Aspatria

By John C Adams

Forced onto the throne by the death of all her male relatives, eighteen-year-old Dextra must learn to put the people of Aspatria first. Grief at the loss of her family collides with a desperate wish to marry for love rather than merely to build an international strategic alliance.

Gortah van Murkar has ruled his country since the Eirans killed all his older brothers and his father when he was just fourteen years old. Despite many victories since then, he has never completely vanquished this deadly foe. Meeting Dextra offers him the chance to avenge the death of his family and hers.

Aspatria begins an epic fantasy trilogy set in a world inspired by Anglo-Saxon culture and history, in which a young queen and her powerful neighbour must fight for justice for their families and to safeguard their people.

Follow the author on Twitter at @johncadamssf.

A memorable, mind-bending, and emotionally-driven fantasy romance novel, author John C. Adams's novel “Aspatria” is a must-read epic fantasy. The readers will be instantly drawn in by the gritty and brutal war that opens up the novel, and be drawn in as the romance and emotions between Dextra and the men hoping to win her heart play out on the pages, creating engaging and entertaining drama that is impossible to put down.
Author Anthony Avina’s Blog

An immersive reading experience – and impressive world building.
Goodreads Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: John C Adams
• Release date: Dec 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370202133

John C Adams

I'm a nonbinary author and critic of fantasy and horror. Nonbinary tends to means different things for different people, and every path is valid for that individual and their family. Luckily, mine are incredibly supportive. I use the gender neutral pronouns they/them professionally as John C Adams, but to the kids I'm still 'Mum'. It's a question of what works for you. My decision to be nonbinary is a journey for all of us.I review for Schlock! Webzine, the British Fantasy Society and Horror Tree, as well as placing reviews and articles across a wide range of blogs and magazines.I have a Postgraduate Certificate in Creative Writing from Newcastle University. I've been a Contributing Editor for Albedo One Magazine and the Aeon Award since 2016. Before that, I was a Submissions Reader with them.My debut horror novel, 'Souls for the Master' (Ivy Spires Book One), and its sequel 'Blackacre Rising' (Ivy Spires Book Two) are both here on Smashwords retailers. Likewise, my debut fantasy novel, 'Aspatria' (Gortah van Murkar Book One), and its sequel 'Dagmar of the Northlands' (Gortah van Murkar Book Two), are out now on Smashwords retailers.Although I write mostly long fiction, since 2015 I have had stories published in anthologies from Horrified Press, Lycan Valley Press, Fantasia Divinity and Jersey Pines Ink. My short stories have also been published in the Horror Zine, Swords & Sorcery, Sirens Call, Blood Moon Rising, Lovecraftiana and various other magazines.Every emerging writer needs plenty of encouragement right at the start, and entering lots of competitions early on made a real difference to my confidence to press on with writing longer fiction and think about submitting short fiction to magazines and anthologies in due course. In 2012, I was longlisted for the International Aeon Award Short Fiction Contest for 'The Visitors' and again in 2013 for 'We Can Finish Your Baby's Brain For You'. My writing was also recognised by the Enrico Charles Literary Award (runner up in 2012) and by the University of Winchester Writers' Conference in both 2012 and 2013, including a Commendation in the First Three Pages of a Novel category, and other nominations in poetry and short fiction.I read PPE at Somerville College, and I am a non-practising solicitor. I live in rural Northumberland, UK, and I combine my career as an author and critic with raising my kids and caring for a severely disabled relative. I'm always busy!

Book preview

Chapter One

Gortah van Murkar stood on his battlements at Zwaarstad and stared across the plains towards the port at Havenstad. In the distance, he spotted a flashing black shape. The blurry outline became a galloping horse and rider. Gortah strained his eyes to see through the red streaks of the summer dawn.

Behind came other flashes as more horses and riders followed with their flags fluttering in the wind and the horses’ tails streaming out behind them. The sound of a hundred thudding sets of hooves drifted across the grasslands towards the castle. Gortah smiled and leant against the stone, watching the horsemen speeding towards his capital.

Prince Eugene was returning from a month’s trip to Fort Belshan in South Eira. Gortah had sent the eighteen year old in his stead for the first time to celebrate the midsummer revels with the garrison. Gortah had become the King of Murkar at fourteen. Thirty-four years had passed since then.

The doting father ached to know how his boy had acquitted himself. The garrison would’ve been itching to see Murkar’s rising military star and seek his advice about tactics to repel the Eirans, but Gortah was ready to have his lad back home again.

The brave Murkans who Gortah sent to Belshan to man the fort served their country loyally for years in the remote outpost. Murkar had captured South Eira hundreds of years earlier, settled native Murkans there and earned the undying hatred of the Eirans for doing so. Eira had pledged to recapture that part of their homeland, but they hadn’t managed yet. He had never seriously worried that they would. Under his command, the Murkan army was the finest in the world.

Gortah strolled back to his chambers. He found his adopted nephew Ludwig stoking the fire.

What you doing in here? You’re not a servant.

Ludwig grinned and dusted the wood ash off his breeches. The chamber stank of the acrid sweetness of woodsmoke.

Don’t know what I am. Actually, I just came to borrow your book on hunting, if you can bear to lend it. I know it’s very dear to your heart, Uncle.

You're welcome to share anything of mine, always.

The king stroked the calfskin cover of the old book. He opened it, and the pages crackled as he turned them. He caressed the parchment. The book was so old that the ink was faded. Some of the passages had been retouched by the monks who’d presented it to him for his twenty-first birthday.

Gortah handed the book to his nephew and watched with a smile on his lined face as the lad leafed through it.

Good hunting, my boy. Hope you find the quarry you’re after.

Ludwig had come into the Murkan royal family through events that were still shrouded in mystery two decades later. Gortah’s younger sister, Cornelia, out riding one afternoon, had heard a child crying. She’d been tender hearted enough to pull up and order a search for the baby. Exhaustive enquiries had yielded no information about the parents, despite an enormous reward being offered, and she’d subsequently adopted the infant.

I hear tell that Eira plans to attack Aspatria.

News of the impending attack was everywhere in Gortah's kingdom, and he expected Eugene to bring more news about it back from South Eira.

Gortah and his nephew wandered down to the great hall to wait for Eugene.

It’ll mean changes for all of us, Gortah said. War always does.

*

Eugene felt his black stallion Stormloop straining beneath him. He kicked the beast towards Zwaarstad, stood in his stirrups and called his men onwards. They thundered across the plains to the city. After the night pitching and tossing onboard ship, their horses recognised home and strained to reach the warm stables and buckets of oats. The horses’ breath rose in warm clouds in the dawn air, and the beasts grunted as their riders kicked them on towards home.

