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

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

“If you were a duck, you might end up on someone’s table,” Aisley warned.

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

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

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

“Aye, mistress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stepped forward. “Greetings, Wulfhere.”

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

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

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

“Aye.” Wulfhere’s eyes flashed. “Although the same cannot be said for my father.”

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

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

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

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

“Your mother and sisters—”

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

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

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

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

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

“How are the peas coming along, Aisley?”

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