Although, I am not sure my father could have lasted on his feet much longer.”

“I lasted long enough. That is what matters.” The ealdorman spoke from his position on the ground. “A rousing win for the king, do you not agree, Ealdorman Brecc?”

“Indeed.” Brecc could not think on the injured and dead littering the ground beyond them. Or of Ormod’s worry that the fighting was not over yet. “I pray the violence is truly behind us.”