The gatekeepers raised the portcullis as Eugene’s men approached the castle. The mechanism rattled slowly upwards, and the lads winching it up groaned as they put their backs into it. Eugene called a greeting to them, and they stopped to bow as the prince passed by.

The riders clattered into the city, and Eugene pushed on towards the inner reaches of the citadel through the milling crowds gathering to welcome him home. Even at dawn, his father would be waiting for news of the garrison. He jumped from his horse and threw his reins to his second-in-command.

Eugene entered the great hall. His eldest brother was waiting beside the thrones with their eldest sister. The three younger girls were nowhere to be seen. Eugene embraced Mechteld. He clapped Diederik on the back and snatched a goblet of wine from the tray next to the low wooden seats ranged around the thrones. Eugene drained the goblet and savoured the rich vintage of the Murkan red grape. He’d missed comforts like this at the fort, where all the men downed ale and where any request for wine would’ve met with derision from his fellow soldiers.

Mechteld poured him another goblet from the jug.

Much to report from Eira? Diederik asked.

The crown prince wandered around the back of the two thrones. He stood with his hands resting on the right-hand one. It was smaller and, since their mother’s death ten years ago, empty. He stroked the carved oak with his long, pale fingers.

Aspatria will pay for some crime, real or imagined, within the next few hours, but I should really wait to tell Father first, Eugene said.

Mechteld handed her brother a plate of sponge cakes. He wolfed two of them down and grinned at her.

Have to find you a wife who can bake, she teased. Or teach you how to cook yourself.

*

Eugene popped another cake into his mouth. It almost melted at the first chew. The hint of almonds was delicious, and the sugary taste lured him into wanting to eat one after another. He drank a mouthful of wine and felt the pleasure of the liquid soaking into the sponge.

"How’s married life treating you, Diedi? Recommend it to your bachelor brother?"

Diederik shook his head, but Eugene saw the blush of pleasure spreading across his cheeks. The crown prince had married for love: their Logorian cousin Princess Adriana. Their middle brother, Arjan, was now pledged to her sister.

It was customary for Murkan princes to marry into the Logorian royal family. Gortah’s first wife and the king’s mother had come from there. The princes were still adjusting to the idea of being old enough to marry. The prospect of becoming parents scared them, as did hints from the king that this meant finding an altogether more responsible way of conducting themselves.

Father mentioned getting you settled. Enjoy your freedom while you can.

Eugene felt the same dread gnawing at his soul that he always did at the thought of marriage. Mechteld was unwed, and that was unlikely to change given the stain of her illegitimate birth even though she was the oldest sibling, but marriage was expected of all three princes, and their little sisters in due course.

Now that Eugene’s generation had done double obeisance to their Logorian connection, Gortah would be looking for his youngest son to marry a stranger and build an alliance with a different foreign nation. Eugene loathed the thought of being tied to one person, and he especially resented the prospect of only meeting his wife for the first time at the altar. However, the outcome seemed inescapable.

The wooden doors of the great hall scraped open, and they all turned at the sound of Gortah’s deep, booming voice. Diederik jumped round from behind the thrones and stood to attention in front. Eugene flicked the crumbs from his tunic and straightened his sword belt. Mechteld tidied the tray of wine and cakes, and she smoothed the long sleeves of her silver dress.

Gortah processed across the great hall and paused in front of the thrones. Arjan, Eugene’s middle brother, followed him. The king nodded in acknowledgement of everyone’s greetings then he suddenly abandoned formality. Eugene embraced his father, and the two clapped each other on the back. His father’s brown eyes were sparkling, and Gortah's smile was infectious.

So, back from the garrison, my boy. What news?

Eugene took a deep breath. He was about to summarise the military situation when the great oak doors opened, and Uncle Alexander, who everyone simply called Berg, and Eugene’s cousins entered. Berg and his elder son Hedwig were blonde and tall, with lanky arms and bodies. Ludwig, however, had brown hair.

Berg had been Gortah’s second-in-command, a viscount, and had married his only sister. Cornelia had died five years ago. During their marriage, Berg had stuck to his own title in preference to becoming a prince.

Gortah leant against the back of his throne and placed his fingers together in a pyramid. His silver hair fell forward into his face. He tapped his fingers at the apex and fixed his gaze on his youngest son. Eugene swallowed. The prince bowed stiffly to his father before turning to the group as a whole.

Since Eugene had taken command of his father’s forces a year ago, this ritual had been completed many times. Gortah would listen while he delivered his report. The king would take it all in while only making few comments. Later, he’d be able to repeat Eugene’s comments almost word for word and provide an excellent objective assessment of the position and give advice on the best way forward.

Reports from our spies in northern Eira have been filtering through to the garrison. The Eirans have moved soldiers, knights, archers, supply carts and heavy weaponry up to the Great Land Bridge. As of last night, their forces were massed in the countryside surrounding it. Over forty thousand spears. All the tribes sent their best men.

Gortah nodded. He rubbed his face with his thumb and forefinger. Then he put his hands back into the pyramid shape. Eugene eyed his father warily before continuing.

If they crossed during the night they may’ve been in position to attack at dawn.

It would be like Jarlath to surprise his foe a day early.

Eugene waited in case his father continued, but Gortah lapsed into deep thought.

Our spies report that four days ago a black cloud was seen racing across the Eiran lowlands in the shape of a dragon. When it sped over Belshan I ordered the men inside but about a hundred glimpsed it before we could take shelter. They died within the hour of a fever. It crossed the monastery at Bui and rained down burning water there. Two thousand monks died, including the Bishop of Bui and the Prelate of the Eiran Church, who was visiting the monastery on a week’s retreat for prayer.

A buzz of surprise went round the room that the monastery was without a spiritual head. The Prelate was the highest office in the Eiran Church, and he sat at the monastery at Termon, but the church’s spiritual head was the Bishop of Bui.

Eugene waited for Gortah to comment, but he simply closed his eyes and sighed, gently shaking his head.

King Domhnall appointed a new Bishop of Bui. Eirans think it unlucky to allow the sun to set without having someone in place. The bishops voted this morning to appoint a new prelate.

Mechteld murmured a prayer for the souls of the dead.

Liosmor was braced for widespread loss of life. The cloud slowed before it reached the capital. Eugene stammered into uncertainty. "The thing is, Father, it stopped outside the city. It hung in the air like graveyard mould. There was panic and calls to evacuate, but King Domhnall ordered the gates closed. The inhabitants waited for an hour expecting to die together before the cloud simply turned tail and sailed back to Aspatria. The next day, everyone expected the cloud to return, but there were no reports of sickness or death either in Liosmor or from the monasteries and provincial towns. But in the afternoon Queen Gala took to bed with a fever."

