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The Vikings’ chilling call to battle grew louder as the Saxon shield wall advanced up the hill. Like an ominous heartbeat, hundreds of spears beat out a steady rhythm against the Vikings’ wooden shields. Their screaming taunts and jeers rent the air, urging the men of Wessex to return to their hovels, to walk away from their incompetent king, and to drop their weapons rather than be slaughtered.

With their shoulders pressed together so tightly that they moved as one, the Saxons pressed on. Flexing his fingers, Brecc reset his grip on the handle of his shield and kept his eyes on the line of Viking warriors ahead. Sunlight glistened off their helmets and shield bosses. And behind them were more rows of warriors waiting to take their place. It was a formidable sight. But no more so than the enormous wave of Saxons now advancing upon them.

“Hold the wall, men!” The king’s voice rose above the Norse chants. “The invaders have yet to discover our greatest strength. They cannot defeat us if we remain united.”

They were within forty paces of each other now, and Brecc could hear the clank of the Norsemen’s chain mail over the thud of marching feet.

“The time is right, Sire.” Rheged’s muttered words were likely not meant to be overheard, but Brecc acknowledged them with the tightening of his jaw.

An instant later, the king’s voice rang out again. “Fire.”

From three rows back, men launched their spears over the heads of their comrades. The Vikings released a similar volley. In a trice, the sky was darkened. Hundreds of spears blocked the sun. Brecc glanced upward. It was impossible to make out the trajectory of any one spear, but even if it were flying directly toward him, there was nothing he could do to protect himself. He was pinned so tightly between Rheged and Odda that there was no room to sidestep. And not even his shield could protect him from a barb coming at him from that height.

Suddenly, the Viking spears were incoming. A scream from Brecc’s right confirmed a hit. With a thud, a spear entered the ground two paces before him, but they kept advancing. More screams. The clang of metal and the judder of movement in the line. Brecc kept his eyes forward, praying that the holes in the shield wall were being filled by those standing immediately behind them.

Another spear entered his peripheral vision. It was close. Too close. Brecc braced himself. The impact reverberated through his arms, but he felt no pain. Odda let out a frustrated cry. Brecc glanced to his right. A spear had pierced the man’s shield. A six-foot-long shaft was projecting from the front, rendering the shield completely unwieldy and compromising the wall. There was nothing Odda could do. Releasing his hold on the shield, it fell to the ground, and he stepped back. Instantly, the man marching behind him moved forward, locked arms with Brecc, and set his shield over the hole Odda’s damaged one had created.

Shifting his shoulder into position against his new companion’s, Brecc hazarded a glance at the man’s profile. He did not know him. Odda would take a spot in one of the lower ranks and would be an asset with his ax. For his part, Brecc could only hope that Odda’s replacement in the shield wall was equally dependable.

The Viking shield wall was perilously close now. Someone released a blood-curdling shout, and while yelling pagan invocations to Odin, the Norsemen surged forward.

“For Wessex and our God,” King Alfred shouted. “For our homes and families. Hold the line!”

And then with a horrific cracking of wood, the shield walls met. Linked as one, the Saxons pushed. Behind them, men holding longer spears drove them through the tiny gaps between the front line, aiming for arms, legs, necks, and shoulders. Viking ax blades flashed, slashing at heads. Cries of agony filled the air. The shield wall quaked but held. Quaked again.

Braced against his shield, Brecc continued to push. Immediately before him, a Viking warrior snarled with frustration, raising his ax even as he attempted to hold fast to his own shield. Brecc shifted his head a fraction to the right, praying the man behind him was alert to the danger. He was. A Saxon spear entered the newly formed gap with sufficient momentum to pierce the Viking’s arm. He howled with rage, dropping the ax as he struggled to pull out the barbed head. He fell to his knees. Instantly, an ax sailed into the air over Brecc’s shoulder, aimed at the Viking who was to take the fallen man’s place. The ensuing scream manifested that it had hit its mark.

The Saxon line inched forward again. All around them, fallen men and their blood littered the ground.

“Stay true, men of Wessex!” The king’s rallying call came again.

With a grunt of pain, Rheged jerked left.

“Rheged?” Brecc cried.

“My arm.” He staggered, struggling to hold his ground. “For the good of the shield wall, I must retreat.”

The next moment, the pressure of Rheged’s shoulder against Brecc’s eased. And then he was gone, and a fresh warrior took his place.

The birdsong had ceased hours ago. The only noises in the woodland now were the rustle of the breeze through the trees, the nervous nickers and agitated shuffling of the horses, and the sounds of war.

At first, the distant clanging of weapons and screams of agony had reduced Aisley to tears. No attempt at covering her ears had helped. Eventually, she’d had no tears left to spill, and she’d been left feeling empty and horribly alone. Too anxious to sleep and too nauseated to eat, she’d wandered the woodland, talking to the horses.

Many of them she recognized from her time at Athelney. With each of those, she’d spent a little extra time, rubbing their noses and talking to them of their peaceful enclosure on the island. It had not been long, however, before she had run out of horses to visit. She glanced at the sky. The afternoon was wearing on. How much longer would this harrowing battle—this agonizing day—go on?

She passed a young oak tree and spotted Rheged’s horse.

“Well now, my friend,” she said, running her hand down Bracken’s neck. “I am happy to see you.” The mare nuzzled Aisley’s arm even as more cries of anguish reached them from the hillside. Aisley lay her cheek on the horse’s neck and closed her raw eyes. “I was a fool for coming, Bracken. I sincerely thought that I was strong enough for this, that I could truly help. But instead, I find myself scarcely able to think above the sounds of suffering all around me.”

Bracken nudged her arm again. Aisley raised her head and managed a weak smile. “I am to wait. Is that what you are telling me?” She sighed. “Other than prayer, I believe that is the only option left to me.” She ran her hand down the mare’s long neck once more. “I should return to the boulder and my bandages. There is little enough that I can do to prepare my heart for what may come, but I can at least have my supplies ready.”

CHAPTER 32

BRECC HAD LONG LOST COUNT of the number of men who had fallen along the Saxon shield wall. He only knew that miraculously, their wall had remained firm and that the Vikings’ endurance was waning.

The battle had become a test of resolution, and the men of Wessex had more to fight for than the invaders. This was their homeland.

“We have them, men!” King Alfred must have also sensed the change of mood along the enemy’s line. “They cannot withstand us!”