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A new, higher level of anticipation hummed through the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Brecc noted Rheged’s anxious glance, but he kept his gaze upon the king.

“First,” the king said, “we shall go from here—alone and in pairs—to seek out those thegns who are loyal to the crown. Those who wish to join us at Athelney shall be welcomed. We shall also turn our attention to creating chaos within our enemy’s ranks. As our numbers increase, so, too, will the number of sorties we embark upon. We shall seek out all Viking strongholds and encampments, learn what we can of their methods and plans, and then lay them waste.

“News of the successful raids made on our foes shall quickly spread. Our surprise attacks will feed the heathens’ superstitious temperaments, fueling unease. Those who harbor Viking sympathies will also grow increasingly discomfited, whilst others will be inspired to do their part to resist the Viking trespassers. Their brave efforts will join ours.” Conviction rang through his voice. “I wish to offer a poignant reminder to the people of Wessex that their king will soon return, whilst simultaneously issuing a firm message to Guthrum and those who follow him that I havenot and willnot abandon this nation.”

The king’s impassioned words had barely left his mouth before the room erupted with cheers. All the thegns were on their feet, clapping and shouting their approval. With a pleased smile, King Alfred raised his hand, and silence descended on the room once more.

“At least two thegns will remain at Athelney to protect the queen and welcome new arrivals. This assignment will be rotated.” He paused. “Rheged and Odda, I would that you should be the first.”

Brecc caught the flash of disappointment in Rheged’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by his bow.

“As you wish, Sire,” Rheged said.

“The honor is ours.” Odda inclined his head.

“Not only is it an honor, but it carries with it the greatest responsibility of all,” the king said. “I am entrusting you with the safety of the person dearest to my heart.”

The queen blushed and lowered her head in an effort to hide it.

Rheged, however, stood a little taller. “The queen shall be protected, Sire, you have my word.”

“And mine,” Odda echoed.

“I thank you.” The king looked at Brecc. “And you, Brecc, where would you have me send you?”

“To Trowbridge,” Brecc responded without hesitation. “I have heard rumor that Ealdorman Wulfhere may not be the most reliable of men. With access to the entire fyrd of Wiltshire at stake, I believe it worth our while to discover his true leanings.”

“A wise choice,” Odda said. “I would be most interested to know why Wulfhere removed himself from the great hall in Chippenham before the fighting had truly commenced.”

King Alfred frowned, this report on Wulfhere’s actions during the Viking attack obviously new to him. “I would wish to know the same. I shall anxiously await your report.”

Aisley had been foolish to go into town alone. She knew that now. But an hour ago, when she’d been desperate to escape the four walls of the longhouse and Diera had refused to go out until the puddles formed by all the earlier rain had dried, it had seemed practicable. The maids had been helping prepare the evening meal and could not be spared. Even Taber had been unavailable. It would likely take him and the other stableboy working together to clean off the mud currently caked all over Wulfhere’s horse. Where Wulfhere had gone to render his mount so dirty, Aisley could not tell, but she was as anxious as he must have been to leave the confines of the house.

And so, she had determined to make the short walk without a companion. It would give her the fresh air she craved and enable her to interact with other locals, albeit briefly. For years, she had wandered the fields and woodlands near the longhouse, gathering healing plants. There really should have been nothing to fear about this excursion, had not three Vikings chosen to enter the square just as she reached Mistress Udela’s cart.

The older lady’s gasp had been enough to cause Aisley to turn. Now, all around, people scattered, leaving an open path for the newcomers to follow into the center of the market. The tallest man led the others. His light-brown hair was plaited into two long ropes. His beard was thick and matted, and he wore a sheepskin across his shoulders. A long knife hung from his belt. The two who followed were lankier in build and appeared younger. They each carried axes and sacks, and where one had a scar running across his chin, the other had a nose that had surely been broken at least once. They were obviously men who had experienced violence and likely did not shy away from it.

Only this morning, Taber had told Aisley of the latest rumor regarding the invading horde. Word was that they’d had their fill of pillaging, looting, and raping in Chippenham and were now working their way farther into Wiltshire, setting up camps along the way. A recent traveler passing through Trowbridge had reported smelling the smoke of a campfire coming from an area beside the river not more than twenty furlongs from town. He’d not seen anyone, but many feared that such an encampment could belong only to Vikings. If the three men currently sauntering across the square were any indication, those people had been correct.

Like a breathy gust of wind, a ripple of fear spread across the uneasy spectators.

“’Eaven ’elp us.” Mistress Udela’s voice was more of a moan. “They ’ave come.”

Aisley moved to stand beside her. The cart offered little protection, but it served as a barrier, at least. “It shall be well,” she whispered, more to herself than to the farmer’s wife. “A moment longer and they shall pass by.”

“But they’re comin’ this way,” Mistress Udela sobbed.

“Hush,” Aisley warned. “Look upon your wares rather than upon them. You need not watch their progress. I shall tell you when they are gone.”

With trembling fingers, the older woman reached for a pat of butter wrapped in cloth. She lifted it, only to set it down again in the same spot. “It’s no good.” Her voice wavered, though she had yet to look up. “It’s like I’m a field mouse an’ they’re ’awks ready to pounce. I can sense ’em nearby, but there’s no place fer me t’ run.”

Aisley pulled her overly small cloak around herself more tightly. This was likely not the time to tell Mistress Udela that the Vikings did indeed appear to be walking directly toward her cart. The fishmonger who ran the stall beside this one had disappeared. One of the shorter Vikings picked up a perch and lifted it to his nose. He said something, laughed, and then dropped it into the other man’s sack. The second man grumbled a complaint, but he didn’t remove the stolen fish. Instead, he followed after the taller one to Mistress Udela’s cart.

“This!” The taller man pointed at the basket of eggs.

Mistress Udela was trembling so much Aisley feared the older lady’s legs might give way beneath her.

“This!” the Viking repeated.