Gortah opened his eyes and sat up straight.

Did she die? Mechteld whispered.

For three days Gala lay close to passing. Domhnall prayed nonstop for her recovery.

Gortah burst out laughing.

From what I know of the Eiran king, the sight of him on his knees will have created more widespread panic than a cloud of poison.

Last night, the queen rallied. Our spies could not get close to the inner citadel, and none of their usual informants would tell how Gala was healed, for any price, but Queen Riley’s name was everywhere in the taverns, and they were drinking to her health til dawn.

If it took someone as powerful as Riley so long to counter the poison then there’s only one person strong enough to have done this. Maureen of Aspatria. The Aspatrian queen will come to rue the day she tried to kill her sister-in-law, believe me, Gortah said.

The king got to his feet. Everyone else scraped back their chairs and stood to attention. Now that Eugene was back, the Murkan Council of Nobles would be keen to hear his assessment of the situation in South Eira and discuss the various strategies available to them to counter any renewed Eiran aggression.

Chapter Two

Twenty-six-year-old Godwin of Whiteacre waited at dawn the next morning with the other reeves and the aeldormen for their king to come riding into the central square of Brewchester’s upper citadel.

Civilians living close to the Great Land Bridge had fled towards the Aspatrian capital during the night, bringing reports that the Eirans were moving an immense army up to the crossing point. The Eirans pitched camp on their own soil, but more reports followed of the entire force preparing to cross over into Aspatria under cover of darkness. At two o’clock, King Leofric ordered the Fyrd, camped outside the city, to be ready at dawn for the hour’s ride to the Great Land Bridge.

King Leofric was followed by his three sons. The king’s brother Jasper and his two sons came along behind with Leofric’s illegitimate son Cenwulf. The Aspatrian royal men formed a long line in the square opposite the thegns. The pennants of each noble house fluttered in the breeze.

Men of Aspatria! We did not look for war, but the Eirans have come across the Great Land Bridge during the night! Ride with me to glory or death as we repel these dogs from our soil! Come help me teach that Eiran whippersnapper Jarlath a lesson he won’t forget!

The men’s cheers rang out across the city. Aelfhelm, Edwin and Oswy followed their father the king down the winding cobbled streets of the capital. Cenwulf rode behind them. As they went, cavalry and archers joined them from their billets in the city.

Godwin glanced back over his shoulder. The three young aethelingas, Leofric’s daughters, were standing on the battlements with their aunt to watch as the lines of thegns, archers and foot soldiers streamed after the royal men towards the Great Land Bridge.

The royal men rode out in silence. Aelfhelm, the oldest son, came next behind the king. Then Edwin aged nineteen. Oswy was only fifteen, but the youngest aetheling had been so determined to follow his brothers and cousins into battle that Leofric had agreed to take him along, provided the boy kept close to him on the field.

Leofric led the way onto the plain on his grey destrier Bullfinch. He laughed to the others that his brother Jasper might make a better fist of it than the last time he’d ridden into battle, alongside the Eirans to fight the Murkans, twenty-seven years ago.

Forty-year-old Jasper scowled as his brother teased him that he’d better watch out that Gortah van Murkar wasn’t on the battlefield somewhere, keen to make good on his pledge to kill Jasper when they next fought. Jasper’s sons, Sigbert and Sigismund, belly-laughed at the idea and the other aethelings joined in.

Godwin's spirits rose at the idea of a morning on the field of battle. Aeldorman Greenwood rode up beside him. The fifty year old carried his helmet tucked under his arm. Raedwald’s craggy face was dour, and he stared straight ahead of them towards the Great Land Bridge.

Damn Queen Maureen for this!

Godwin murmured his agreement. Maureen had put them all in danger by her pointless attack on Gala. Men would die, not just reeves, aeldormen or thegns but also thousands of ordinary men, because Maureen hated her family back home in Eira.

Be over by lunchtime. We’ll celebrate back in Brewchester tonight.

Godwin mulled over whether to add that they would have more to celebrate soon. Everyone expected the engagement of Aethelinga Dextra to Marcus, Aeldorman Longbarrow, to be announced soon. It was something to take their minds off the death of Aelfhelm’s wife Tamara and their baby son last week. They all needed a bit of good news. There was nothing like a battle, quickly won, and the feasting afterwards to help a man give thanks to the Gods for his blessings.

The twenty-three-year-old aeldorman was a great favourite of both Dextra and her father. There could be no doubt that King Leofric would consent to the union. Marcus was a lucky man. Dextra was beginning to be spoken of as the most beautiful woman in the world.

Cenwulf, Aeldorman Darkwater, kicked his warhorse Hemlock into a canter and pulled up alongside his father. King Leofric nodded to his bastard.

Ready to show your brothers you deserve that title? he asked.

Cenwulf tossed his long blond hair out of his eyes. It just curled at the ends.

I will bring glory on Aspatria alongside them, Father.

Godwin waited for the inevitable slap down when a bastard openly referred to a sovereign as his father, but Leofric just laughed and punched the eighteen year old on the arm.

Glad to have you with us today. Went out on a limb for you, my boy. How many sons of bar-wenches get to ride into battle? Show me you’re worth it!

A flicker of amusement crossed Cenwulf’s square, placid face. Leofric mussed his son’s hair. Aelfhelm had a small smile playing across his lips. Edwin and Oswy were both looking at their bastard half-brother and nodding.

Godwin reminded himself that when men ride to war, they fight alongside each other as equals. Cenwulf had proven himself on the battlefield against the Eirans, the Murkans and the Reliatrans in the space of only three years. His birth was neither here nor there.

Tightening his reins, Godwin kicked Bumble into a gentle canter. There was no better way to bring men together than the combat that lay ahead.

*

On the Aspatrian side of the Great Land Bridge, the Eirans had pitched camp and waited for their foe to arrive. Domhnall o’Eira had sent his middle son, Conall, to oversee the battle, but the Eiran commander in the field would be Jarlath, chieftain of the Cruach tribe. The young chieftain paced inside his tent.

Conall watched his friend with amusement. A good showing today in battle and his father might finally approve the betrothal of the ambitious chieftain to Conall’s sister Briana.

The prince chewed the last of his sour bread and swallowed an enormous mouthful. He washed it down with ale and belched as the brew warmed his stomach. The sweet taste of the ale, and the sharp, yeasty taste of the bread complimented each other perfectly. He belched against and took another gulp of ale.

We’ll teach them a lesson today.

Conall agreed with that sentiment. The Aspatrians got what they deserved.

Last chance to change tactics? An all-out assault against their infantry to give them heavy losses rather than attacking just the royal men?

