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“I believe she will be more enthusiastic about the notion than she was about Rangvald’s proposal,” he said.

King Alfred laughed. “I should certainly hope so. There are few men more despicable than he. You have my blessing. Both of you. Not that you need it, mind you, but a king can offer it regardless.”

The clatter of horses’ hooves moving at a rapid clip interrupted any further conversation. King Alfred and Brecc turned to see Odda accompanied by half a dozen guards gallop into the campsite.

“I have news, Sire.” Odda was out of breath. He leaped from his horse and strode toward them. Pausing only long enough to bow, he continued. “Guthrum wishes to abandon the fortress in Chippenham. He is offering any number of hostages in exchange for safe passage for him and his men out of Wessex.”

“He is surrendering without requesting Saxon hostages for safe passage?” Brecc asked. It had never been done before.

“I believe he is driven by desperation,” Odda replied. “His men are starving. They have no fuel for fires, and many are still nursing wounds.”

If Guthrum was desperate, King Alfred could exact almost any price—even to the loss of Guthrum’s and his chieftains’ lives—in exchange for the lives of his men. So costly a reprisal for losing at battle was not unheard of. Indeed, during Viking conquests, it was common. But King Alfred’s Christian convictions had set him on a higher, nobler path, and he had yet to exhibit the vindictiveness necessary for such a penalty.

Brecc and Odda waited, watching the king as he studied the distant fortress pensively.

“I shall accept Guthrum’s surrender,” King Alfred said. “He and his men are to leave Wessex and are to take an oath that they shall never return.” He paused. “I do have one further stipulation, however: Guthrum’s oath may not be made in the name of one of the Vikings’ pagan gods. Such an agreement is worthless. That has been proven time and time again.”

“Do you have a suggestion for how you might obtain a more binding contract with the Viking, Sire?” Odda asked.

“I do.” King Alfred straightened his shoulders. “Guthrum must swear to honor our treaty before the one true God. Not as a pagan but as a baptized Christian. If Guthrum agrees that three weeks hence, he and his chieftains will willingly be christened and that Guthrum himself will accept me as his godfather, then—and only then—shall he and his men leave unharmed.”

Odda appeared as dumbfounded as Brecc felt. He cleared his throat, but presumably could find no words.

“That is it, Odda,” King Alfred said. “There can be no other way. Give Guthrum my message. If he is willing to accept my conditions, the siege ends today. If not, we shall remain here until he and his men are dead.”

Odda bowed. “I shall return forthwith, Sire.” Returning to his horse, he mounted swiftly, and with the guards riding behind him, he took off down the road as quickly as he had come. The king and Brecc watched him go until he disappeared beyond the trees.

“What think you of those terms, Brecc?”

“They are bold, Sire.”

“And foolish?”

“Unprecedented, most certainly. But I would find fault with anyone who claimed them foolish until they have been proven so.”

“Having given the matter a great deal of thought,” the king said, “I believe Wessex shall never know lasting peace until Guthrum and his chieftains accept that there is a higher power to whom they must answer for their actions. It may be that they are never willing to truly believe in the God we know, but unless we give them the opportunity to discover Him, we shall never know.”

“It is a generous offer,” Brecc said. “And an astute observation.”

“Wisdom is a painfully hard-earned attribute for a young king,” he admitted. “Ormod knew as much, but he stood by me regardless.”

“I believe we have all missed his steadying presence, Sire.”

“Just so. It is rare to find a thegn whose sound judgment is offered without overbearance or a desire for personal advancement. But it is a quality that you and Ormod share. And for that reason, I wish you to take on his former role—that of my special adviser.”

Brecc stared at him. “I am honored, Sire, but you and I are of a similar age. I cannot offer you the wisdom that comes with experience or years of hindsight.”

“That may be true, but I trust your judgment, Brecc, and decades of experience is worthless if it comes from an unreliable source.”

There was no refuting the truthfulness of that statement. “If all you require of me is my thoughtful consideration of issues that face the kingdom and crown, followed by my honest opinion, then I humbly acc—”

“Wait!” King Alfred raised his hand. “There is more.” The warmth in his eyes belied his stern expression. “Friendship. That is not a condition every monarch would set, but in this case, I must insist upon it.”

Brecc’s thoughts could have turned to the experiences he and the king had shared since their perilous flight from Chippenham on Twelfth Night, but instead, they flew back to his childhood, and the many hours he and the young prince Alfred had spent in play together. “In that case,” he said, “I believe I am well qualified for the assignment. That requirement was met many years ago.”

This time, King Alfred allowed himself a genuine smile. “I am glad to hear it. In truth, there are times when a king needs an adviser to help guide him, and there are other times when he simply needs a friend to sit with him whilst he awaits the response to a message of significant import.”

With an understanding look, Brecc gestured toward the two wooden chairs positioned at the opening of the king’s tent. “At the pace Odda set when he left, this time, at least, I do not suppose we shall have to wait very long.”