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“Aye.” He offered her a crooked smile. “Bein’ treated like a bit of a champion, ’e is.”

“He is a champion,” Aisley said. “At least to me. But I wish his valor had not come at the expense of his source of income.”

“Not t’ worry, mistress. All them that was there cornered Mistress Udela and made ’er give ’alf of what was in that Vikin’s purse to Nyle. They’re sayin’ it was more than Nyle would’ve made if ’e’d sold all ’is fish.”

“I am glad to know something good came of the horrible experience,” she said.

“Likely th’ only good thing,” Taber said. “Nyle told the smithy them Vikin’s ’re camped at the river on the east side of town.” He gave a troubled sigh. “Seems t’ me that whatever difficulties we thought we ’ad afore are about t’ get a whole lot worse.”

Aisley’s thoughts instantly turned to Brecc. He’d given her few details of what he was currently about, but she had gleaned this much: King Alfred was going to fight this Viking scourge, and he had already initiated a plan to route the invaders from Wessex.

“The king has not forgotten us, Taber. Of that you may be sure. He will need us to show courage and loyalty, but if we do that, I believe he and his men will triumph.”

“Seems like ya showed that kind o’ courage t’ everyone in town today, mistress.”

“I was more scared than I’d like to admit.”

“Don’t matter,” Taber said. “You stood up t’ the heathen anyway.”

She pondered that thought. “I suppose I did.”

A wagon approached, and Taber led the horse onto the grassy verge to let the vehicle pass by. Stepping aside, Aisley turned to look over her shoulder. Two elderly women carrying baskets were not far behind them. They shuffled out of the way of the oncoming wagon. Following after them came a merchant pushing a cart laden with bolts of fabric. As Aisley watched, one of the cart wheels hit a rock, and the oversized barrow veered to the right. Grunting his annoyance, the merchant bent low to control his wayward contrivance, and by so doing, he revealed the man walking in his wake. For three long heartbeats, Brecc’s eyes held hers, and then the wagon rolled by, and he was gone.

“I will have courage, Brecc,” she promised in a whisper. “We shall be brave together.”

CHAPTER 21

THE ENCAMPMENT WAS QUIET, AND the number of Vikings seated around the campfire had dwindled to two. The assigned watchmen. Having monitored the Vikings’ movements around the clock for the last two days, Brecc knew what to expect. The two Vikings assigned to night duty would stay near the fire, playing bones and tossing an occasional log on the flames so the fire remained burning until morning. Approximately every hour, they would stand and do a brief circuit of their encampment before returning to their positions beside the fire. It was a token effort at defending their position, which played into the Saxon warriors’ hands perfectly.

One week ago, this particular group of Vikings had ransacked the nearby village of Dinton before the local residents had even known the invaders were about. Brecc and his companions were ready to return the favor.

An owl hooted. Lufian and Bertwin were in position. Brecc turned to his right. The whites of Rheged’s eyes glistened in the darkness.

“They’ve released the horses,” Rheged whispered.

“Aye. As soon as the guards rise, we move.”

They waited. A horse neighed. One of the Vikings looked over his shoulder to the area where the invaders’ stolen mounts were tied for the night. Or, where they had been tied. If Lufian and Bertwin had done their jobs, most of the horses were now scattering throughout the nearby woodland. The Saxons needed only two of them to complete their work this night.

An owl hooted again. The men were on their way back.

“It’s time,” Brecc murmured, willing the guards to move.

As though the tallest had heard the prompt, he muttered something, gathered the bones, and slipped them into the purse at his belt. He rose to his feet. With a grunt, the shorter one joined him. Moments later, they started toward the outer edges of the camp.

Brecc waited only until their backs were turned. “Now!” he hissed. Keeping their heads low, he and Rheged raced across the open area to a large, dark shadow on the fringes of the firelight. “First the flour,” he said. “Then the vegetables.”

Rheged pulled back the blanket that covered the mound of supplies the Vikings had seized from the local people and reached for a sack of flour. “Bertwin better get those horses to us,” he said, hoisting it over his shoulder. “We’re not going to get far without them.”

Brecc lifted one of the other sacks, his feet shifting as he adjusted the weight. Rheged was right. These sacks were even heavier than he’d anticipated. But this was Brecc’s third time conducting a raid with Bertwin in as many weeks, and the fellow had yet to fail him. “He’ll be there,” Brecc said and took off for their appointed meeting spot.

He heard the swish of a horse’s tail hitting a tree trunk before he saw the gleam of their eyes.

“Over here.” Bertwin’s whisper reached him as he drew closer.

“Start tying them on,” Brecc urged, moving the sack on his shoulder to the horse’s back. “We’re going for more.”

Not waiting for Rheged, Brecc raced back to the pile of provisions and reached for another sack. The Vikings had stripped the nearby mill of its flour. The miller had barely enough grain left to feed his own family, let alone those in the village who would need flour to survive.