Queen Maureen had been the source of the unprovoked attack on his mother. Conall could not agree with taking that out on the fighting man. Maureen's menfolk should now pay the price. There was no justice in letting the common infantry soldier bear the brunt, in return for low pay and no glory. If Leofric had kept his wife in check a little more effectively, the attack would never have happened. It was time for the Aspatrian royal men to suffer in return.

Just make sure the Council of Sorcerers are ready before we launch the attack. We’ll need their mischief to help us find a direct line to the king and aethelings. My grandmother’s promised to help block any attempts from Queen Maureen to use magic to aid them.

Jarlath bowed and left the tent.

It would be a bloodbath, Conall smiled to himself. By lunchtime it would all be over, and the Aspatrians would be casting around in desperation to try to work out who should take the crown once all the royal men were gone.

*

The Fyrd arrived at the Great Land Bridge an hour later and pulled up to let their horses catch their wind. Tents had been pitched, and the early detachments of foot soldiers, with shield and spears, had arrived in good order. Thousands of men, loyal to their king and ready to take on the might of the Eiran army, would thunder into battle today.

Godwin rested on his warhorse Bumble and gazed around in satisfaction. The infantry rallied under the banners of their particular thegns. The great houses of Greenwood, Darkwater and Longbarrow had their banners fluttering in the breeze. Aeldormen Swallowcliffe, Westkennet and Northweald were also gathering their forces together.

The Aspatrians could see the Eirans across the river. Their forces stretched all the way back to the Great Land Bridge. Some of their infantry were still marching across the narrow strip. Raedwald Greenwood called across that it looked as if the Eirans had brought half their army here today.

Thanks the Gods the king ordered a general muster of the Fyrd as soon as the queen admitted her guilt!

Godwin agreed with that assessment. He held the Whiteacre banner aloft and waited for the foot soldiers to rally to him. The banner had a dark-green background, but the pattern was in white, with the outline of the fields in the design portrayed in grey thread. In the middle was the shape of Godwin’s manor house and the birch trees surrounding it. The home where he’d been born. The house where his young wife had died in childbirth, like his mother two and a half decades earlier. Whiteacre Hall was all too often a place of grief and loss, but still Godwin loved it.

The reeve’s eyes scanned the milling crowds. The farmers from his lands had answered his call. Over two thousand had come from Whiteacre to join the larger household contingents from Longbarrow and Greenwood lands. Other aeldormen had mustered thousands apiece to heed Leofric’s call. With his tenants had come the thegns from Godwin’s household at Whiteacre: ten of them. There were archers, too.

Godwin waited patiently as his men gathered around him. Across the plain, he could see Raedwald, Marcus, Cenwulf and other aeldormen doing the same. He breathed in and out to calm himself. His right hand curled around his sword hilt, and he left it resting there. He screwed his eyes up against the summer sun. It was going to be a sweltering day, but he licked his lips at the thought of the ale he’d take with the other nobles tonight at court when the battle was won.

Godwin let his thoughts roam to the battle ahead. The Fyrd had often met the Eirans in the field. The Great Land Bridge was a perennial source of tension between the two countries, and the hatred Queen Maureen felt for her countrymen had led the countries into conflict many times in the past.

The Aspatrian army was in general better equipped than the Eirans. Unquestionably, the Aspatrians had more advanced weaponry. On the other hand, the Eirans were incensed by the attack on Gala and they had mustered an enormous number of men.

The Eiran tribes were fierce. They also had the advantage of having the much-feared Council of Sorcerers to aid them. Aspatria rarely relied upon magic in the battlefield although the Eirans often used it. The idea of Jasper being able to counter the Eiran Council of Sorcerers was laughable: in fact there was every chance that the king’s brother would do more harm than good. But the Aspatrians had a decent cavalry, and almost every man had a shield in addition to his spear. Enough of the Fyrd had swords to make inroads into the Eiran infantry when the charge came.

The bugler blew the refrain to gather the Fyrd into their defensive shield-wall formations. The silvery, ethereal notes of the command drifted across the fields. The horses stamped and whinnied. Godwin felt Bumble tense in anticipation at the familiar sound. The forces got into lines, still within the groupings set by the noble houses. Once the great shuffling of men into lines with their spears and shields was complete the head of each house rode out in front of their lines. The Eirans were waiting in their loose ranks for the Aspatrians to move into formation.

Leofric rode Bullfinch out in front of the royal household’s contingent. The king held up his banner and let it flutter in the breeze: the image of the Aspatrian mother-figure, the Brewer holding a sheaf of barley and a jug of ale. The lands held directly by the king yielded by far the largest number of men at arms and his part of the Fyrd was divided into sections.

Aelfhelm and Edwin took the left and right flanks, while the king addressed the central section in person. To the sides were the men under the command of senior aeldormen including Cenwulf Darkwater. Further back were the men mustered by the lesser aeldormen. Each man in turn, ending with the king, spoke to his troops to rouse them for the fight ahead.

The speeches went on in their turn. When his moment came, Godwin delivered an impassioned speech drawing on the love he and his men felt for the northern moorlands around Whiteacre. They cheered him, and he felt his heart leap.

As the speeches drew to a close, the ranks of soldiers closed up. The cry for battle rang out, and the front line of shield-walls advanced. The Eirans’ infantry was loosely organised according to their tribes under individual chieftains. The men in each tribe were linked by ties of blood and marriage. The Eirans shuffled forward. When the moment came, their hordes would lunge towards their foe and overwhelm them in frenzy with their energy and numbers.

The shield-walls edged forward. From behind, an array of rocks and throwing axes were propelled towards the Eirans. One or two javelins were thrown. More missiles sailed through the air. The Eirans scattered as the weapons found their marks. Shouts of amusement rose from the Aspatrian ranks. The Eirans replied with a volley of rocks, many shot from slings and a few arrows.

Godwin sighed and watched as the missile exchanges continued, but neither side showed much sign of having its resolve dented by the volleys. The Eirans were more vulnerable. Fewer of their infantry possessed shields or helmets. The Aspatrian soldiers were in large part snug beneath their serried ranks of shields raised above their heads.

Only the front row of soldiers kept their shields lowered to defend themselves against a frontward attack. But the Eirans were incensed by the pointless attack on their queen. They were quick and agile as they stepped aside when the rocks and axes fell amongst them, and they threw abuse back alongside the missiles towards the Aspatrians.

Eventually, Leofric shouted the order for the first lines of shield-walls to advance and engage the Eiran infantry. Thousands of men shuffled forward. The individual Aspatrian commanders dismounted. Only the king remained on horseback.

The leaders were protected by mail-coat armour, shields and helmets. They advanced with the shield-walls. At the side of each shield-wall were archers and men armed with slingshots to help protect the men behind the shields. At Leofric’s cry, the archers let go a volley of arrows from their bows, thudding into the Eiran soldiers’ leather armour and cutting through their basic helmets. Many Eirans fell, and a great cheer went up.

