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Instantly, the scop’s thrumming ceased, and all eyes turned to look upon King Alfred. Flickering candles augmented the light coming from the fire in the center of the room, illuminating the row of powerful men seated on either side of him at the head table.

With a polite bow, the thegn reclaimed his place, and the recently crowned monarch silently surveyed the room. “Kendryek, Ealdorman of Wiltshire, has provided us a fine feast,” he said, acknowledging Aisley’s father with a nod. “You have my thanks.”

Aisley’s father bowed his head. “The good people of Wiltshire are honored by your presence at Trowbridge, Sire.”

“Just so.” The gray-haired thegn thumped his goblet on the table, and others at the head table immediately echoed the action.

A muscle in King Alfred’s jaw twitched. It was the only outward indication that he’d heard the boisterous shout.

“Over the last few years, the Saxon people have claimed hard-fought victories against the Vikings, but we have also borne grievous losses.” He clenched his fists. “My brother, King Aethelred, died of a wound inflicted by a Viking spear. Many have had crops, possessions, and loved ones torn from them in a treacherous and brutal fashion.” Conviction filled his voice. “Those sacrifices cannot be for naught. We must fight the pagan invaders to defend our families, our homes, our land, and our Christian way of life.”

This time, the men’s cheer filled the hall, and the thegn at King Alfred’s side handed him a glittering horn. A layer of gold covered the horn’s tip, and multicolored gems glistened from the highly polished surface. Mead overflowed its rim as the king handed the horn to Aisley’s father. With a respectful bow, Aisley’s father accepted the glistening offering and raised it to his lips.

“What is the meaning of the golden horn?” Aisley whispered. She’d never seen anything so ornate. “And why is father kissing it?”

“He is pledging his devotion to the king,” her mother replied. “King Alfred is the ring-giver at this banquet. Each of his thegns and warriors will be given the opportunity to kiss the horn and swear to remain true. In exchange, the king will gift them something of great worth.”

Aisley watched with wide eyes as the king handed her father a bulging leather purse. The coins within clinked, and her father passed the horn to her brother.

“Wulfhere is to receive a prize also?”

“Of course.” Her mother straightened her shoulders. “Wulfhere is most certainly of an age and sufficiently noble to participate.”

Wulfhere took the horn and kissed it. Mead dripped from his fingers onto the table below.

“A horse for your loyalty, Wulfhere,” the king said. “It shall be delivered to your father’s stable within the week.”

The shock in Wulfhere’s eyes quickly turned to satisfaction. “I am most grateful, Sire.”

“Devotion is worth a great deal more,” King Alfred said. His gaze shifted to the young man seated on the other side of Wulfhere. “Is that not so, Brecc?”

Wulfhere passed the horn to his neighbor. The thegn, who appeared of a similar age to the king, raised his dark eyes to meet his liege’s. “You speak the truth, Sire. And all that I have, I give to my king and the good people of Wessex.” He raised the horn to his lips, and the king set another leather purse on the table. It was smaller than the one he’d given to Aisley’s father, and rather than passing it to the thegn named Brecc, King Alfred pulled open the leather tie and withdrew a treasure.

“A ring from the ring-giver,” King Alfred said. “An appropriate gift, I believe.”

The green stone embedded in the gold ring sparkled in the candlelight. A gasp followed by a low murmur echoed through the room, but Aisley did not turn to discover the source. Her attention was fully focused on the stunning ring now lying on Brecc’s open palm.

“I am honored, Sire,” he said.

“Already, you have served me well. I ask only that you continue to do so with steadfastness.”

Wrapping his fingers around the ring, Brecc bowed his head low. “It shall be done.” He then offered the horn to the dark-haired thegn at his left. It had barely left his hands when the door to the hall burst open. The flames on the candles at each table danced as a gust of cold air entered the room. Two men dressed in riding cloaks walked in.

Aisley did not recognize either one, and if the frown upon her father’s face was any indication, they were strangers to him also. Her father shifted on the bench as if he were planning to rise. He winced, the pain he was surely experiencing slowing his movements. Brecc was first to his feet, quickly followed by Wulfhere, whose hand went directly to the dagger at his waist. Other thegns rose, but none else reached for a weapon.

“The strangers are known to the king’s men,” Aisley observed softly.

“So it would seem,” her mother said, not taking her eyes off the newcomers, who were now in deep discussion with Brecc and the gray-haired thegn. “And they come bearing news so urgent that it could not wait for the end of the banquet.”

“What news, Warton?” It had taken little more than a glance at the warrior’s grim expression for Brecc to know the report was not good.

“The Vikings are amassing at the border.” Warton, the taller of the two warriors who’d been charged with guarding the stretch of river near Winchester, kept his voice low enough that no one else in the banquet room could overhear their conversation. “Teon and I remained hidden long enough to see them readying their boats. They are heavily armed, and there can be no doubt that they intend to take to the water soon.”

Warton’s companion, Teon, nodded. “There’s thousands of ’em, sire. And there’s no mistakin’ their intentions.”

Brecc’s stomach tightened. Although he’d guessed Warton and Teon’s sudden appearance in the banquet hall did not omen well, to be days—weeks, at best—from another battle against the Viking horde was the worst possible news.

“We must inform His Majesty immediately,” Ormod muttered.