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“It is hard to believe you would have rendered a worse version of ‘Caedmon’s Hymn’ than is being offered now.”

Ealdorman Gimm hit a particularly unpleasing note, and at her other side, Rheged squirmed.

“Mayhap it is time for Ealdorman Gimm to rest his voice,” Rheged muttered.

He went to rise, but before he was fully on his feet, the main doors to the great hall flew open. A young man wearing a dark cloak burst into the room accompanied by a blast of cold air. The fire surged, and the guests gasped.

“Vikings!” the young man cried. “They have entered the town and are breaching the estate walls even now!”

CHAPTER 14

BRECC PULLED AISLEY FROM THE table before the initial screams subsided. This was his nightmare. He had relived it too many times already.

“Run, Aisley! I beg of you. Whilst you yet can. Once they enter the great hall, you will be trapped.” The Vikings were brutal opponents on the battlefield; he did not want to contemplate what they would do to the women in their midst.

“But what of you?” She was already moving toward the end of the table.

“I must stay with the king.” Never before had the choice been so difficult. “Go to the stables. Find a mount. Any mount. And ride as far from here as you can.”

The main doors slammed against the wall, and with a terrifying roar, a dozen Vikings raced into the great hall. The women’s screams redoubled. Tables and benches thudded to the floor as the guests scrambled to escape.

Wielding axes and spears, the warriors made directly for the head table. A quick glance told Brecc that Aisley was gone, but the king and queen remained obvious targets.

“Rheged!” Brecc yelled, sidestepping Ormod to reach the king. “Protect the queen!”

His friend seized the queen’s arm and drew her back as the Viking in the center of the pack raised his arm. “Death to the king of Wessex!” he shouted in heavily accented Saxon, and then he let his spear fly.

Lowering his head, Brecc barreled into the king, knocking him sideways as the weapon shot across the head table and hit its target with a thud. Ormod cried out, the wooden circlet he’d been wearing on his head dropping to the floor as he staggered backward, clutching the shaft of the spear that had pierced his chest.

“Ormod!” The king pushed back against Brecc.

“Forgive me, sire,” Brecc said, fighting to keep the king from going to his adviser even as he was assailed with horror over the blood now staining Ormod’s tunic. “There is nothing you can do for Ormod, but there is a great deal you can do—must yet do—for your people.”

More spears flew. A few of the thegns were already engaged in combat. Armed with nothing more than the daggers they had used for their meal, the Saxons had little chance against the heavily armed Vikings, but they were doing what was needed. They were offering the king a chance to escape.

“Find me a sword!” King Alfred bellowed.

“There are none to be had here.” Brecc had his dagger in one hand, and with the other, he continued to hold the king back. “You must flee, Sire. An opportunity for you to escape this ambush is what your thegns are fighting for. Your time to avenge Ormod’s death will come only if you survive long enough to see it done.”

Those of the feast’s attendees who had somehow avoided the Vikings’ attention were now pressing toward the main doors. In their eagerness to escape, they likely had not considered how many more warriors were awaiting them elsewhere in the estate. Based on their past behavior, Brecc thought it likely that there were men ransacking every building. He could only pray that Aisley would be gone from the stables before the Vikings turned their attention to it.

The head table toppled over, the platters, trenchers, and goblets landing on the floor with a crash. Food littered the ground. With a cry of agony, another thegn fell less than four paces away.

Brecc pivoted, his dagger ready. Rangvald. Guthrum’s chieftain had reappeared in all too many of Brecc’s nightmares of the Battle of Wilton. The large Viking raised a double-headed ax above his head, and with a terrifying howl, he swung. Brecc leaped to the right. The king anticipated the move, circling Brecc and letting his dagger fly. The blade entered the warrior’s upper arm, and with a roar of rage, the monster of a man lunged for his ax. Unable to reach it before the Viking, Brecc thrust his leg wide, catching the handle and sending it skidding over the floor. Rangvald scrambled after it.

“Brecc!” Rheged’s voice reached him over the melee.

He swung around. His friend was leading the queen behind a curtain that covered a door. Most likely one that led to the barn on the other side of the great hall. How Rheged had discovered the hidden exit in the midst of this chaos was beyond him. But he had, and he had guided Brecc to it.

“This way, Sire!” Brecc yelled.

A spear flew overhead, landing on the floor not more than three paces from where Rheged had been standing moments before. Brecc reached it first, yanking the tip out of the wooden floor and hurling it toward an oncoming warrior.

The king glanced at the devastation behind him. Bodies littered the room, and the roars of anger, moans of pain, and sobs of despair melded into a cacophony of suffering. “Dear heaven! What has my neglect of your warning done?”

“This is the Viking chief’s doing, not yours.” Another warrior was heading their way, ax in hand. Brecc grabbed the two large platters at his feet and sent them spinning toward him. “You must go after the queen,” Brecc urged. “It is the only way to foil Guthrum’s plan.”

Brecc’s words appeared to have their effect. A mask of resolution fell over the king’s grief-filled face, and he slipped behind the curtain.