Leofric ordered the shield-walls onwards. The Eirans rushed at them, spears lowered and yelling. The Aspatrian men replied with a barrage of rocks from their slingshots. The archers reloaded their bows, and Leofric yelled the order to fire at will.

Over and over, the shield-walls advanced, attacked the Eiran foot soldiers and retreated. The Eirans rushed forward in their turn, but they were not able to kill any of the Aspatrian nobles nor capture their banners. In between, the opposing forces withdrew and glowered at each other.

Godwin saw Chieftain Jarlath ride forward from the Eiran ranks. Few men on either side were mounted and anyone sitting on a horse was an immediate target. Jarlath drew his sword. He walked his horse forward and yelled to the army. Godwin expected an all-out charge from the Eiran foot soldiers, but they gathered together in narrow groups. In between them, trolls came lumbering forward from the rear to engage with the Fyrd.

Leofric turned in his saddle, caught sight of the monsters thundering towards his army and shouted to the Aspatrians to maintain their formations. The Eiran soldiers rushed forward and thudded into the lines of shield-walls. They were met with volleys of arrows and a shower of rocks. The two forces were ready to pull back for a breather, but the trolls kept lumbering forward.

Leofric galloped along the lines and shouted to everyone to stay in formation. The aeldormen kept their own groups in tight-knit squares and ordered the archers to reload their bows. Jarlath rode out towards the king and pulled up in front of him. The trolls kept coming. Leofric pointed his sword towards Jarlath. He kicked Bullfinch into a gallop and thundered towards the Eiran commander. Once Leofric was only a few paces away, Jarlath drew his axe from his belt and threw it at Leofric’s head.

The king was flung off his horse by the force of the blow. Bullfinch veered around and galloped back towards the Aspatrian lines. Leofric landed on his back, and he was quickly surrounded by the Eirans. In the milling chaos, Godwin lost sight of his king. Jarlath jumped down from his horse and let the beast gallop away. He drew his sword and hacked at Leofric. Finally, Jarlath stood up and held the Aspatrian king’s head aloft.

A great cheer went up from the Eirans. The Aspatrian commanders shouted to everyone to hold their formation. The order to retreat and regroup was given. Aelfhelm and Edwin, Leofric’s oldest sons, urged the Fyrd to maintain order. Greenwood and Longbarrow called to their infantry to stand firm.

Jarlath stood in between the Eiran and Aspatrian lines waving Leofric’s head. He taunted Aelfhelm, who was now king, to engage with him in one-to-one combat for the prize. Aelfhelm stood firm, but Godwin could see Oswy edging his warhorse forward towards Jarlath.

Godwin had understood, when Leofric had agreed to let his youngest son ride into battle, that every young man has his day. Godwin had first ridden into battle alongside his father at the age of twelve. Leofric had insisted that Oswy stay near him, hoping to keep him safe by always keeping any eye out for him on the field. With so many august and experienced thegns, reeves and aeldormen to be attacked by the Eirans, no one had imagined that the youngest aetheling would be much of a target.

Oswy kicked Jewel into a gallop and thundered towards Jarlath. The Eiran commander flung Leofric’s head at the youngest son as the lad careered past him with his sword drawn. The king’s head caught Oswy a glancing blow on the cheek and splattered him with blood.

Cenwulf galloped towards Jarlath and shoved him over with his foot as he passed. He shouted to Oswy to get back behind the lines. Oswy yelled back that he would kill the dog who’d felled their father. Aelfhelm and Edwin continued to call to everyone to keep the lines of the shield-walls together.

All the aethelings and nobles were working hard to keep the lines in order. Godwin knew that if the panic spread and it turned into a rout then the Aspatrians were finished.

Jarlath scrambled up and gripped his sword. Cenwulf yanked Hemlock around and galloped back towards Oswy. Cenwulf tried to protect his youngest half-brother by keeping in between him and Jarlath.

The Aspatrian lines steadied up. Aelfhelm and Edwin were keeping everyone as calm as possible. A barrage of rocks flew over from the Eiran side, but no one on the Aspatrian side broke ranks.

Cenwulf shouted, Oswy, get behind the shield walls!

The youngest aetheling drew his sword and ran round Cenwulf’s horse towards Jarlath. Oswy lunged at Jarlath, who swiped at him with his sword. Cenwulf flung himself off Hemlock and ran at Jarlath with his sword drawn. Cenwulf shoved Oswy out of the way.

As Jarlath and Cenwulf circled each other warily, Cenwulf was entirely focused upon his opponent. Their blades clashed in the summer sun, ringing out over the armies gathered on either side of them. Cenwulf lunged at his opponent and cut him on the right shoulder. He plunged the tip of his blade into the muscle joining the chest and twisted the blade inside the wound.

As Oswy made his way back towards the Fyrd, he kept staring at Leofric’s decapitated body. The old king’s head lay over by the Eiran lines where Jarlath had thrown it.

Jarlath let Cenwulf back away. Cenwulf and Oswy were almost back to safety when a single arrow sung out from its bow far back amongst the Eiran soldiers. The arrow hit Oswy in the forehead, and he fell to the ground.

Aelfhelm and Edwin shouted to their men to remain calm. Cenwulf stood over his half-brother’s body as Jarlath advanced. Aelfhelm called to Cenwulf to come back. Cenwulf eventually retreated, but he cast a murderous look at Jarlath before he ducked back behind the shield walls.

The two armies stared each other down. Aelfhelm shouted to the Fyrd that he was king, and he would defend their country with all his might if they would do the same alongside him.

The cheers that followed were soon replaced with shouts that the trolls were coming across from the Eiran side. Godwin’s horse caught the fear of the other mounts in the Fyrd and began to weave back and forth. He stroked Bumble’s neck, and murmured to her to keep calm, but the trolls were a terrifying sight for men as well as beasts.

The Aspatrian shield-walls broke up as the trolls lumbered towards them. Aelfhelm was now in the centre of the Aspatrian front line marshalling his own troops as well as those Leofric had previously led. Greenwood and Longbarrow called to their men to advance and to their archers to fire at will.

The Aspatrian shield-walls slowly advanced towards the trolls. The men surrounded the trolls and hacked at them with their swords. However, as soon as they did the Eirans let slip a volley of arrows and, under cover of arrow fire, came rushing towards the Aspatrians.

The trolls swiped at the Aspatrian soldiers with their clubs, knocking men over and stamping on them. The Aspatrian archers loosed their arrows at the trolls, and (as they surrounded the trolls) the beasts became overwhelmed. But as quickly as they were able to make progress against the trolls, the soldiers found themselves attacked from behind by the Eirans.

