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“Then, mayhap we should.” Aisley tucked her arm beneath her sister’s and drew her forward.

They approached from behind the small crowd, and before long, they were close enough to hear the fishmonger’s voice.

“I tell ya, if me cousin weren’t such a trusty fellow, I wouldn’t believe a word o’ it.” He shrugged. “They’re on an island ’ere in Wessex, the king an’ ’is men are. That’s what ’e ’eard.”

Aisley’s breath caught. Did they finally have news? She took a step closer, straining to hear more.

“Sounds ’bout right t’ me.” It was the tanner. “There’s no reason fer King Alfred t’ go abroad. ’Is ’ome and land are ’ere, aren’t they?”

“You’d think ’e’d feel that way. But if ’e did, why did ’e run the moment them Vikings caught ’im unawares?” Mistress Udela chimed in.

The fishmonger frowned at her disapprovingly. “Not all stories are as sound as this one.”

“Is that so?” Mistress Udela huffed. “And what makes you the most trustworthy person in town?”

“There’s interest in any news o’ the king,” the blacksmith said, “but an eyewitness sayin’ that ’e remains in Wessex an’ is plannin’ a return t’ power, well, that’s certainly worth sharin’.”

“Aye,” the fishmonger said. “Even if our own ealdorman won’t want t’ ’ear it.”

Aisley squeezed Diera’s arm, willing her not to make a sound. Diera’s eyes had widened, but thankfully, her mouth remained closed.

“Our ealdorman.” Mistress Udela’s disdain was obvious. “Ealdorman Wulfhere’s no more ours than is that proud hawk that sits atop the church roof lookin’ down its beak at the other birds one minute and swoopin’ in t’ steal their food the next.”

The fishmonger sighed. “’E’s not the man ’is father was, that’s fer certain.”

“God rest Ealdorman Kendryek’s soul,” Mistress Udela said.

“Aye.” The tanner looked grim. “And may God ’elp the king fight back against the heathens stealin’ our land.”

“’E’ll need men,” the blacksmith warned. “’E’ll need the fyrd.”

“An’ so we wait fer further word,” the fishmonger said. “If they ’ear in Hilperton afore we ’ear in Trowbridge, me cousin’ll tell me.”

“More waitin’,” Mistress Udela grumbled. “Always more waitin’.”

“We’re used t’ it,” the fishmonger said, waving his hand over a large piece of fish lying on his stall. A swarm of flies took to the air. “It’s the king ’oo’ll be frettin’ over all the time passin’. With no one t’ stop ’em, there’s no sayin’ what them Vikin’s’ll do.”

A tremor coursed through Aisley as the memory of the Vikings’ maniacal howls when they’d burst into the great hall at the royal estate filled her mind. They’d been fully focused on killing the king, set on reaching the head table and targeting the man wearing the crown. She clutched her throat as the vision of Ealdorman Ormod crumpling to the ground floated before her eyes. She took an unsteady breath, desperately pushing the memory away. If the fishmonger’s tale was true, it meant the king had escaped. And if he had escaped, it was possible that Brecc and others had escaped with him.

“I beg your pardon.” Pulling her arm from Diera’s, she moved forward. Diera gasped, and those gathered around the fishmonger’s stall swung around, their expressions ranging from shock to alarm. “Did I overhear you say that the king may be fretting over the recent actions of the Vikings?” There was no point in them knowing she’d heard far more than the last few lines spoken among them.

The fishmonger cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes, Mistress Aisley.”

“Is there news, then? Are King Alfred and his associates safe?”

“I cannot say fer certain, mistress. Word from Chippenham is that there were a great many ’oo died.”

The merchant was evading her question. She needed no confirmation that the loss at the royal estate had been devastating. She had lived through it. What she desired was the names of the survivors.

“But the king? He is safe?”

His gaze darted across the street and then shifted to the tanner beside him. The tanner immediately looked away. The blacksmith had yet to raise his eyes from the horse’s bit in his hand that suddenly seemed to require significant polishing, and sometime during the last few moments, Mistress Udela had slipped back to her cart. Aisley frowned. She had always maintained good relations with the townspeople and visiting merchants. Why was no one willing to tell her what they knew?

“Forgive me,” she said, “but is something amiss?”

The fishmonger looked over her shoulder and swallowed. Aisley swung around in time to see Wulfhere approaching on horseback.

“Good day, sisters,” he said. “I did not know you were in town this afternoon.”