As the two armies fell into hand-to-hand combat, Godwin and the other minor nobles pushed their formations of men from the rear towards the battle. The arena was crowded enough and Marcus Longbarrow kept shouting for the other units to hold back from the fray. Aelfhelm and Edwin were at the centre of the fighting. Jarlath was working his way around the battle to try to get closer to them.

Godwin watched the enfolding chaos spread towards his own section of the Aspatrian army, shouting for his archers to fire on his order. He dismounted, and his servant led Bumble back behind the lines. The other reeves were doing the same.

As Godwin drew his sword, he shouted to his men to attack. He ran with them down the incline. All pretence at maintaining order had broken down and soldiers were engaged in a melee that was sucking everyone present into its ferocious energy.

Chapter Three

Aethelinga Dextra sat in a daychamber at Brewchester castle alongside her female relatives in stunned silence. The aethelingas had spent the morning staring into Aunt Pauline’s All-Seeing Eye to follow the events at the Great Land Bridge. Pauline was an invalid, but Dextra had always admired her aunt for never letting herself feel excluded from what was happening beyond the walls of her room.

As the loss of Leofric, and particularly that of Oswy, sank in, the women laid into Queen Maureen. Dextra bit her lip to keep the tears from falling. The eighteen year old buried her head in her hands and tried to block out the sound of Aunt Hilda berating Dextra’s stepmother for putting the country and their own family in so much peril. Queen Maureen sat with a stony expression on her ugly face, ignoring the barbs flying from both her sisters-in-law and preening her shiny, long black hair.

Wulfa, a year younger than Dextra, was trying to remain calm, but tears were welling in her brown eyes. Sixteen-year-old Anna was staring out of the window. She had been particularly close to Oswy, the youngest sibling, and she had been struggling ever since the boy had told them at dawn this morning that their father had given him permission to accompany the Fyrd.

Aunt Hilda beckoned to the others to look into Pauline’s All-Seeing Eye again, and the women crowded back around her. Everyone except Anna obeyed.

Dextra peered over her stepmother’s shoulder. Maureen was short and squat. With justification Maureen was fabled to be the ugliest woman alive, and she encapsulated to the full the sea of bitterness after which she was named.

Putting her arm around Dextra’s waist, Wulfa kissed her sister's cheek. Dextra rested her head tenderly against Wulfa's.

If the battle does not go well, we must be prepared for further losses, Wulfa said.

That’s what the men are paid for. It’s an honour to die for us, Anna snapped, with a smug smile at Queen Maureen.

I meant amongst our family.

The aethelingas gazed into the All-Seeing Eye together, and gradually Dextra and the others identified the bodies of Leofric and Oswy, both minus their heads.

As Dextra turned away, she covered her mouth with her hand and tears streamed down her face. Oswy was still just a boy. She fell to her knees, and Pauline wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

To Dextra, her other half brothers felt like full siblings. The family had already been battling with grief. Aelfhelm’s wife Tamara had died in childbirth, taking their unborn son with her, last week. Rumours had been rife that Maureen had cast the spell that’d weakened her daughter-in-law, out of spite because Aelfhelm loved his beautiful young wife. Edwin was newly engaged to the sister of the Khan of the Albins.

Dextra sobbed until she felt Pauline kiss her cheek. She pulled away and toyed with a lock of her aunt’s brown hair. In Aspatria, it was the custom for a woman to wear her hair loose down her back.

"Stay strong, Dexie. Your father and Oswy fought bravely. The Eirans are incensed, but we may be one too many for them, even with an idiot like Jasper on our side. Aelfhelm and Edwin are still fighting. Plus my boys will do their duty. There is still hope, and we must cling to it with both hands."

Bravely, Dextra forced a tearful smile. Pauline had been married to Jasper for over twenty years, and produced two sons, but the invalid always maintained a cheerful lack of respect for her weasel of a spouse. She’d never once let Maureen see that she was bowed down by the paralysis spell the queen had cast onto her two days after she arrived in Aspatria. Pauline had been carried smiling up the aisle by her father and five brothers on a low chair, the same one she now rested on during the day, to say her vows to Jasper.

Dextra wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She still had two brothers and two cousins fighting for Aspatria. If the Gods smiled upon them today, they would return home from victory with Aelfhelm as their king.

Pauline sneered at Maureen.

Time you put some effort into helping Aspatria for a change.

Maureen scowled, but she closed her eyes and concentrated on casting a spell. Dextra glanced into the All-Seeing Eye. The battle was still raging, and the trolls were making short work of the soldiers as they slashed with their clubs and pushed the men to the ground.

A black cloud gradually formed over the field of battle, and from it forks of lightening shot down towards the trolls. One of them yelped and collapsed. It was quickly surrounded by Aspatrians armed with daggers and spears. They stabbed it over and over while Maureen smiled.

Your stepmother’s sister is a troll, Hilda reminded Dextra.

Maureen’s mother and father, Riley and Nolan o’Eira, had adopted a troll girl called Oonagh just before Maureen had been married to Leofric. Oonagh had been happily married to Prince Phelan, the Eirans’ military commander before Jarlath, for decades. He’d spent most of that time as prisoner of the Aspatrians after being captured on various occasions. Leofric, and before him his father Aelred, had refused any ransom and on more than one occasion Phelan had had to be sprung from captivity by Eiran forces who’d snuck into the kingdom. Just now, he was a guest of Leofric’s dungeons.

Maureen muttered to them to be quiet. She sat still and silent as she worked further magic. The queen sent more bolts of lightening down into the battle, scattering the Eiran men and burning the trolls. The latter panicked about what was coming down out of the sky and targeting them. The smell of burning troll flesh filled the ladies’ chamber, and Dextra got up to open more windows.

As Jarlath galloped around the battlefield, he shouted at the trolls to stay there and keep fighting, but they lumbered back towards the Eiran camp. They pushed Jarlath’s horse over. One troll almost trod on Jarlath, but somehow he scrabbled out of the way.

Dextra stared into the All-Seeing Eye. Two of the trolls were dead. Three more were badly injured, but the fighting was going on all around them. The rest were thundering back away from the battle to the safety of the Eiran camp. The Eiran chieftains were trying to force the trolls back down to the battle, but it was hopeless.

Maureen opened her eyes and looked around the room at her relatives. Her face was pale and her eyes were glazed over, but they cleared as she emerged from her trance. The odour of sweat and congealing blood, of excrement and urine, had filled the room. As Maureen shook herself free of her reverie, the noxious smells dispersed, only to be replaced by the cloying, damp smell of heavy rain.

The women gazed into the All-Seeing Eye. The black cloud Maureen had sent over the battle was being pushed by a sudden wind over towards the sea, where it could do little or no harm to the soldiers of either side. Its raindrops lashed down onto the waves, sending up clouds of hissing steam.

Maureen ground her teeth and cursed.

Damn you, Mother!

Dextra and Wulfa exchanged glances. Maureen’s mother, Queen Riley, was herself a powerful practitioner of witchcraft.

As Maureen cast a weakening spell in the direction of the west, the room was plunged into chill darkness. Dextra shivered at the thought that it might work its power hundreds of miles away, even as far as the Eiran capital. Everyone waited to see whether mother or daughter would emerge triumphant.

Gradually, the dead trolls on the battlefield came back to life. The injured ones were soon on their feet. The trolls staggered and shook their heads. They soon raised their clubs and slashed at the Aspatrian men again.

Can’t you do anything?

Maureen glared at Dextra. The young aethelinga regretted having spoken, but her surviving brothers were out there. She cared for Cenwulf every bit as much as she did for Aelfhelm and Edwin.

Over in Eira, the ancient queen was throwing everything she had at the Aspatrians to weaken them and help her own men emerge triumphant. Maureen was losing the upper hand to her mother. It was often said that Riley was far fonder of her daughter-in-law Gala than she was of her own daughter. The old woman tossed paralysis spells on the Aspatrian queen until Maureen yelped in agony.

Maureen fell to the floor and buried her face in the cushions lying on Hilda’s couch. Hilda got up and put her fingers against her temples. Dextra had seen her employ telepathy before in a battle. She could influence both sides in a conflict, by giving their own men useful information while at the same time sending piercing wailing sounds into the minds of the men they were fighting.

Dextra looked into the All-Seeing Eye once again. Pauline smiled at her wanly. The trolls were staggering around and gripping their heads. They were falling over and groaning. At the same time, the Aspatrian men were regrouping. Hilda’s lips were moving as she spoke inside the Aspatrian soldiers’ heads and told them how to fight back against the trolls.

Wulfa got up and went to the door.

There will be many wounded. We should go to the camp for when the battle is over and help. I’m going to pack up some supplies and order the carts loaded so we can leave soon.

Anna got up and followed Wulfa out of the door. Dextra went out into the hallway and called along it for her maid. Jenna came running.

Please tell the court women that I’ll be down in a few minutes.

Dextra returned to the daychamber and stared over Pauline’s shoulder into the All-Seeing Eye. The chaos of general battle showed no sign of abating. Jarlath had remounted and was galloping out to meet the Aspatrian men again.

Her heart went out to Aelfhelm and Edwin, to Cenwulf, and to her Uncle Jasper and her cousins Sigbert and Sigismund, and she yearned to know that they were safe.

Chapter Four

Godwin ran with his sword drawn and shouted to his men to follow him. He caught sight of Jasper in the affray. Leofric’s younger brother was standing with his arms raised into the sky. His sons, Sigbert and Sigismund, were with him, and the two boys had their swords drawn as Jasper muttered the words of a spell.

Skirting around Jasper, Godwin thrust onwards into a large group of Eiran soldiers with their spears and javelins poised. He cried for his men to follow. Most of the Fyrd had spears and armour that was a little heavier than that of the Eirans. Many carried daggers and a few had axes. Some possessed shields, but the rest relied upon their hardened-leather armour.

Godwin swiped an Eiran clan leader with his sword. The man toppled backwards. Godwin was about to press home the advantage when he heard a great thunder clap behind him. It felt like it had rent the sky in two.

As he turned around, Godwin kept his shield up, but he peered around it. Jasper lay on his back. His black robes were singed at the edges, and he was pinned to the ground. Horses, riderless and panicking in the melee, were milling around Jasper.

Jasper shouted that he couldn’t move. As Sigbert and Sigismund backed towards their father they fought off the Eiran soldiers. Jarlath galloped up and slid from his horse. He shouted to the Eirans to kill the Aspatrian royals. He thrust forward towards Sigbert with his sword drawn and shouted that he would kill the dead king’s younger brother himself.

As the horses trampled over him, Jasper cried out. Sigbert and Sigismund pushed them aside, and tried to help their father and fend off Jarlath’s attack, but they were quickly surrounded.

Godwin shouted to Aelfhelm to help his uncle and cousins. The young king called to his own men to go to their aid. The Fyrd poured down the hillside towards Jasper, but Godwin could see the man’s body being kicked and stamped on by the horses. The forty year old was lifeless and limp.

Sigbert and Sigismund took on Jarlath together. The Eiran commander hacked at Sigbert and felled him with his great sword. He cut off Jasper’s head and grabbed it to wave to his countrymen. Another cheer went up as the Eiran infantry realised that a further Aspatrian royal man had died.

Sigismund flung himself at Jarlath, but the Eiran slewed his sword across Sigismund’s neck. Blood spurted out and he fell to his knees. Jarlath hacked Sigismund’s head from his body and held it aloft. The Eirans cheered and thrust their spears into the air. They stamped them on the ground and called to the Fyrd that the royal family would be dead by nightfall.

After this, Aelfhelm shouted for a retreat and a regrouping before things got any worse. The chaos abated and once more the two armies faced each other across the low ground down by the Great Land Bridge.

During the retreat, Godwin left the Whiteacre men under the command of his thegn and went to offer counsel to the new king about what their next step should be. He waited as the other aeldorman gathered around Aelfhelm, including Marcus Longbarrow.

They’re targeting you royal men.

Aelfhelm nodded thoughtfully at Marcus’s analysis.

It’s for us to protect you.

As Marcus spoke, Godwin sensed the young aeldorman’s emotion at the loss of his old king. Aelfhelm slung his arm around the man they all expected to become the new king’s brother-in-law in a few weeks time. Their helmets clunked together.

It’s my job to lead from the front, and I will do it. No Eiran upstart is going to frighten the King of Aspatria into waiting at the back of the lines.

Aelfhelm smiled bleakly in response. Godwin’s heart went out to his new sovereign. Aelfhelm was still reeling from the loss of his wife and son.

What’s your counsel, Raedwald?

Raedwald rubbed his beard.

Send Edwin back to Brewchester. Keep you well shielded, but let the Eirans see you leading the Fyrd. Let them realise that we are more resilient than they think. We have taken terrible losses out there today, but they have to see that we are unbowed. We will get the better of the Eirans, if we stay in formation and keep our resolve.

Marcus shook his head.

Don’t do this, Sire! They’re here to teach you all a lesson for the attack on Queen Gala! Let Edwin lead the battle from now on.

No. If anyone should be riding to face death, it’s me. I'm king. What have I got to lose? All is lost already. My life is worth nothing. Tamara and the boy are gone.

Godwin’s heart twisted painfully at these words. He dreaded the Eirans coming for the Aspatrian king. Raedwald and Marcus were surely right in trying to get at least one of the two aethelings to return to the citadel. He suspected that the Eiran challenge would dissolve if the royal men were no longer on the field. He agreed with their assessment that this was a grudge expedition designed for revenge after the attack on Gala. The Aspatrians had already lost a king and four aethelings.

Aelfhelm beckoned his brother Edwin forward.

Return to the capital. You have my orders to defend it as you see fit in the event that the Eirans make it to the city walls.

Edwin unsheathed his sword.

I’m going nowhere. I fight alongside my countrymen here on the field of battle.

As you see fit. After I fall, you are king. Take care Aspatria doesn’t end the day without a monarch because of your foolhardiness, Brother.

"Damn you, Aelfhelm! Go back to Brewchester and let me lead the Fyrd!"

The brothers glared at each other.

Aelfhelm broke up the huddle of nobles and strode back up the hill. He shouted down to the Aspatrian soldiers to reform into lines and, once the shuffling and the edging around had finished, bellowed to them to advance. The shield-walls inched forward, and Aelfhelm charged back round the side of one to the front of the troops.

Aelfhelm ran at the advancing Eirans, and a volley of arrows flew at him. One hit him on the face, another seared through his chest. Showers of rocks flew shot the air, hitting Aelfhelm and the advancing shield-walls.

As his king fell, Godwin felt sick to his core. He had fought many battles. Some had gone badly at the start but had been won through iron will and resolve. But to lose a second monarch in under an hour was beginning to overwhelm him. He sensed the Fyrd’s rising panic at the prospect of losing yet another leader.

Aelfhelm was quickly surrounded, and one of the Eiran soldiers soon held the king’s head aloft. He tossed it back towards where Jarlath was sitting on his horse.

Godwin shouted to his men to advance. They strode on, keeping their shields up, and threw their spears at the Eiran soldiers. The thegns, on foot, brandished their swords and led the charge. The Eirans responded with volleys of rocks and stones from their slingshots, and by throwing their javelins. Some charged into the Fyrd on horseback and threw themselves out of the saddle once they had destroyed the Aspatrian formations. Eiran archers brought down the Aspatrian men by firing over the top of the shield-walls.

The rising panic in the Fyrd was giving the Eirans courage. They pushed through, breaking the lines and attacking from the side and from the rear. As the minutes passed, the Eirans were right in the middle of the Aspatrian army. They hacked and slewed at the soldiers.

Cenwulf and Edwin shouted through the chaos for a withdrawal in order for the formations to be rebuilt. Gradually, the Aspatrian soldiers were able to pull back and regroup.

Jarlath sat smugly on his horse the whole time. Godwin felt a sinking sense that the Eiran commander was biding his time and waiting for one last push to kill Edwin until it would all be over. Godwin’s heart twisted again at the prospect of his country losing a third king in the space of a morning.

Edwin and Cenwulf conferred briefly. Then Edwin strode back to the front of the Aspatrian forces. Cenwulf went to the rear of the forces and remained there heavily guarded and protected. Edwin shouted to the men to advance. He drew his sword and walked steadily out to meet Jarlath in the field. The Eiran commander dismounted and came out to meet him in combat.

One to one and we settle this!

Jarlath nodded. He walked slowly, sword poised, towards Edwin. Just as the two commanders were about to clash swords, a single arrow sang out from the Eiran lines and struck Edwin down. The young king, sovereign for only ten minutes and without ever having had a crown on his head, fell backwards. Jarlath leapt upon him, hacked his head from his body and held it aloft. He waved it above his head and shouted abuse at the Aspatrian soldiers. The Eirans now possessed the heads of all the Aspatrian royal men. Panic spread through the Fyrd once more.

For Gala! Her Majesty avenged!

Godwin met Marcus’s eye. Longbarrow was Aspatria’s most senior aeldorman. Marcus was now the man to deal with the Eirans and take charge, with Raedwald Greenwood to support him. Their first priority was to make sure that Cenwulf was not injured. Their second was to negotiate some form of ceasefire if they could.

Godwin expected one final, bloodthirsty attack from the Eirans to overcome the defeated Fyrd before they pushed on across the plain to lay siege to Brewchester. Aeldorman Larksmere had been tasked with defending the city if the battle went ill and the Eirans broke through and tried to take the city. The Fyrd was in total disarray. It wouldn’t be hard for the Eirans to find a way on to the capital. Godwin dreaded the thought of the bloodshed that would lie ahead. He worried in particular for the women of the royal family.

To Godwin’s astonishment, Jarlath shouted the order to pull back and regroup. Rather than press home their advantage, the Eirans retreated towards the Great Land Bridge. Eventually, the Eirans were half a mile away and well out of range of the Fyrd.

The thegns remounted, and they galloped up and down. They shouted to their men to re-order, regroup and rally to them. Amidst the din, each soldier attempted to hear the sound of his own commander and to make his way over to them. Men had dropped their shields. Some of the thegns had abandoned their men and retreated back up to the hill to the camp.

From the far side of the battlefield, the Eirans cheered at their defeated enemies. Jarlath had put the royal heads on a row of spikes stuck into the ground and was shouting that he intended to leave them there to teach the Aspatrians a lesson for attacking Gala.

Marcus rallied his men beside Godwin’s. The shouting was beginning to abate. The panic was dispersing as the infantry realised that the Eirans weren’t poised for another attack.

Keep my men in order, Whiteacre. I’m going to negotiate some sort of cessation of hostilities with the Eirans.

Before Marcus could leave, Cenwulf galloped up to them. Darkwater held his staff and pennant aloft, but the design was splattered with blood and guts. The pennant had torn down the middle and the dark-grey stitching on the image of the lake, which had a scaly monster emerged from the still waters in the centre, was beginning to unravel.

Aspatria must have a king before anything else!

The other nobles slowly made their way over. Raedwald glowered at Cenwulf and poked the young man with the end of his own pennant: a verdant oak tree in a succulent, bright green.

Setting out your stall already, while the blood of your menfolk is still dripping from the Eirans’ swords? A proud day for your barmaid mother if not for our great nation. Perhaps it’s as well your father didn’t live to see you repay his kindness with the betrayal of your siblings.

The country must have a sovereign.

Aspatria does!

I am the only living son of King Leofric.

Cenwulf squirmed in his saddle. Raedwald and Cenwulf stared each other down. Cenwulf flinched first. Raedwald steadied his horse and spoke to the nobles as a whole.

"We have a new sovereign. His Majesty had three daughters. The eldest became Aspatria’s new queen when Edwin died. A